Remembering the birth of my daughter Julia

The Birth of Our Daughter Julia

Julia Rose Sanders Coughlin was my firstborn--at Central Baptist Hospital, Lexington, Kentucky, October 9th, 1982.

There was plenty of drama involved with the birth, as there is with every birth. We lived in Berea, Kentucky, about 40 miles from the hospital. I had just started teaching for the college. The night before our baby was born, Linda started experiencing pains in her thighs. They weren’t too bad, as far as I could tell. What I thought was suspicious was the regularity of these pains--every 12 minutes or so. Around 9 or 10 pm I urged Linda to call her Mom in Cincinnati. Her Mom told her to call Dr. James O’Neill, Linda’s ob-gyn doctor in Lexington. Dr. O’Neill asked Linda to time these thigh pains and if they occurred every certain number of minutes, to come to the hospital.

I think it was around midnight that we left for the hospital. Every 8-10 minutes Linda seemed to get these upper-leg pains. I remember that she had a strong contraction as we were driving over the Clay’s Ferry Bridge, a high bridge on I-75 between Berea and Lexington. I concentrated on the driving and let Linda handle the contraction. In my mind that was the safest thing I could do.

After about an hour we got to the hospital and Linda was admitted. That process is a bit of a blur, but what’s not a blur is where they put her. Linda was in a hospital bed in the hallway of the obstetrics ward (we attributed the birth boom to October’s full moon). Right near her was a woman who had been given pitocin to stimulate labor. That woman was screaming bloody murder. That could not have put Linda at ease!

After a while Dr. O’Neill appeared at the hospital and examined Linda. I remember especially how any kind of modesty or privacy was out the window as Dr. O’Neill and others examined Linda to find out how far the labor was moving along.

Dr. O’Neill seemed pretty satisfied with everything. Linda told him she didn’t want any anesthetic and he seemed OK with that. I remember that he seemed very relaxed, while I was like a cat on a hot tin roof. As Linda lay in the bed, Dr. O’Neill and I chatted about skiing, of all things. I think the chatting put me at ease.

In my mind the labor progressed pretty quickly and successfully. Then something strange happened.

Dr. O’Neill decided to break the waters (there’s probably a medical term for that). When the fluid came out, everyone seemed to gasp. Meconium. Then the fun and games were over and everyone got very serious. They wheeled Linda into what seemed to me to be an operating room (the original plan was to have the baby in the regular room).

The labor proceeded pretty quickly, Linda still doing well without anesthetic. And then, as we were getting close to the baby being born, Linda told me, “Tell the doctor that I want some anesthetic now.” So I found Dr. O’Neill and told him. He just laughed and laughed. “It’s way too late for that!” he said. And a short time later, the baby was born. I stood by Linda’s head during the birth. She did very well (and I did well--I’ve heard some new dads don’t). The baby seemed OK, though I can’t remember her crying. After the baby was born, I think Dr. O’Neill stitched Linda up a bit. The baby quickly was moved out because of the fear of aspiration of meconium.

Linda felt pretty good but we were both somewhat concerned about the baby with the danger of meconium aspiration and resulting pneumonia.

When Julia was brought back to us, we saw a dark-complected baby (like my Dad and my Grandma Cora Coughlin), with very dark-brown eyes. Her eyes seemed very intense and they looked like they were focusing on us. We decided to name her Julia Rose. “Julia” was my Mom’s sister’s name. And “Rose” was Linda’s paternal grandmother’s name--she had died shortly before the baby was born.

An odd side note: when the pediatrician who assisted at the birth, Dr. Mack, saw me he asked, “Does the baby have any Mediterranean blood?” What an astonishing question! Did he think Julia had African-American or Southern Italian blood? Was he questioning my paternity? We still get a laugh from that question of 36 years ago.

Linda did not like being in the hospital, got no sleep her first night there. She asked to go home as early as possible. But there seemed to be a hitch--Julia’s bilirubin count was too high. Luckily Julia was OK by the next day and we took her back home to Berea. A new life had begun for us. And although we thought we were well-prepared, it turned out we weren’t . . . .