Is there a piece of advice, a saying, a phrase, a word that your mother or other woman gave you that you keep to this day?
As I finished the last chapter of The Midwife, I found myself in a reflective mood. It is hard not to be after reading such a memoir.
I thought of how much women’s health care has changed over my lifetime – and of how much further we have to go, especially in underdeveloped countries and in countries where women’s lives are not valued and respected.
I also reflected on a gift my mother gave to me. I don’t remember the first time she gave it, just that she gave it again and again. It has sustained me through childhood, adolescence, my teenage years, young adulthood, and it sustains me to this very day.
I was born mid-century. December, 1949. A baby boomer who made her first appearance at the Presbyterian Hospital in Chicago. “The Press” was two blocks from our multi-generational two flat on the west side of Chicago. My mother and father walked, hand in hand, those two blocks when she went into labor. They didn’t have a car. Daddy didn’t even have a driver’s license. There was no need for one in the city.
The Presbyterian Hospital expanded and contracted over the last 62 years, as did its name. It is now the renowned Rush Medical Center. One of the finest medical facilities and teaching centers in the country. A multi-tiered parking garage sits on the block where our house once stood.
In 1949, the Presbyterian Hospital was one of the best of its era. There, my chin was stitched, as was my head. My sister and cousins were born there. There, my tonsils were removed, as were Dottie’s. A two-for-one sale if there ever was one.
It was there my father died.
My mother told me the story of my birth many times. Each time she told it, I felt I was given a gift. When I was sad or felt left out. When I was scared or angry. I heard it when I left for college and when I married. When I had my own babies. It was my story and her words were a life-long gift to me.
Ma told how she labored to give birth to me, taking in the gas and oxygen that was common practice then. My dad paced in the fathers’ waiting room, smoking Lucky Strikes, alone but for the other expectant fathers pacing the same worn path.
The obstetrician came in and quietly spoke to my father. Violet was in grave danger. The baby was breech. He could only save one of us. Who did Pete want him to save?
I can only imagine the pain and the angst this brought my father.
I was born a short while later.
My mother would tell the story of my father saying to save his wife, of his agony, and of my birth. A woman driven to tears by the simplest of things, my mother never cried when telling me this. She would smile a very sweet smile and her face would be as serene as the Madonna.
Then she would say that I was a miracle.
Do you have any idea what a gift it is to go through life knowing you are a miracle?
Of course, all babies are miracles, but my mom made me feel special with that single word.
Miracle
I like to hope that all parents tell their children that they are miracles, because they are. I remember Mr. Rogers saying that it is ‘you’ – talking to the children watching- that made your mother and father parents.
I just loved reading your words. Thanks for writing them.
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I do too, Nan. Ah, Mr. Rogers. He did say “you” and he said “I like you just the way you are?” He really was wonderful and kind. Thanks for reminding us of him.
Thank you. I’m pleased to hear it, Nan.
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Oh Penny, what a beautiful story. It may not have made your mother cry telling it, but it put tears in my eyes reading it! Let me add one thing to the story – gas and oxygen does absolutely NOTHING. I had it in the Coombe Women’s Hospital in Dublin when Eoin was born!
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Thank you, Janet. Sorry to bring tears to your eyes.
What? I’ve always believed that it was the “bees knees” in calming a birthing mother down. I’m surprised they still use it these days.
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They gave it to me while I was waiting for the anesthesiologist to come give me an epidural (only one anesthesiologist in the hospital on Sunday night, he was in an emergency delivery and he didn’t make it to me in time – Eoin was born within 2 hours). I remember saying through the mask, “This stuff isn’t doing anything, you’re not fooling me!”
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Oh, Janet, how frustrating (and painful) that all must have been. Good thing Eoin didn’t waste much time being born.
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Penny, what a miracle that you both made it, that your Dad and the doctors and God stepped in to pull you all through it together. I cannot think of a better word to describe your life and that experience.
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My poor dad, having to make that choice. He might the right one and it all turned out well. They were both such wonderful parents.
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Such a touching story, Penny and your mother was right. That was a miracle for all three of you and a wonderful thing to grow up knowing it.
My mother was fond of saying to us, Do your best”. Not that we would win prizes or be rich or famous, but do your best meant living up to your potential as far as you can. Not a bad maxim to live by. 🙂
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It was really such a wonderful gift to feel that I was a miracle, Perpetua. I was lucky and blessed in so many ways as a child.
Do you best. Such very sound advice, isn’t it, for doing one’s best is all we can really ask of anyone and it serves us all well. Thank you for sharing that, Perpetua.
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What a poignant experience to relate, especially about the word miracle. This brought many memories to mind. I was also one of those miracle babies as I was born in 1946 when my mother was up in years. I was unexpected, an only child with no cousins. I have no living relatives today. It was sort of a burden but a special one to be considered special. I was born in Davenport, Iowa far away from my grandparents in TN. My daddy also smoked Lucky Strikes and I’m sure he paced the floor.
Your history with the hospital is amazing. It certainly is one of the very best today. Much has changed in medical care over the years. When we left the hospital after a 2 week stay (now the stay is very short), a nurse was hired for a while to help out with my care!
