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 . . . .

How I Met Linda

Linda and me, May 1978. Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

Linda, May 1978. Smokies.

Sorry about the font size below--I'm having a strange technical problem]

How I Met Linda Sanders

In the fall of 1976, when I was 28 years old, I was living in a $40/month apartment on Hollister
Street near the University of Cincinnati. I had been able to get a Teaching Assistantship
in the College of Education. I would teach two sections of “Reading and Study Skills” and
would tutor students in English classes. For this work, I would get my tuition paid for graduate
courses in Reading Education--and I would get a enough income to pay for my apartment.
It was slim pickings, but I had learned to live on very little money. I had one other gig--working
about 10 hours a week in the University of Cincinnati library.

That fall I took 4-5 courses, including a great course, “Psychology of Reading,” taught by
Linda Amspaugh. That class consisted of about 20 girls and two guys--me and Bob Moore.
During the semester we often met in small groups in class and had lots of opportunities to
speak in class and to listen to our classmates. I liked the idea of being in a class with so many
women. I had attended a high school with 2000 boys and no girls (St. Joseph High School),
and a college with 7000 guys and no girls (the University of Notre Dame). These experiences
left me a little stunted in knowing how to talk to girls--to say the least!

As the semester went on, I began to notice a girl in the class, Linda Sanders (didn’t learn
her name right away). She was very pretty and somewhat shy. Sometimes she’d come to
class late from her job as secretary in the Health and Physical Education Department. When
she was late, her cheeks would turn a bright crimson. At the end of the semester I began to sit
near her and talk to her a bit both inside class and after class. But I still knew very little about
her, and when the semester ended I thought maybe I wouldn’t see her again. Except--at the
end of the semester, many students in the class asked Linda Amspaugh to teach another class
and keep the group together. Most people promised to enroll in “Sociology of Reading” for the
winter/spring semester.

Christmas Break and January were incredibly cold--the coldest weather in Cincinnati history.
One day we even hit a record of -24 degrees Fahrenheit. My apartment was so cold that I could
not keep warm unless I got into my sleeping bag. That winter was memorable for a couple
reasons . . .

I did enroll in Sociology of Reading, and luckily Linda Sanders also enrolled. Again, Bob Moore
and I were the only guys, ha ha (and by the way, for a while Linda thought my last name was
“Moore”). As the semester progressed, I unconsciously found myself sitting next to Linda most
of the time and talking to her often after class. We even began running into each other in odd
places--like in the stacks of the UC library--a real bizarre coincidence considering the location
of stacks, deep in the bowels of the library.

As the semester went along, Linda would often offer me a piece of hard candy as we left class
or took our mid-class break. One day she didn’t mention any candy, and I jokingly asked her,
“Where’s my candy?” Then, in a move totally uncharacteristic of me, I thrust my hand into the
front pocket of her khakis and grabbed a piece of candy. Neither of us could believe I did that,
but we both laughed at that spontaneous move.

On day in early March, Linda asked me if I’d like to come over to her house for a soup-bean
and corn bread supper. I enthusiastically said yes. When she told me the day (a weekday night,
maybe a Thursday), I told her, “Oh no, I have something going on that night.” What was going on
was that I had a date with another girl to go to Hap’s Irish Pub to hear Malcolm Dalglish and
Grey Larsen play music. I had very few dates in those days, and to think this is when Linda
asked me to come over. Finally I told her, “I can come over but I’d have to leave by 7:30. Would
that work?” She said it would.

So I went to supper at her house. I can’t remember who else was there. Maybe her roommate
Mary Ann Hageman. Or her brother Steve. It was a nice time and a nice modest supper. At 7:30
I said goodbye and left to go to Hap’s Pub with another girl.

Another time during the month of March 1977, we heard that Malcolm Dalglish and Grey Larsen
were going to play music at Jim Tarbell’s bar, “Arnolds,” on 8th Street near Downtown Cincinnati.
Linda and Mary Ann Hageman were going to go there, and I said that I could meet them there
after I got off work at the University of Cincinnati library. So I worked until 7 or 8 o’clock, and then
ran down Vine Street hill, about two and a half miles, all the way to Arnolds’ Bar and Grill, where
I found Linda and Mary Ann. Luckily they gave me a ride home in Linda’s VW bug later that
evening.

I had supper again with Linda later that month at her apartment on Clemmer Street. This time her
Mom and Dad were there. I got along great with her Mom and Dad, and at some point Linda’s
Dad said to me,” We’re going to Mammoth Cave over the Easter weekend. Want to come with
us?” Linda and her Mother were gob-smacked when Art Sanders asked this. He hadn’t
consulted with them at all! Anyway, I immediately said, “Yea, I’d love to come with you.”

Around the middle of March, during a warm spell after the bitter-cold winter, Linda and I ran into
each other again in the library. Then we went outside and sat on the hill in front of McMicken
Hall where I had seen a circle of crocus in bloom. There, we sat in the middle of this circle, and
kissed each other for the first time. [January 2019]

[to be continued]

New Year's Resolution: Build a New World!

New Year’s Resolution

When I awoke New Year’s Day,

I picked up my fiddle and tried to think of a good tune to begin the year.

An old song popped into my mind.

The Seekers, an Australian folk group, 1965,

“I’ll Never Find Another You.”

It was the first line that jumped out to me:

“There’s a new world somewhere . . .”

That’s what I want, that’s what we’ll work for.

