Goliath (June 1, 1969)

 Originally Published Dec. 2012

Everyone would ask, “So, when are you due?”  And, I’d always answer, “Well, I was due the middle of April, but I guess we miscalculated a little bit.”  It was the middle of May and I was beginning to wonder about our choice of switching doctors for the birth of our second child. 

Both Michael, our first child, and I were delivered by the same doctor:  Dr. Norbert Lilleberg.  My mom had difficult pregnancies and since I was born two months’ early and was a placenta privia baby that required a C-section, mom wanted me to have the best OB-GYN (Dr. Lilleberg) deliver my children.  And, so, that is what we did.

But – when I discovered I was pregnant with our second child, we had different health insurance coverage and we decided to just continue with the group of General Practitioners that we were then using.  Wrong choice!  You see, even though my doctor said my due date was April 15th, David Steven McGraw wasn’t born until June 1, 1969.

Michael was born three weeks’ early.  So, naturally, we thought that David would be born three weeks’ early.  We then planned on an end-of-March birth with Michael going to grandma’s while I was in the hospital.  So, his little suitcase was packed with winter clothes and snow boots.  We ended up sending him off with shorts and a swimsuit!

By the time the middle of May came around and the doctor was telling me that he didn’t see any sign of imminent labor, I was very depressed.  What was going on?  I was HUGE!  Norm was in a carpool and I had called him home – twice – to take me to the hospital.  Of course, both times he had not driven that day and had to take a taxi home from work.  And, naturally…. both times it was false labor.

We couldn’t plan on hosting a third birthday party for Michael with our whole family on May 30^th because we assumed I would be either in the hospital or just home from giving birth.  So, on his birthday, we gathered up our now three-year old son, his birthday cake, and a picnic lunch and went to Como Park to celebrate.

The biggest concern of all had nothing to do with my health or the health of our baby-to-be.  You see, my sister, Joanne, was getting married on June 14th and I was her Matron of Honor.  The bridal shop kept calling – weekly – to see if I wanted to come in for my bridesmaid dress fitting.  And, I kept putting them off.  What else could I do?

I know you are now thinking, “Did you or the doctor ever think of inducing your labor?”  Yes, I did think about it and I did ask the doctor.  He kept saying that my body wasn’t ready.  Hey!  It’s already the end of May!  Even if we were a month off in our calculations, this baby (or mini-elephant I would say) was at least two-to-three weeks overdue! 

On May 31^st, after another full day of riding over bumpy roads to “get something started,” I laid down on the couch to watch some TV.  At 11:30 PM, I heard and then felt a POP!  My water had finally broken – all over the couch, which, by the way, was still wet when I returned home six days later!

The contractions started immediately.  Norm ran to the phone to call his sister, Betsy.  Betsy was “on call” for middle-of-the-night duty to take Michael.  She only lived about six blocks from us.

I changed clothes and Norm grabbed my suitcase and Michael and off we went to Betsy’s and then the hospital – arriving a little after midnight.  The hospital called my doctor.  He must have been on duty that night because he came right away.  By the time the nurses had me settled in the labor room and Norm in the Father’s room, I mentioned that I already felt like pushing.  The nurse examined me and said, “Let’s go!”  I remember saying, “Go where?”  “Well,” she said, “let’s have a baby!”  Boy, this sure was going a lot faster than the first time.

She wheeled me to the delivery room and I pushed and pushed.  And, pushed and pushed.  And pushed.  The doctor finally told one of the nurses to press down from the top of my belly.  Out came another baby boy – at 1:03 AM, Sunday, June 1, 1969.  The doctor exclaimed, “You have a big Goliath there!”

And so, even though for 10-1/2 months we had been calling this baby either Catherine Mary or James Steven, I decided then and there to change his name to David.  The name, James Steven, was totally forgotten.  All I could remember was the doctor calling him Goliath and I just couldn’t see him living his life with that name.  Little Goliath weighed in at 9 lbs. 9-1/2 ounces and measured 22-1/2 inches long.  When I saw Norm later in the recovery room (dads weren’t allowed to witness the birth of their children in those days), I said, “Oh, by the way – I changed his name to David.”  And, after all I had gone through, Norm certainly understood.

A side note:  When Norm called Betsy to tell her that we had another baby boy, she said that she had a dream that we named him David.  He hadn’t even told her the name.  I guess it was meant to be!

Six days after getting out of the hospital, I walked down the aisle in a beautiful baby blue sheath dress holding a bouquet of white daisies.  And it fit!