She was a tiny dynamo of a woman who worked in the field beside her husband, kept a garden, canned the produce, helped her neighbors, wore jodhpurs, made comforters out of worn-out clothes, and once used her shotgun to blow a hole in the screen door and the big rattlesnake that was climbing it. She was one of two sisters who married two of my mother's brothers.
When my mother went into labor seventy-seven years ago she was laboring at home, a little clapboard house at 610 West Mason St. in Odessa, Missouri. Aunt Vena, who lived on a nearby farm, came to help.
Dr. Martin, a down-to-earth general practitioner with a pot belly and a honking voice, was called. He came and went all day. The labor went on for hours and finally, about four in the afternoon, Dr. Martin determined that although its head had crowned and partially emerged, the baby was stuck in the birth canal. Turning to his black kit, he produced forceps, clamped them on the baby's partially exposed head, and pulled.
Mother was in bad shape. The baby was blue from lack of oxygen and judged to be dead. It was laid aside and attention focused on tending to Mother.
Luckily for that baby Aunt Vena was standing by the table where it lay. Suddenly she shouted, "This baby isn't dead! I just saw it move!" She snatched it up, put it on her shoulder and pounded its back until it drew a breath and began to cry.
That's how I began my seventy-seven-year journey through life, thanks to Aunt Vena. I always loved her, even before I heard the story of my birth. That, of course, made me love her even more. She was a remarkable woman and she saved my life.
When my mother went into labor seventy-seven years ago she was laboring at home, a little clapboard house at 610 West Mason St. in Odessa, Missouri. Aunt Vena, who lived on a nearby farm, came to help.
Dr. Martin, a down-to-earth general practitioner with a pot belly and a honking voice, was called. He came and went all day. The labor went on for hours and finally, about four in the afternoon, Dr. Martin determined that although its head had crowned and partially emerged, the baby was stuck in the birth canal. Turning to his black kit, he produced forceps, clamped them on the baby's partially exposed head, and pulled.
Mother was in bad shape. The baby was blue from lack of oxygen and judged to be dead. It was laid aside and attention focused on tending to Mother.
Luckily for that baby Aunt Vena was standing by the table where it lay. Suddenly she shouted, "This baby isn't dead! I just saw it move!" She snatched it up, put it on her shoulder and pounded its back until it drew a breath and began to cry.
That's how I began my seventy-seven-year journey through life, thanks to Aunt Vena. I always loved her, even before I heard the story of my birth. That, of course, made me love her even more. She was a remarkable woman and she saved my life.
4 comments:
LOVE this story too! Thanks for sharing this amazing story of survival!
Happy Birthday, Mother!
How come we never heard that story before! It's a wonderful beginning of life story.
We weren't declared dead but my sisters and I still have forceps marks on our skulls. Who knows how smart we would have been without them!
I've often thought the same thing, Linda, but if you were any smarter you would be an Einstein. My only apparent damage was to a nerve that affects vision: I see double images. They come together when I tilt my head, and that's how I get by, slightly askew.
Glory Be!
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