In the wee hours of December 18th, 1969, while the Southern California winter’s cool darkness lounged outside, Roberta got out of bed, walked around to my side, and shook me awake. A peculiar odor assaulted my nose and permeated the bedroom’s air. My parents had invited us to sleep at their house in case Roberta went into labor while I was at work. IT’S TIME! jumped up and down excitedly in my thoughts. I sat up forcing my body to wake up. I pulled back the covers, swung my feet out of the bed, and stepped into a large wet puddle.
“I think my water broke,” Roberta said. “I
thought I was peeing at first but the liquid keeps coming out.”
My mother came into our bedroom, heard what
Roberta had said, and ran back into the closet to grab a large blanket. I went
into the bathroom, dried my feet, threw some water on my face, and went back
into the bedroom to get dressed. The commotion had shaken my father awake. He
stood at the doorway and told me to hurry, but to drive safely. Roberta had
wanted to change out of her wet pajamas but my mother told her that she would
probably soak whatever she wore. My mother folded and then wrapped the blanket
around Roberta. She gave her another to sit on.
Adrenaline kept my eyes open wide as I
raced outside to open the car door. I helped Roberta get into the big yellow
1959 Chevy Biscayne with its wide rear “wings”. I said goodbye to my parents
who were standing by the curb as I closed Roberta’s door. I pushed in the
clutch, turned on the car’s engine, and turned on the lights. I drove in the
early morning winter darkness up the 605 freeway to the Kaiser hospital in
Bellflower. I parked the car near the emergency room entrance. We walked into
the emergency room reception area. “She’s having a baby and her water broke,” I
said to the first official-looking person I saw.
A nurse came in through a door behind the
reception area and asked Roberta a bunch of questions while the receptionist
kept me busy producing identification, showing proof of Kaiser insurance, and
filling out hospital forms.
I’m going to be a father, I thought over and over again as I filled
the paperwork out.
A nurse told me that she was going to take Roberta into the Labor and Delivery
area upstairs. They put Roberta in a wheelchair and left through a pair of
off-white doors.
When I finished filling out the paperwork,
the receptionist told me that I could go to the Father’s waiting room on the
6th floor. I ran to the elevator and shuffled my feet waiting for the elevator.
There was one other man in the Father’s waiting room. I went into the hallway
and asked if I would see my wife. “Oh no!” the nurse said. “No men are allowed
in the Labor and Delivery room. Didn’t they tell you that?”
“They told us that I couldn’t be in the
birthing room, but they didn’t say I couldn’t be with her before that.” I heard
a woman belt out a blood-curdling scream. My stomach did a somersault. I hoped
it wasn’t Roberta. It didn’t sound like her voice. I went back into the
father’s waiting room and paced the floor. Later that morning, a nurse came into
the Father’s waiting room and called my name. My muscles tensed with
excitement. “Did she have it?” My shoulders slumped when she told me that
Roberta would be there for a long time. They told me that they might have to
induce labor, so I might as well go home and get some sleep. I argued that I
didn’t want to miss our baby’s birth. She assured me that Roberta still had a
long way to go. I worried about her and felt that it was so unfair that she had
to be in there alone. I didn’t want to go, but the nurse was insistent, telling
me that I would be a better new father if I was wide awake. I was already wide
awake from the adrenaline, but I went home anyway.
My mother greeted me with a glowing smile
when I walked in the door. “What is it? A boy? A girl?” she beamed. “They sent
me home because Bertie has a long way to go,” I said as weariness sat on my
shoulders and pulled on my cheeks and eyelids. “I cleaned up the floor and took
off the blankets,” my mother said, “but Roberta’s side is still wet. Why don’t you
take a nap on the couch?” Sleep quickly overcame what little resistance I had
left.
I ate dinner after I woke up. I kept
looking at the clock as I ate dinner. I thanked my mother and then hopped back
into the car letting the neighborhood diminish in my rearview mirror. I
exceeded the speed limit because I didn’t want to miss our baby’s birth.
I walked back into the hospital and talked
to the nurse who told me to go back to the fathers’ waiting room. After a few
more hours, a nurse called me to the door. I followed her to another door on
the other side of the hallway. She opened it. A baby boy, my baby boy, lay
naked in the bassinet. He had a large clip attached to what was left of the
umbilical cord. I stared at our baby for as long as I could as they wheeled him
away.
Luckily there was a payphone in the
fathers’ waiting room. I was so excited that I misheard how big he was. I
called my parents and almost yelled over the phone, “He’s 36 inches long and
weighs 7 pounds and I can’t remember how many ounces!”
My parents laughed and my mother said, “We
know you’re excited but we know that the baby can’t be 36 inches long. We’re on
our way to the hospital.”
I went and stood in front of the baby
window and paced the floor once again waiting for the nurse to bring my new
son, our baby, into the viewing room. What’s taking them so long? I
wondered. A nurse finally brought our baby into the viewing room. Jeremy Eric
Montoya slept in the bassinet. I beamed and stared. Pride beamed and mixed with
a tinge of fear as it welled up within me. Wow! I’m a father now, I
thought.
