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cubicles.

I winced once, and quickly apologized. After an hour of wincing, Chatty Cathy praised me as the best patient of the evening. From then on, I swallowed every wince, not wanting to lose my #1 status.

A couple of hours later, with my assertiveness training class 10 years into the future, I was apologizing for being there, apologizing for being alive, apologizing for apologizing. From what I could hear in the other cubicles, no one was challenging me for my number one spot.

Eventually it was my turn for the marathon race, on bed with wheels, down the hall to the delivery room. There were masked people there, supposedly for a germ free environment, but they weren't fooling me. They were concealing their identities for fear 6 hostile women would recognize them later, and seek revenge.

I even got my own mask, and instructions from a faceless voice to count backwards from 100. "100...99...98...97...

The next thing I knew, my spouse was squeezing my hand, with tears running down his face. I knew I had done well, and had good fortune, indeed, for our firstborn was a healthy baby boy!

We did give him his father's name; he was a "junior", for we were products of our time. We went on to have four more babies, all girls, and by the time the last was born in 1969, I'd been through assertiveness training class and insisted on natural birth, so I was awake for the whole miracle.

From 1961 through 1969 I had the opportunity to experience various methods of childbirth with my five babies and I learned the method does not really matter in the big picture of life. What matters is the beautiful, perfect miracle cuddled in your arms when all is said and done.

Babies are God's opinion life should go on.

Learn more about this author, Carol Gioia.
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