Daniel was born

{Welcome to Saturday Stories, a break from our Scripture-based daily devotional, a time where I share a story from life. Sometimes there is a moral to the story, and sometimes it is just a story. I hope you have a blessed Saturday}

40 years ago yesterday {January 12}, our second son, Daniel was born. He was anxious to get here, having his mother start with contractions in early November, five months into the pregnancy. Her doctor put her on medication to stop the contractions. It worked – sporadically. She spent a lot of November in the hospital, coming home for a while during Thanksgiving. December was much the same. Days in the hospital and holidays at home.

After the first of the year, it became even more intense. I had been promoted to a supervisory role at work. Because of the nature of the job – a lot of paperwork and scheduling – my boss allowed me to come in early and leave early so I could spend time at the hospital with Monica.

My days went like this: Up at 4 am to work. Finish my work by noon. Head up to St. Francis and hang with Monica until about 10 pm. Drive to our house in Owasso with a stop at Popeye’s Chicken for dinner along the way. Rinse/repeat.

On January 11, 1984, that is what I did. That night, after I arrived home, I thought I should call Monica and check on her even though I had just been at the hospital a short time earlier. We talked briefly and then I hung up the phone. At least I thought I did. When I set the receiver down on the phone cradle, which was next to a box of Kleenex, the Kleenex box held the receiver up high enough that the phone didn’t hang up.

I went to bed, falling into a deep sleep in a matter of minutes. What I was unaware of was that not long after my phone call Monica had gone into hard labor. She was trying to call me but couldn’t get through because the phone was off the hook.

Around 12:30 am, someone started banging on the window next to the head of my bed and screaming my name, “Steeeeeveeeee.” Needless to say, I was alarmed and wondered for a moment if I was dreaming or if someone was really outside my house screaming for me. Then, I heard it again.

I got up and went to the door. When I opened it all I could see was car headlights blinding me from the driveway. Then, Monica’s Dad came around the corner where he had been banging on my window {he tried knocking but I was too out of it to hear that}. He said, “Monica has been trying to call you. You need to go back to the hospital.”

So, off I went. When I arrived and walked into the room I sensed we were at a critical point. The nurse came in. I asked, “Have you called the doctor?” She hadn’t. I told her she had to. She reluctantly agreed. She came back a few minutes later and said that he said to increase the medication to stop the contractions.

I’m typically the guy who agrees to whatever doctors recommend. They are the professionals after all. I’m also not a confrontational or demanding person by nature. So, what came out of my mouth next was somewhat surprising, even to me. I looked at the nurse and said, “You go and call him back and tell him he needs to come down here and deliver this baby now. And if he won’t do it you find me a doctor who will.”

I don’t know if it was the look of determination on my face or something in my voice, or maybe she knew what needed to be done as well and just needed me to be the one to make the move, but she didn’t resist my demands. She turned and walked out, on her way to make that call.

Our doctor came not long after. He wasn’t happy about it, but he showed up. In a few minutes, we were all in the surgery room, a C-section was commencing and Daniel was about to come into the world two months early.

When they pulled him from Monica’s womb, it was clear there was a problem. In a matter of seconds, the room was flooded with medical personnel. Some were working on Daniel, others tending to Monica. I was a quiet bystander in the drama. Daniel wasn’t breathing. But in a few moments, the medical staff got his heart and lungs functioning and swiftly took him to the NICU, where he would stay for a couple of days.

Looking back, I am confident that I acted out of character and made demands I wouldn’t normally make because the Lord was working through me. I’m not sure what the outcome would have been had I not insisted that the doctor come that night and deliver him into the world. Thankfully, I did and the doctor did. Forty years later, we get to celebrate his fortieth.

Oh my, how has it been forty years?

I’m officially old.