MEET YOUR SON (Part 5)

I flew off in the back seat of an S-3 making a mail/parts run, piloted by a good friend of mine from flight school.  We launched early in the morning; by 1400, I was on the island, headed for a telephone.  The base had a trailer in which commercial satellite phones were set up.  The phones were like ordinary payphones, but operated with a credit card-like key; you bought increments of time from a nearby office, loaded onto the key, plugged it in, dialed a country code, and the phone number.  A little red numerical display on the phone counted down the minutes.  Satellite phones were a rarity then and expensive; a ten-minute block of time cost $100.  Though the phone trailer was open 24/7, the office to purchase time for the key cards was an 8-4 operation.

Satellite phone similar to those in the MWR trailer.  I was staring at the little red numbers in the display as the time counted down.

I bought a ten-minute card and called San Diego.  It was about 0300 there.  As I dialed, I thought it likely that the birth had already happened; I would just be catching up to the news, news delayed by the difficulties of getting word to the ship.  And besides, she would have her hands full with a newborn, explaining the delay.  The ringing phone was answered, to my surprise, not by my wife’s voice, but by her birth coach’s.  At 3 AM.  “Paul?  Oh my gosh, we’re on the way to the hospital--she’s going into labor RIGHT NOW!”  I nearly fell off the bench.  The coach held the phone to my wife’s ear, we spoke briefly.  She was in mid-contraction, which I’m told is not much fun.  A couple brief ‘I love you’s,’ and she was reduced to panting “Hee-Hoo-Hee-Hoo-Hee-Hoo,” at ten bucks a minute.

Going into labor.  Coaches and good friends were there at 3AM to take my bride to the hospital, and stay with her through delivery.  Navy families pull together in times of need  (though the wonderful friend pictured here was my wife's old roommate, and maid of honor at our wedding).

I spoke to her coach again briefly; she agreed she would talk to the hospital and tell them I would be phoning from overseas, so they would release information/progress about the labor to me over the phone, when I checked back later.  They had to go, now. 

As I hung up, I did some math.  A mother’s first pregnancy; we had been told to expect a long labor, and the figure, ’20 hours’ stuck in my head.  I looked at the clock--a little after 1500.  That meant around 1100 the next morning would be the heart of the envelope.   With the seven minutes I had left on the card, I would call back  to the hospital before going to bed to check in; I would expect to hear the final news the next morning, as we were preparing to get to the airfield for the flight back to the ship.  If I needed to get a second card in the morning, the office would open up at 0800.  Perfect.  

Now what?  Well...O’Club.

  

On back deck of Diego Garcia O'Club during a port call a few weeks prior to the birth.

It the days before routine deployment of carriers into the Arabian Gulf, Diego Garcia was the way-station for folks flowing to and from the Carrier Battle Groups in the IO.  On any given day there were a couple dozen personnel coming and going; transferring to or from the ships and squadrons in the Group, or technical experts sent to fix stubborn systems, or occasionally, official visitors on some important errand.  When they discovered they were seated next to a Sailor off the ship awaiting news about the birth of a child, they were very generous.  I couldn’t buy a drink.  By the time the club closed down at 2300, I may have been slightly overserved.  But...I was clear-headed enough to know I needed to stop by the phone trailer and see how it was going.

The first time I dialed the hospital and explained who I was and why I was calling, I was put on hold.  Click, six minutes left.  Click, five minutes.  I hung up and re-dialed.  Different operator, but this time she seemed to know who I was; it sounded like she said she’d connect me right away.  Well, that’s odd.  The phone began ringing, and I thought there must be a mistake--I was just looking for the operator to pass me info.  I hung up, and dialed again.  Click, four minutes.  Same operator, recognizing my now-irritated voice, and said she she’d put me right through to the delivery room, they were waiting for my call.  While my bourbon-addled brain was trying to make sense of that, a short ring, followed by the voice of the birth coach.  “Paul?  Oh my god, the baby is coming RIGHT NOW!”  

What?  In the background the sound of a mother working hard in childbirth, the sounds of doctors and nurses and coaches exhorting her to push! push! and the ‘Hee-Hoo-Hee-Hoo’ of her breathing in between the contractions and pushing and grunting and yelling.  Next the phone, held up to her ear--my gosh, if this doesn’t top all those heart-wrenching AT&T commercials about calling loved ones back at home, I don’t know will.  ‘I-love-you’s’, ‘I-miss-you’s’, and ‘wish-we-were-together-for-this’s,’ and Click, three minutes left.  The doctor was saying the baby had crowned, he could see the head, ‘one more big push to go,’ and she was at it again. Click, two minutes.

Now, we didn’t know whether the baby was a boy or girl during the pregnancy.  My mind raced ahead a bit--this was close, but I thought maybe it would be best to stop this call with a little bit of time left, and call back after a few minutes, so I would know, son or daughter, and we could talk after the birth was over. Focus.  Explain this fast and efficiently.  “Honey?  I’m calling from a satellite phone,” I started; "there’s less than two minutes left on the card, and the office doesn’t open back up until the morning...”

My wife misunderstood my intent--not sure why, as it’s not like she was focused on something else more important at the moment.  But she thought I telling her to hurry up, that I was giving her a two-minute deadline.  “HONEY,” in an exasperated voice from someone who is at the limit of her ability to make any sort of accommodation about anything, “I AM PUSHING AS HARD AS I CAN!” 

I laughed, and straightened out what I meant to say in a few words, and hung up.  

New arrival, a few minutes after I had been on the phone, listening from over 10,000 miles away.

When I called back about 15 minutes later, a lot of news passed in the two minutes left.  I was a father of a healthy son, who I could hear protesting noisily from time to time in the background as the nurses fussed over him, subjecting him to all the obligatory ‘welcome to the outside world’ indignities. 

My good friend Tyler, visiting in the hospital the next day.  He was the Michigander responsible for me meeting my lovely bride.

Certain moments in life change you forever, you can’t and won’t forget.  My wife and I would have two more healthy sons...

New dad in stateroom aboard ship, upon receiving the first photo of the new arrival in the mail, several days after the phonecall.