July 2, 1960. Walnut Creek, CA
when my mom was pregnant with me she went to the hospital twice, thinking she was in labor,
but was sent home. the third time the doctor, who she was in the church choir with, told her
“we’re going to have this baby if we have to blast”
the doctor gave my mom a shot to induce labor; the first time he tried he didn’t get a vein,
so he had to try again. my dad was watching from a waiting room on the other side of a
window. all of a sudden everything started to “go gray”, as he describes it, and he had to sit
down to keep from fainting. he put his head between his knees, because that’s what people
say you should do.
the doctor came out and told my dad they were ready to go to the delivery room, and asked if
he’d like to come. still feeling light-headed, and not sure he wouldn’t faint if he tried to stand
up, he declined.
the newborn babies were kept in a drawer that slid between the two sides of a wall; on one
side was the room the mother was in, on the other side was the nurses station.
when i was brought home my brother mike, a year-and-a-half old at the time, was not pleased.
his attitude improved with time.