Let’s dedicate this year to creating a new world,

of justice and truth, fighting for those who have so little,

those on the margins, on the frontiers.

And like the authors of the American Declaration of Independence,

let us pledge our lives, our fortunes,

and our sacred honor to this task.

The lies, the darkness, the astonishing mean-spiritedness--

they’ve had their day. And it’s done.

A New World is come.

Bob Coughlin / January 6, 2019, Feast of the Epiphany

Here's a performance of this song from 1965

It's Too Damn Quiet and Still . . .

The Night too Silent . . .

now that the grandchildren have gone home.

The manger sits there static and over-organized.

The sheep, the donkey, the cow

haven’t moved in days.

The Three Wise Men just stand there, mid stride,

waiting for Robby or Colin to stuff them into the manger attic.

Mary and Joseph--

who Robby says is “God”--

stiffly gaze

at the new babe,

waiting for Ava and Lilly to show them

how babies really like to play.

We are a bit sad that the chaos, the joyful noise

of Christmas, has quieted into a

too still and silent night.

Can’t wait for the kids to come back

and reorganize, re-energize the scene,

bring their crazy joyful noise and dancing

once again.

Bob Coughlin / January 6, 2019

Christmas in Jail! (2014)

Four years ago:

Last evening Linda and I, and many of my friends from St. Marty's Painesville (Dan and Kathy Philipps and their daughter Alyssa; Kathy Flora; Mary Ann Ratchko-Gamez and her husband Feliciano, and several others) spent the evening "con-celebrating" a Christmas program for inmates of the Lake County Jail. Mary Ann brought her flute and Irish whistles and was accompanied by Alex on keyboard and her husband Feliciano on guitar. There were about 6 or so singers, some I recognized and some I didn't know, including a St. Mary's woman (Allison?) who sang a beautiful solo. There were also representatives from a number of other religious communities, St. Noel's, St. Gabe's, St. Anthony's, Kirtland Unitarian Universalist, a Leroy congregation, and several other Protestant congregations. Fr. Mark Riley of St. Mary's took the lead role (but involved everyone).

Lake County Jail (summer photo)

The sessions began as the prisoners ushered in. In the first session (of three), there might have been 30 to 50 women, mostly young, overwhelmingly white. They looked like our daughters, sisters, neighbors. They looked like us (and that really made us think!). We began singing together some popular (and maybe a bit corny) Christmas songs, but the inmates loved it! They particularly got into "Frosty the Snowman," thumping the floor and sitting pads vigorously when the time came. We moved into some more religious carols, led off by "O Holy Night" by our soloist. It was spectacular. Then we sang together several songs, including "Silent Night," one verse sung in Spanish. My favorite was the song "Peace Child." I will try to find a Youtube version of this song and post it later.

Part of the evening involved each of us bringing strips of cloth to a rough wooden manger, to make a comfortable bed for the Baby Jesus. It was moving to see some of the tough men do this. Father Mark asked us to put our hands over our hearts, and to prepare room in our hearts for grace, for the newborn Jesus. We did that--we made room. Father Mark said, "This visit to you is the most important thing I will do this Christmas." It was true for him, and true for all of us!

At certain points, some of the inmates began to cry--at the beauty of the music, at the touching scene making the rough crib comfortable for the baby Jesus, for the heartbreak of being in jail on Christmas.

Believe me, we were as moved and as grateful as the prisoners. We came to do a Work of Mercy, visiting those in prison (as Jesus once was!). What was amazing is how we felt the prisoners had done something for us!

P.S. The final song of every session, after the solemn hymns, was a vibrant version of "Feliz Navidad," led by Feliciano Gamez on guitar. It was so joyful that many of the women and men began dancing to the tune. It was a wonderful way to end the evening.

The Indigo Girls sing "Peace Child":



Lyrics to "Peace Child"

Peace Child,
in the sleep of the night,
in the dark before light
you come,
in the silence of stars,
in the violence of wars--
Savior, your name.

Peace Child,
to the road and the storm,
to the gun and the bomb
you come,
through the hate and the hurt,
through the hunger and dirt--
bearing a dream.

Peace Child,
to our dark and our sleep,
to the conflict we reap,
now come--
be your dream born alive,
held in hope, wrapped in love:
God's true shalom.

Songwriters
ALLOCCO, JACK / KURTZ, DAVID / (WRITER UNKNOWN), TRADITIONAL

Published by
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Poem for Little Ava, Age 2 years 4 months

Nani Has Two Shoulders, Ava

You come in crying, saying, “I want Nani to hold me,

I want to sleep on Nani’s shoulder!”

Don’t fret, Sweetie Pie, don’t be jealous

Because your baby cousin Lilly is sleeping on Nani Linda’s shoulder.

Nani has room in her heart

And on her shoulders for Lilly and you . . .

And really for many more.

Don’t fret, pretty Ava.

        [Bob Coughlin December 27, 2018]

A Little Poem for My Granddaughter Lilly

Lilly Watching the Birdies

Lilly, thirteen months, sits at the window

Watching the winter birds

With great focus and interest.

“Dat,” she says, pointing at the black-capped chickadee,

“Dat,” again, for the junko and then the bluejay.

I want to show her the bright-red cardinal,

The robin, the downy woodpecker.

All the bird wonders of Chardon, Ohio

This little corner of the world,

Her grandparents’ home . . .

(Bob Coughlin / December 26, 2018)