At some point on Christmas Eve, 1965, my mother and father made their way to the hospital (St. Lukes in KCMO). Was it snowing and peaceful as they drove the short distance through the Plaza with the famous Christmas lights twinkling against a crisp winter sky? I don't know. All I know is that my mother and father were separated and that my father spent the evening in a smoke-filled waiting room with several other expectant fathers in various stages of panic. My mother was told that she wouldn't want to experience the birth of her first born child and she was anesthetized so that the doctors could literally pull me out of her womb. When she became conscious she had a beautiful little daughter all wrapped up in a christmas stocking. Isn't that cute? (bleck). I know my mom breast fed me for at least 3 weeks, but without any support or information, she gave up when I hit that 3-week growth spurt and needed to suckle more. She, like so many women, even today, thought that her milk supply was low or wasn't good enough and turned to the handy, high-class formula on hand. She didn't know any better and she wishes she had known. She was an excellent mother and very nurturing despite a remarkably un-nurtured childhood of her own.
The stories of my own birth impacted my eventual journey to motherhood PROFOUNDLY! "Birth must be so horrible that you have to be knocked out and your partner wouldn't even want to see such a gross thing" This was the sub-conscious message I received. That message fueled recurring dreams throughout my adolescence in which I would find out I was pregnant and the baby would die directly related to my fear of childbirth pain. !!!! Hello, anyone notice some foreshadowing???? Not me. Although I did attribute this "fear" and dream as playing a part in my struggle with infertility. Unfortunately I didn't give enough attention to that inkling of awareness well enough.
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