Embedded Files
Maxine's Story
David
It has been suggested that the first child like the first waffle, ought to be thrown out! WELL! I can only say that I've never been sorry that we didn't! Not that I knew anything about babies---or raising a child, but with David we didn't have to know much---he just kind of came with his own agenda---right from the beginning---and I've been trying to catch up with him ever since.
It is not my intent to write my childrens' "life" stories---no---only to write a few facts about their birth, (since I was there, :-), and remember a little of what transpired. I hope that they will use their birth stories as a starting place for their own life stories. After all I owe that much to David---he wrote the first page or two of mine! And gave me the computer to do it with. So in a way he is responsible for not only my own life story, but also for any other directions this may go.....
Having a baby was the last thing on my mind in 1945. WWII ended abruptly in August, and my steady date, having turned 18 on July 4, was inducted into the Army. (The draft continued and the situation remained "wartime"!) I had a year of high school left, and graduated in 1946. On February 14, of that year, Hank, on leave from the Army, and before his overseas assignment, proposed to me (again), and this time I said yes---we were married shortly after his return home, on July 24, 1947.
I have no clear memory of ever having a clear conversation about having babies! There were such dramatic changes in our lives, taking place so rapidly---then suddenly I was married! Now we assumed that someday we would have a family---little did we know how quickly that can happen. This was long before the 'pill' was invented and birth control was not a subject for general discussion---hardly even with one's own fiancée---or maybe Hank and I were just too unsophisticated (dumb). In any case we soon found ourselves facing parenthood---and after the initial shock, realized that we were very happy about it indeed.
Pregnancy was not easy for me---nor was that first year of marriage. I quickly became so nauseated that I had to give up my job at Sears, and found life in the 'country' was very lonely. We had no telephone---only one car which Hank needed for work, and a husband who worked a lot of overtime hours.
I was 20 miles from my Mother, and much farther from my friends---the days were long and I found little to do. (We bought a two acre property with a one room house rather soon after we married, with the intent to build.) Housekeeping one room took no time at all---and I was bored and miserable.
Planning for a baby was the best part of my day. In 1947 there was no such thing as a disposable diaper---not the very practical (and now very popular) stretch terry sleepers---nor nylon or plastics. Nor any of the wide range of materials that we now take for granted. This was the post-war period---if you had a baby coming, you sewed---and the first thing to make were dozens of diapers. That is of course, if you could find a decent bolt of flannel cloth. Then there were the little gowns and sacques (sacks). They were flannel also, and trimmed with ribbons and even a bit of embroidery.
There was no way of knowing the sex of your baby until it arrived, so you just took your chances with color. Why I did most everything in pink, I do not know. I hoped for a boy first---probably because I always thought it would have been nice to have an older brother!
But pink it was---my Mother was very good at crocheting---and began to make sweaters and bonnets and booties---mostly in pink. We thought everything was sooooo darling! And PINK.
My doctor at that time was the only doctor in town---Dr. Ralph Bissett. He was a general practitioner and had been serving this area alone through-out the war---and according to the neighbors, was worn out. I had the feeling right away that I would want him for anything very serious (life threatening), but for just a comforting bedside manner, forget it! He smoked a cigar and was rather abrupt and casual during my appointments. I told him I was experiencing dizziness---his response---"well you're just a dizzy blonde", accompanied by a slap on my bottom! (At that time we hadn't heard how politically incorrect that was!) The awful nausea lasted about four months--- with no help from Dr. B. In spite of the sickness, I gained too much weight(about 40 lb.)---no problem as far as Dr. Bissett was concerned. It was a long winter.
My hospital was to be St. Vincent's---the old building in NW Portland---the very one that Hank worked on from time to time. There were no pre-natal classes---no tour of the hospital, nor was there any La Maz training. It was just me and my doctor and the hospital. Surely not Hank---husbands were restricted to the waiting room until everything was all over.
Somehow I recognized labor when it came, and we managed to get to the hospital, though all I really felt was a heaviness and a bearing down feeling---and fatigue. There were some initial preparations made and then I was told that I would be more comfortable with a 'shot' in my arm, and the next thing I knew I was awakened by a nurse who was kneading my stomach---the room was dark and she had a flashlight. She seemed glad to see me awake---and said "there is a note here for you", which she proceeded to read. "It is late and we have to leave---we got to see the baby and he is fine!" Signed 'Mother'.
And that is exactly how I learned that I had a son! After contemplating that for a while, I fell asleep again and continued to sleep for several days---waking only when nurses insisted. This was before the trend to cut back (or cut out) drugs---and I was drugged! Since I was familiar with many painful birth stories, I expected to have my own. It was with great relief that I realized how easy it all was---I never had a pain!
