Caro's Story
Begun on Feb. 8, 1998
- Part 10 -
Sept. 20, 2006
An abortion? No way! I knew that this child would be a boy. Buddy would be thrilled, because girls were in abundance throughout his entire family. Boys were a rarity. In addition to that, for me, abortion was wrong.
Dr. Yarbro had a fit when I told him that I wouldn't consider an abortion. He gave me a litany of the reasons I should have one. The main concern was the danger of trying to bring a baby to full term, when my uterus was so badly damaged from prior pregnancies and deliveries. I told him that I understood, but that I knew that both the baby and I would be just fine. I truly DID know that. I had to see the doctor once a week for the duration of my pregnancy.
When I told Buddy that this baby would be a boy, he looked at me in disbelief. Shaking his head, he said, "How can you possibly know that?"
"Didn't I accurately tell you the gender of our girls?", I asked.
"Well, yes, but you were only guessing."
"Was I? Does it make sense that I guessed correctly three times in a row?
"You really knew? How?"
"I don't know how. Perhaps because they were in my body and I felt so connected to them. I just know that this child is a boy."
Throughout this pregnancy, Buddy treated me like a queen. When I felt the first flutter of life, I knew I had made the right choice. As usual, the first trimester was spent in bed or on the couch.
Mama was a Godsend. She spent nearly every day at our house, taking care of the girls, doing laundry, cooking and cleaning. She would leave when Buddy came home from work, then he would take over. Poppy was wonderful to put up with her spending so much time with me.
One evening, I asked Buddy (for the umpteenth time) about a name for the new baby. He had always left the naming to me, but I wanted his input this time. He automatically started to list girls names.
"Those are fine names, Buddy, but you haven't mentioned even one boy's name."
"Do you really think it's a boy?", he asked.
"I don't think it. I know it."
"Well, how about Robert Edward Clark, Jr.?"
"I'm not keen on juniors," I said, "but what about using the same initials?"
Well, he hemmed and hawed and said he didn't know. He said he's think about it and we'd talk another time.
A few more weeks went by before I brought the subject up, again. I hated being pushy, but I wanted him to have a say in naming his soon-to-be-born son.
"You've had several weeks to think about a name for the baby," I said. "What have you come up with?"
"I don't know. You do it."
"All right, then. I have the perfect name. Cornelius Cassius Clark. We'll call him 'Corny,' for short. Corny Clark. How does that sound?"
He stuttered, sputtered, and said, "Don't be ridiculous!"
"Well, help me, then," I said.
"You said something about using the same initials. We should keep Edward as a middle name. My great-grandfather, my grandfather, my dad and I all have Edward as our middle name."
"That sounds fine," I said. "Instead of Robert, Jr., how about Randell?"
"Randell Edward Clark has a nice sound to it," he answered. "We can call him "Randy," for short. Yes. Let's use that name, if the baby is a boy."
My "due date" was suppose to be Nov. 2, but the day came and went without so much as a twinge. The baby had put his arm up over his head and had blocked his exit through the birth canal. After a week, he did move his arm out of the way, but still wasn't ready to be born. On Nov. 12, Dr. Yarbro told me that the baby was much too big and that he would have to induce my labor. I was to be at the hospital at 7:00 a.m. the next morning. Mama took the girls, so we could go without having to drop them off at her place.
During the last trimester of my pregnancy, the doctor told us that I should sleep in another bed so that Buddy wouldn't disturb my fragile pregnancy. We had set up a bed for me in the nursery, which was right next to our bedroom. That night, I went to bed as usual and was awakened by a "pop." My water had broken and flooded the bed. I pounded on the wall to awaken Buddy, shouting, "The baby is on his way. Let's get to the hospital."
I heard thumping and bumping. Buddy hopped down the hallway trying to get his leg in his pants. I told him that my water had broken and that sent him into a panic. He helped me get dressed, threw me a towel to stuff between my legs, and grabbed my suitcase. Out the door we went.
He ran every red light between our house in Lynnwood and Northwest Hospital, which was in north Seattle.
He kept repeating, "Where are the cops when I need them?"
He was so afraid that he would have to deliver his own child. He wanted a police escort to the hospital. Nope, not a patrolman anywhere near.
We pulled up to the emergency entrance and Buddy went running for help. After a quick examination, I was taken to a labor room. It wouldn't be long before delivery. Luckily, Dr. Yarbro was in the hospital. I thought that was a miracle, since it was after 4:00 a.m. Wouldn't you know it? He was delivering another baby.
Labor pains were coming fast and furious, so the labor room nurse told me to pant like a dog. And, above all, "DON'T PUSH!" Right. That's like telling a freight train to stop on a dime. She told Buddy to go to the Father's Waiting Room, as she and another nurse were pushing my bed out the labor room door.
I was wheeled into the delivery room through one door and Dr. Yarbro came through another. Randy was born on Nov. 13, approximately an hour and 45 minutes before I was to have had my labor induced. Dr. Yarbro told me that there would be no more babies. My uterus was far too damaged and I had lost a lot of blood.
I wish I could have seen the look on Buddy's face, when the nurse told him that he was the father of a fine, healthy son. She told him that it had been a difficult pregnancy and delivery, so I would have to spend some time in the recovery room. He would be able to see me there.
He didn't take the time to go to the nursery to see the baby, but came right to the recovery room. His skin was ashen. Tears streamed down his face. The recovery room nurse pulled a chair near to my bed and made him sit down.
"I thought I'd lost you," he said.
"Didn't I tell you we'd be all right?," I asked. "Have you seen our son? I'm hungry."
Having said that, I promptly fell asleep and slept until afternoon. I slept so soundly that I didn't stir when they moved me to my regular hospital room. Upon awaking, my first thought was of food and lots of it. I was ravenous.
When Buddy came to see me that evening, his eyes were shining and he was grinning from ear to ear. He was holding a bouquet of yellow tea roses and a box of three baby rattles: a baseball glove, a baseball, and a bat.
"I am a very happy man," he said. "I have a gorgeous wife, two beautiful daughters, and now, a son. I couldn't ask for more. Thank you. Thank you for giving me this wonderful family. But, I want you to know something. If I had lost you, life wouldn't be worth living. Not even for the children. I want to be the best husband and father that I can be. I love you. I love all of you. I'm so lucky to have such a fine family. My parents didn't care about us kids. We had to take care of ourselves and each other. It will never be that way for our children. I know we won't be able to have any more. The doctor told me. That is fine. We have all we need."
The next evening, while Buddy was visiting, Dr. Yarbro came into the room and sat down next to the bed. He told us that my uterus had been badly torn, which is why I had lost so much blood. He wanted me to take it very easy when I went home and build up my strength, for in January I would need to have my fallopian tubes cut. He did not want to take any chances on another pregnancy.
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Part 1
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Part 11
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