"D" Day - March 19, 1973

Paula A. Tomey Allen

Dedicated to 

Michael Francis Fullenkamp Jr.

March 19, 1973 - May 31, 1997

As I lie back on the cool, crisp sheets, I anxiously await for some sign of the birth of my precious child. I have carried him in my womb for nine, seemingly eternal, months. I cannot understand why nothing is happening. Where are those sharp cramps? Where's the water? Something inside my feeble mind is telling me, this is not going to be the day I had hoped it would be!

After my hospital dinner, of what looks like cowhide and tastes like shoe leather, I'm examined by Cool Hands Luke. He reminds me of a Rabbi, with his full beard and little green cap. He nonchalantly informs me that tomorrow, is inducement day. Terrific; I think, you really know how to cheer up a half-scared woman, who's wishing she had listened to the old wives' tales of, if you you take laxatives your labor will start.

The next morning I am awakened by what sounds like garbage cans banging in the hall. A person dressed like a masked bandit, enters with my horizontal transportation to the world beyond.

I find myself being injected, with what seems to be fifty-eleven different kinds of wonder drugs. One is to start the pain, while another is to make me feel like I'm on Cloud 9.

I finally feel that familiar pang of labor begin. It's not going to be long now, I tell myself. Boy, did I get fooled!

I'm floating, like on a soft cloud, and way in the background there are vague noises. I have long wires attached all over my sweaty body. Every time I move there is an excruciating noise. There is a speaker, that monitors the baby's heartbeat, attached to the wires on my swollen belly. I can hear the constant beep, beep, beep through my dopey fog.

For what seems like eternity, I writhe in sweat and pain. I come and go, in and out of my little world. I speak, but no one seems to hear.

It's getting late and the doctor arrives like clockwork. If you don't deliver tonight we're going to stop you and start you again tomorrow. This guy has a sense of humor like Truman Capote, and kind of walks like him, as well.

He no more than waltzes out, then I feel this strange sensation in my womb. My God! The baby's coming and there's no one here! I grope the wall for the buzzer through this drug haze. Like a prayer answered, my husband comes strolling in. I talk, but he's not hearing me! Finally, he realizes that I am in dire need of a delivery room or he's going to play doctor!

He runs to get the nurse, who is in the restroom. She runs in and throws back the covers to confirm my suspicions . She then says to my husband, Would you like to see your baby's head?

I am whisked through swinging doors into a well-lit room that feels cool, like it's Fall inside. I am afraid the baby will catch pneumonia!

Pretty soon the wheels start turning and my feet are slapped and tied into cold stirrups. My bottom is exposed to the world. My gown is removed and I'm covered with a scratchy blanket. I guess this is to cover my modesty, which I lost somewhere in the not-so-private military hospital corridor.

My hands are tied and I'm given something like a gear shift to hold on to. I feel like I am a race car driver, getting ready for the big race!

I feel wet between my legs. I'm told to push hard and breathe deep. I just know that my insides are going to burst open at any moment!

I feel an invasion in my privates. It must be the size of a basketball! I'm listening for the familiar cry? It finally comes! Someone says, It's a boy! He is laid on my now flat tummy where I proceed to take inventory of all of his necessary parts.

He is pink and squirming. His skin is as soft as wet rose petals. Peach fuzz hair surrounds his head. I explore every inch and every fold of his precious naked body with my curious fingers. I am proud of this beautiful creation for he is indeed perfect.

After I am satisfied everything is intact, for both of us, I fall into my own little world, and sleep for what seems an eternity. It has definitely been a long, hard day for Michael Francis Fullenkamp Jr. and I.

English 101 Note: On my teacher's critique he wrote, Are you sure that this was all worth it? To that I emphatically reply, Yes! A thousand times, yes!

Grade: A