The date was April 25, 1948 and then I learned that since it was a Sunday, Dr. Bissett wasn't available and that my baby had been delivered by Dr. George Thompson, who had recently been brought into the practice to assist Dr. B.
When they could get me awake the next morning, I was presented with my baby---eight lb. and ten ounces, considered a large baby at that time. I remember no special reaction at all. This was all new territory to me---and I expect that I was somewhat in shock. With no experience at all, I hardly knew what to expect. He was soon whisked away and I went back to sleep.
Around 10 o'clock Hank appeared. Since it was Monday I expected him to be working---and was quite surprised and touched that he took the day off to come to the hospital! And said as much. His response was typical Henry Hansen. It was only years later that I saw any humor in it, (though he was dead serious) .... He said "Oh I didn't! The cow was bloated and I had to stay home and take care of her!" Well he did save the cow---and while I thought that to be the most unromantic thing I'd ever heard, he was there ---and he was pleased over his new son! His only contact with his baby was to be through glass---for the next eight days! Daddies could only look at babies---were absolutely forbidden to touch.
Now Hank was a natural born baby lover---and this was very frustrating to him---he wanted to get his hands on his baby---and there was no way! The hospital gave us a couple of days and then wanted a name! We both liked 'David Alan", and that was quickly decided on. There were no David's on Hank's side, though it was a family name on my side. The Sabin line ...
We had a problem---the nurses and I, not David! He wouldn't breastfeed---we cared about that, apparently he did not. One by one they came in and 'showed' me how to do it---then each in turn would recommend someone else who was an expert---didn't matter---this baby never once took hold of that nipple. He got his bottle feedings in between times and preferred them. This became more and more wearing on me. We tried so hard, every four hours, with no success at all.
The average hospital stay for childbirth in 1948 was about eight days. It was considered very daring to get out of bed much before that. On the fourth day I was allowed to sit up and dangle my legs over the edge of the bed---it was very exciting!
My room was a 'ward' with six beds---on the dark side of the hospital---facing the hill. (No view at all, except the hill, and called the 'snake-pit'.) It never stopped raining and it really was dark and depressing. The days stretched out. Visitors were only allowed in for a couple of hours in the afternoon and again in the evening. Then suddenly there would be a crowd! Several people around each of the six beds, with lots of smoking going on. If you were sick, it was a nightmare! Actually it was if you weren't sick. Somehow my eight days went by, but because Dr. B. failed to circumcise David on time, I had to stay an extra day. My hospital bill was $85.00 (babies were free) and my doctor bill was $80.00. We had no insurance, but had no problem paying.
After settling with the office, Hank was free to pick up his family. At that time our only transportation was a 1941 Ford pick-up---he had traded in our nice Chevy sedan. Since he wanted to do this with a little more class, or comfort, he borrowed a car. (probably the only time in his life he ever did that. Kind of learned a lesson too. He pulled up to a gas pump and said "fill it up"---and then realized too late the car had about a thirty gallon gas tank---at least that is what he said, it may have been an exaggeration!
I was dressed and ready to leave but it was up to the nurse to dress our baby. For the first time Hank was in the same room as his son---and he couldn't wait to get his hands on that baby!! But with repeated warnings, the nurse wouldn't let him get close. She was obviously a veteran, but with Hank, she had her hands full! He made a dash at the least opportunity--only to be blocked and warned away---he could touch only outside the hospital! It was with much relief that I was wheeled down to the car and we were loaded in---then he could hold our baby! I have written this before in another 'story', but it needs to be told here: On the way home David was fussy---and nothing I did seemed to help. At every stop sign or light, Hank. took him and soothed out the problem, then handed him back to me---all the way home! That was the pattern for several days. My Mother came to help me out, and she had the 'touch' too.
We soon realized that we had a really' good' baby after-all. If he got his bottles on time he slept well and we all settled into a routine. We had no knowledge of 'formulas' at that time, though there might have been something available. Dr. B.s recommendation was canned milk, watered down. David seemed to enjoy it, but managed to throw up most everything he drank. Never-the-less, he gained weight rapidly and my problem was to keep changing his clothing and keep him smelling like what I thought babies ought to smell like, Johnson & Johnson, not sour milk!
That wasn't our only problem though. From the day we brought him home, we realized our error in our choice of color! David was a redhead! With a redhead's complexion---furthermore he was about the most masculine looking baby there ever was! He looked like a little prizefighter! And we put him in those pink beribboned clothes! We (Mother & I) didn't know whether to laugh or cry! Well we laughed a lot in fact. But she took those clothes home and removed all the pink ribbons that she could. And we simply put some of the pink crocheted things away to await another baby---hopefully a girl!
