Family Ties

Published 12:00 am Saturday, June 3, 2000

MARY ANN FITZMORRIS / L’Observateur / June 3, 2000

Each of my children hear an annual retelling of the story of their birth on their birthday. Both tales are long, as each birth took place over the course of nearly an entire day.

My son has reached the age where he groans as I begin, but I still catch him listening in a manner befitting a prepubescent boy. His story begins and ends in the usual fashion, so he has come to know it by heart.

My daughter is riveted by her story, mainly because I think she is still trying to believe it. So am I.A week before due date my husband and I were having a late lunch following what would be the last prenatal check-up.The restaurant was nearly empty. There was one other party of seven people having and a loud and lively conversation. It was hard not to eavesdrop.The speaker was very animated, and he was talking about how special he was, having been “born with a veil.” Neither my husband nor I had ever heard of this, which was enough to pique our interest. Since we were a week away from delivery we were especially intrigued, but the speaker’s tone of suspense frightened us a little.

My husband and I left the restaurant a little unnerved by what we had heard, but the explanation is simple. The term refers to a baby born wearing the amniotic sac. An OB delivery nurse I consulted has never seen one, and she’s been in practice for 25 years.

Such a rarity explains the fear of the ancients, who, according to legend, would run away from a baby born this way. They believed the child had special powers.

The following morning I awoke at 5 a.m. with sharp pains. It was still a week before due date, but my instincts told me this was it.

I shook my husband to inquire what his plans were for the day. He replied, “Nothing important, but I’m having lunch with Peter Jenkins.” I burst through the bathroom door, since he had just named one of my favorite authors. “THE Peter Jenkins?? THE Peter Jenkins??”He opened one eye. “Yeah, the writer. But I can cancel it if you’re having a baby.””Absolutely not!” I protested. My husband was having lunch with someone I’d dreamed of meeting, and I was going to be busy having a baby. I insisted he keep his plans.

Soon the pains were four minutes apart and we started the hour-long trip to the hospital. Contractions mysteriously stopped as the doctor arrived. He declared it a false labor and sent me away. My husband kept his lunch plans, and I read the newspaper in the car while our toddler napped.

I met Peter Jenkins in the parking lot when my husband came to check on me, and I didn’t have to breath through contractions as we chatted.

Labor started again as we left. This time the doctor declared emphatically that I was NOT having a baby, even though contractions were consistently three minutes apart.

My husband talked me into going home after we stopped for dinner. I could be a Lamaze hero, eating and talking, stopping only to breathe deeply through a contraction every three minutes.

We arrived home in an hour and headed back an hour after that. Now my husband drove 80 mph and I couldn’t sit down. Contractions were continual and I bellowed the entire drive. We arrived at the hospital with me unable to walk or talk.

My husband pushed me into a wheelchair and ran through the hospital to delivery. The doctor wasn’t there, even though we had called an hour before!The nurse shrieked when she noticed the baby’s head. Someone came in to offer an epidural. I assured him, not very politely, that it was a little late for that.

After holding the baby in for 20 minutes everyone and everything had finally arrived. I propped myself up on both elbows and glared at the doctor, “Now, is EVERYBODY ready?” One push brought my daughter into the world. The doctor excitedly announced, “Oh! It’s a veil baby!” The ancient mystics were right. She does have special powers. I do everything she says.

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