My mother had a tart sense of humor and many sayings that I laugh about today that are still on target. She would tell me “don’t get tied up in knots” when I would worry about something. Some of the others are: it doesn’t amount to a hill of beans, he spends money like a drunk sailor, and one we use a lot, all the monkeys aren’t in the zoo!
I hope this gave you a chuckle.
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It must have been special in so many ways, Marilyn, though I’m sure you would have liked to have some cousins around. What a warm relationship you had with your mother, though, and it was good that she had a nurse to help her when she brought you home. Can you imagine that long in the hospital? I think young mothers could use a little more time these days with family often far away.
“all the monkeys aren’t in the zoo!” – Now that’s one I haven’t heard, Marilyn, and it did give me a chuckle. I’m sure an occasion will show up where I can use it and think of you. Thank you.
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What a lovely story. Thank you for sharing it with us. I learn so many inspiring stories from friends like you.
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Thank you, Sunday. I think most of us, especially you, have something worthwhile and inspiring to say and it is so wonderful to be able to share through this thing we call a blog.
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How beautiful and what a blessing to know that you were a miracle. I asked my mother to write down what she remembered about me as a baby, and I have a loving, precious letter that tells me how much I meant to her. I will treasure it always, and always be glad that I asked her to do this, so many years ago.
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Thank you, Juliet, and it really was and is a blessing.
What a treasure that letter is to you and remarkable that you not only thought to ask her to write it, but that she took the time to do it.
One of our gifts to each of our daughters when they graduated high school was a letter from each of us acknowledging their accomplishments and wishes for their futures. I remember it being such a double gift; to them, of course, but to Tom and I in the process of writing it. Thank you for sharing this, Juliet.
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What a special story. I never heard before that we almost lost you. You are indeed a miracle to your friends too. What I remember hearing from Mom was “Always be a lady.” What she meant by that was not that I was supposed to be a girly girl. Everybody knew that wasn’t going to happen. She said that a lady was always gracious and tried to make others feel comfortable. It meant sharing and kindness. A lady can help make someone comfortable in a bad situation. She doesn’t hurt anyone with words or deeds. A lady builds up those around her and tries to help others who have been torn down. My Mother truly lived being ladylike and has been an inspiration to me even all of these years after death.
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Thank you, Janet.
“Always be a lady” – and all that it means. Such timeless advice for any generation. Gracious, sharing, kind, helpful, uplifting, encouraging . . . I would say that your mother taught you well, dear friend, by words and by example. Isn’t it amazing how the lessons of our mothers are still being learned?
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Dear Penny, . . . my mom used to say to me whenever times were tough, “Dolores, you find what you look for. If you look for good, you’ll find it, and if you look for bad, you’ll surely find that too.” Those words have supported my philosophy of education and my belief in goodness all my life. They are her true legacy to me.
PS: I’m sorry not to get to your blog as often as I used to. I’m working on a project and so I’m shepherding my time.
Also, I wanted to tell you about the book “The Orchid House.” I don’t remember if you recommended it to me, but it’s a good read. A literary romance and historical novel that spans the years between WW II and today. I read it this past weekend and thought you might enjoy it. Next to “The Midwife,” it’s not a demanding read, but maybe that would be a good thing right now. Who knows!
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” . . . you find what you look for. If you look for good, you’ll find it, and if you look for bad, you’ll surely find that too.” Isn’t that wonderful, Dee, and so true? I know your mother’s words have served you well.
Please don’t worry, Dee. I’m not getting around blogs, or commenting, as much right now either. I like the use of the phrase “shepherding my time” as it seems like that is what I am doing as well. Come visit here as you can, and I will do the same. Okay?
Thank you for the recommendation of “The Orchard House”. It wasn’t my recommendation, but, I will put it on my list as your recommendation. Sometimes we need lighter reads, don’t we? I’m almost through “Sarah’s Key”, our book group read, and it is a compelling page turner, but not light at all as it deals with the Holocaust.
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What a treasure chest of memories you have of both your parents, Penny! I can’t imagine a better thing for a child than to be repeatedly told they are a miracle! It makes me think that it’s never too late to be sure we find a key word or sentiment that is repeated often to our children and grandchildren so they will never forget it! What a very touching story. Really lovely! Debra
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I do, Debra, and am fortunate in that and grateful for my parents and what they gave me. Isn’t it a wonderful thing to tell a child? No, it is never too late to share a word with a child or a loved one. Thank you, Debra. Hope your dad is recovering and feeling good to be at home.
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Beautiful Penny! Just so lovely.
I started reading “Midwife..” yesterday and am a quarter of the way through it; thank you so much for the recommendation, I am loving it!
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I’m so glad to hear that, Sallie. It’s a pretty fast read, but, lots to digest. Enjoy.
Thank you!
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Wow, Aunt Penny! I never knew that story. How terrifying- and how much more common that used to be in our country, and still is around the world, that childbirth can be a life or death experience. I’ve reflected more than a few times that I don’t know if I would have survived the birth of my 2 10-pounders in another time or place- or if they would have either.
Oh, sending your parents spiritual hugs…
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I’ve come to appreciate this story more and more as I’ve gotten older, Heather. Thank goodness for the care you had when your darling boys were came along. You really should try to get a copy of The Midwife. I posted it a few blogs back. With your interest in anthropology, I think you might find it very interesting.
I’m sure my parents are welcoming those spiritual hugs, Heather.
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