Gma Viola & David ~ 1951
How long did it take for me to realize what a special and wonderful gift that baby was, and how much I loved him? Hank and my Mother knew it from the beginning. Well it didn't take long---I soon realized that this little guy had personality! Wow did he have personality---and a mind of his own---and a strong will. Mother had called him "Stubby", for stubborn, right from the beginning. He was such a happy fun baby---woke up smiling and ready to go wherever we went. We had no babysitters in our family for years---with the exception of my Mother. (Who wasn't very handy, living in Gresham.) We just went everywhere as a family!
We found another problem. We had no plastic in 1948. Diapers were flannel, and the only protection from the wet, was rubber pants. David seemed to have very sensitive skin---and got serious reaction from the rubber. Couldn't use them at all---we had an alternative, the 'soaker'! this was a knit pant, (heavy wool or cotton), pulled on over the diaper to protect from the wet. They weren't satisfactory at all. (Everything got wet.) The only solution seemed to be to keep him dry. Since I had little else to do, that was what I did---and soon he didn't seem to like those wet flannel diapers any more that I did. Also he would clearly let me know when matters were more 'serious' and seemed to be having trouble with bowel movements, or so it seemed---I began to remove that miserable diaper, and holding him over newspaper---we were all happier---he was clean and dry and hated those diapers and it wasn't surprising when he was trained easily by two years old---or earlier.
David ~ late 1950 or early 1951
He walked early too---at ten months he just took off---had never crawled, just pushed a chair around. We had no walker---nor stroller---we had a crib and a high chair and not much else. No car seat surely---we hadn't yet heard of such a thing---not seat-belts, nor any of the other clever contraptions to carry babies in.
He began 'helping' his Dad much sooner that. He was only a few months old when Hank declared that he and his son had to go get a load of sand! I lost the argument and off they went---David came back safely, but sandy, and with a happy Dad who just couldn't wait.
He got an electric train set at about ten months---when he could walk a bit, he got to help with the chores---and was given the responsibility of bringing in eggs. Usually there was a disaster on the way to the house, but Hank always said that's all right, he has to learn!
David & Pogo ~ 1951
His Grandpa Johns got him a little puppy who turned into just about the homeliest dog there ever was---Pogo! But also he was about the sweetest dog in the world. They became pals and had great times together. Pogo loved to ride---anything---and David had a little trike with a box bed that Pogo could sit in. As he got older and heavier sometimes it became hard to paddle---no sidewalks here---and David would get off, push the dog out, get back on his tricycle, then Pogo would jump back in, and off they would go---only to repeat the cycle.
We had little contact with other children at first, We had no other babies in the family---and no church affiliations. There were a couple of neighborhood boys and occasionally they were here, but mostly it was an adult world he lived in. (His friends were Mike Gillmor and Bernie Warner. There were other Gillmor and Warner brothers too, but Mike and Bernie were about his age.)
Wherever we went, David assumed that he was the center of attention. (And often was.) One time a stranger in a restaurant said to me "Bet you hope you don't have another one until you get him raised!" He was so full of energy and high spirited---loved life and anything it had to offer. We took him everywhere---went out of our way to see steam shovels---trains---boats---anything and everything. He was so fun!
At about two years of age we began to realize that our darling little boy hadn't yet begun to talk! Not one word! The Sands (our neighbors) had a daughter four months younger than David and she was reciting poetry---David hadn't yet said 'Mama"! We had no worry about his 'brightness' but thought he might be tongue-tied---or who knew what. But the doctor assured us he would talk when he was good and ready----and so he did, at about age two a half. His early language changed some of ours! House slippers became 'slipper-houses'. We ate cherry-pinalla ice cream and 'hangabers'. We thought it was so cute when we ordered him his first hangaber---we didn't realize what we were only just starting! David loved all foods. If it was new to him he couldn't wait to try it. None of that wariness and 'euchhhh' that is so common in children today---My son was fun to cook for! (I may have overdone it! :-) )
David related very well to adults---and was the joy of his grandparents lives! After he became older----young teenager---he told them that he would do anything for them that they wanted him to do---but he said---"don't ask me to pick those berries!" That was where he drew the line. Grandpa taught him to play chess, and loved to challenge him! Grandma taught him bumpo---or he taught her---the hours they spent, the three of them playing that silly game, are best not tallied. They became a problem for the rest of us, since that is all that they wanted to do---play that dratted marble game!
Being the first child in the family has distinct advantages---and disadvantages---but David filled his role without complaint. He got more of our time and attention---he got more responsibility. It is tempting to just keep writing---remembering your first child is so easy! We were focused on him---and everything he did was unique and wonderful! But his life is his story to write. He chose his own way---and never gave us any cause to worry---(well maybe those motorcycles, but that was much later). He was always quick to see where I needed help---and still is. He helped me raise his younger siblings---the best babysitter I ever had. He came to parents with everything to learn---and in so many ways he made it easy. Each of my children has a special place in my heart. David was and will always be 'first'!
Jackie & Dave
Pages 62 - 69
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