Waiting: One Wife's Year of the Vietnam War

Chapter 29

{Chapter 29} “I think we need to talk about this baby,” Susan announced one night during the first week of November as we walked into the living room after dinner. Her tone sounded ominous, and I prepared myself for concerns she would voice about an infant in the house. “What exactly do you know about giving birth?” She leaned forward from her corner on the couch and awaited my response. I shrugged. “I think it happens no matter what I know or don’t know.” I didn’t feel as cavalier as that sounded, but I had been pregnant so long that I had lost sight of the reason for it all. “Linda,” Susan said, taking a deep breath, “you do realize your baby is due in less than a month. Don’t you think you should be more prepared?” I squirmed, as much from her words as from the kick the baby gave me. “I’ve still got lots of time,” I assured her. “Less than thirty days,” she countered. “In fact, isn’t it true that the baby could come early? Like in two weeks or so? Shouldn’t you take some kind of childbirth classes? I’m really worried about you.” Her words were hitting the mark, splashing me with guilt. Since returning from Hawaii, I hadn’t been interested in anything, even the baby. Lethargy had taken possession of my soul and I hadn’t even put up a fight. “You’re right, you’re right,” I agreed quickly, hoping to change the subject. “So what are you going to do about it?” she pressed. I threw up my hands. “I don’t know. I don’t even know where to find out.” [208] chapter 29 “Call the Red Cross. Surely their local chapter holds classes. Or maybe Letterman.” I unenthusiastically agreed, calling Letterman the next day only to learn I’d missed their November class. As displeased as I was with the Red Cross, I registered for their childbirth orientation class at a community college not far from the house. I was more than reluctant. I didn’t want to go out alone at night, and more to the point, I didn’t want to go alone, period. This commitment was forcing me to confront the reality that I would be going through labor alone, too, a fact I wasn’t ready to accept. Nevertheless, one night a week later I trudged to a hollow classroom building with three couples and an “instructor.” Feeling woefully out of place as the only unescorted mother-to-be, I sat with arms folded while the other couples held hands and made reassuring noises to each other. When the instructor introduced herself by saying she was there to show us a film that would explain everything, I was relieved that discussions were not to be part of the evening’s activities, as I had no inclination to share social chit-chat and exchange body-parts stories with these strangers. I relaxed a little as she lowered the lights and flicked on the projector, my last good feeling of the night. The grainy film and the syrupy voice of the narrator were an ominous foreshadowing of action to come. I should have departed when I got my first glimpse of the couple whose trek into parenthood we were about to witness—in bright and graphic color, no less. The woman was middleaged , obviously obese before her pregnancy, and the man was repugnant. With no compassion for either character, I watched as the filmed labor began. The woman positioned herself on all fours on the floor and rocked back and forth. Then she stretched out on the hospital bed where she played cards with her spouse as they watched the clock together. Periodically , she would wince and grimace for a time before relaxing and discarding another card. Beyond that I blocked out most of what I saw—as much as I could anyway. I was not interested in the gory delivery room scenes. Susan was waiting for me when I returned home. I told her about the class in graphic terms, ranting and pacing the living room as I described what an affront the film had been to all things natural. Susan watched me intently, though amusement danced at the corners of her mouth. November 1969 [209] “The woman really got down on all fours when labor started?” Susan...