Читать книгу On the Goose - Josie Penny - Страница 12

First Born

Happy Valley was, to some degree, still a pioneer town when I arrived. The medical treatment facilities and conditions were fairly primitive in Happy Valley in 1961. There wasn’t a hospital yet, just a small clinic on Hamilton River Road. It was headed by a German nurse named Susan. Prior to Susan arriving, babies were born by midwives or by somebody who had the courage, strength, and knowledge of how to do such things.

We were just nicely getting settled in our new home, when a few days later I woke up with cramps. I don’t know why I didn’t think it could be the baby wanting to make its way into the world, but I didn’t. I never knew that hard cramps that lasted the whole night might be the birth of our baby. I didn’t wake Keith up, and suffered in silence all night long, thinking I’d eaten something.

Keith got up and prepared for work. I had to grit my teeth as the pain ripped through my body. Finally, as he was going out the door I said, “Keith, I have hard cramps in my belly. It could be something I ate!”

He stopped for just a few seconds before leaving and mumbled, “Maybe you should call Margaret.”

Margaret was his oldest sister, and I soon realized that she was my only support. I mustered up the courage to call her. There had been a telephone installed by the previous owner, so as soon as Keith went out the door, I picked up the phone and called my sister-in-law while in pure agony.

“Hi Margaret. Keith told me to call you.”

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“I have really bad cramps in my belly.” I gasped as another one hit so fiercely that I went to my knees. It was then that I realized what was actually happening. I was in labour!

A short time later, someone came by to bring me to a tiny plane waiting at the dock in Terrington Basin. I was immediately air lifted to the hospital at North West River, some thirty miles away. Through the agony of labour pains, I was admitted and wheeled to the birthing room. I was in labour for what seemed like hours, as the nurses and hospital staff kept me updated.

“How much longer, Miss?” I asked timidly. I felt uncomfortable with people in uniforms.

“Try to be patient, Josephine. It’ll be a while yet,” she replied.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, I was wheeled into the delivery room. The lights were blinding and I was in total agony. There was no epidural or any other type of medication to take at that time. I recalled being in St. Anthony Hospital in Newfoundland to have my tonsils removed and hearing blood-curdling screams from a distant room. In my curiosity I’d asked what was happening and was simply told, “Somebody’s having a baby.”

Now I could certainly understand why. Another thought came to me during my labour pains. I suddenly realized what my mother had endured. She had gone through labour fourteen times. I gained a new respect for her at that moment. She surely deserved it.

The following morning, on July 8, 1961, at 1:00 a.m., just eight days after we were married, our son made his way into this world. He weighed six pounds and eight ounces. Shortly afterward the nurse came into my room holding the most perfectly formed and tiniest bundle I’d ever seen. I gingerly unswaddled him and checked all his fingers and toes. With tears of joy streaming down my face, I checked his tiny head and face and every part on his body. My baby, my very own baby! Oh, the joy of it! I named him Keith Gregory. I loved Gregory Peck, and we ended up calling him Gregory because I didn’t want my son to be called Keith Junior or Junior.

At that time new mothers were kept in the hospital for seven days. During that time the hospital staff taught me how to care for him and breastfeed him and to burp him after each feeding.

“I know all that. I had a lot of brothers and sisters,” I told the nurse.

“Oh, did you now? And how many did you have?”

“My mother gave birth to fourteen babies, but only ten of us survived.”

“Wow! It must have been difficult for her,” was all she said.

Keith didn’t come to North West River to visit me while I was recovering, and I didn’t expect him either. He was working and couldn’t get the time off. The road leading to North West River was not yet paved and was in very bad condition. After seven days I was flown back to Happy Valley clutching my newborn in my arms.

Keith was beside himself with pride, but seemed to have trouble expressing it. However, it was evident as I laid our tiny baby on the bed how he felt. He sprawled onto the bed, scooped the tiny bundle into his hands, and stared at him for the longest time. What is he thinking? I wondered. By the look on his face, I could tell he was overwhelmed, as tears trickled down his cheeks.