My Daughter's Name
Her name.
Angela Ruth Madigan Rich. Angela R.M. Rich. Angela Rich. ARMR – a strangely appropriate set of initials in these days.
Madigan is my wife’s last name. The wife did not take my name when we married. It’s no big deal. Neither of us wanted to hyphenate a last name, so we went with the double middle name. It ticks off her good liberal soul when I explain it to others as being, “like George Herbert Walker Bush.”
She is named Angela. Angela was my wife’s oldest, dearest, and closest friend. She died February 2001, under circumstances that seem like they were scripted by proponents of a national health care plan. She died from a brain aneurism after a hospital decided not to run the tests ordered by her doctor because she did not have health insurance. She had recently been laid off, and did not yet have a new job. Her doctor thought there was a problem, but the emergency room sent her home, saying to just take it easy for a couple of days. Her boyfriend found her dead on the floor of her apartment a night or two later.
Angela was a visual artist. She could draw and paint. She could build her own custom computer, and self-taught herself web graphic design. She was an incredibly creative woman. Her parents gave us several pieces of her sketches (some are in the nursery), some graphics programs, some beautifully painted metal miniatures, and the computer she had built for my wife.
She lived in Cincinnati, and while I had spoken to her many times I only met her once. We did not hit it off that time – my fault. I was unemployed and with a bit of an attitude and self-pity at the time. Not my best moment.
When the wife got pregnant, there was never any debate about what her name would be if it was a girl. The boy’s name was still unresolved since I favored Zaphod, and she preferred just about anything else.
Her middle name is Ruth. Ruth was my great-grandmother. She died when I was 12. Most of my memories are from when she was in a nursing home. Time and her life took its toll. She smoked and drank well into her 70s. I only learned stories about her life in recent years. She was a very independent, willful woman; a bit before her time.
She was born in 1900 in NYC. She was arrested at age 17 at Coney Island for wearing too skimpy a bathing suit (it apparently showed some shoulder). When she was pregnant with my grandmother, some relatives from the South were visiting her. They were discussing name options, because she hadn’t found a name she liked yet. One of the women told her that she couldn’t name the child Phyllis, because that was really a black name. Ruth, stopped and said, “that’s it.” That was how my grandmother was named.
When my dad was in high school (early 1960s), she bought their beer for him and his friends, and would occasionally suck a couple back with them. It’s an amusing story, now. If it happened today, she’d be in prison. When my aunt got married in 1972, she sat with my new uncle smoking and drinking whisky with him during the reception. She believed in enjoying life, and living it fully. I wish I could have known that woman, since it so reflects my own feelings.
My daughter will find her own voice -- her own style and direction someday. I can only hope that the names she carries serve as some sort of basis and guide.
The events
Wednesday, June 19, the wife calls me at work in the early evening. She asked if I was going to go to the gym. I said yes, then she told me that she thought I should come home instead. “Why?” “Because I’ve been having contractions.” Needless to say, I came home.
We were still two weeks away from the due date. The little things suddenly loomed. We had just finished the nursery, but had not yet packed the bag. She had not even had more than one contraction in a three hour period to that point. Our doctor appointment the day before indicated that she would not be showing up too soon. The wife was not even two centimeters dilated. Well we hurriedly prepared the bag, and then the contractions slowed then stopped as the evening lengthened.
Thursday, she did not have any problems, and went to work. The UPS guy stopped at our house with the new digital camera at 2:30, but no one was home to sign for it. It was supposed to go to the office. I had to get that camera.
Friday, June 21, we swapped cars so the mechanic near the office could do a transmission flush on the Saturn. Friday is my easy day. Usually done before noon. Got home to find that the UPS guy came at 11. Damn. Called UPS – got shifted to a couple different people as I begged, argued and pleaded – and got them to agree to re-deliver. Just after I finished with UPS, the wife called to say the contractions were coming closer (7-9 minutes apart) and lasting longer (almost a minute). She was leaving work early and coming home. Which would arrive first: the wife or the UPS guy? The UPS guy by fifteen minutes. The wife was dropped off, the other car left in the guarded lot at work. She re-started timing the contractions for an hour; now 5-6 minutes apart and well over a minute. I was trying to learn the camera and install the new software. Now 4:15 she called her doctor – the office closed at 4 on Friday. The call was referred to the on-call maternity ward physician at our hospital, who eventually called us and told us to come over to be checked out. Now after 5 pm.
Loaded the gear into the car. Called my parents to let them know what might be happening. Went to the hospital, left the gear in the car in case it was a false alarm (the bag is kind of heavy), they slapped a fetal monitor on her to measure the baby’s heartbeat and the mother’s contractions.
The doctor came in after some time – dilated almost 3 cm, definitely in labor, let’s break the water, send the husband downstairs to get the bags and call family. My parents weren’t answering, got voice mail. Leave message confirming this is not a drill. Call her family members. Keep getting answering machines. It’s around 7 pm. Husband returns with the gear, to find one of the nurses feeling the wife’s belly and saying, “uh-oh.” Seems when the husband was out, they broke the water and a lot of meconium came out with the fluid. They wheel in the sonogram machine. Focus on the baby. Baby is in total breech position.
Now things fly, the anaesthesiologist has not left yet. Catch her, she comes in and explains what she will be giving the mother to be. Nothing for me. I have to wait in the room while they drug and get her cut. They will let me in just before they extract. It is about 8 pm when they wheel the wife out, leaving the husband in his scrubs to await the go ahead to join in the fun. Only distraction, Indians-Expos interleague thriller on the tv. Phone rings in the room, my parents. They are leaving shortly to be there. Never mind that it is a 375 miles, 6 hour drive over the PA and OH turnpikes, this is their first grandchild!
Lot’s of pacing.
About 25 after eight, they come for me. I’m given instructions like Clarice just before meeting Dr. Hannibal Lector – do not approach the cell, do not make eye contact... The wife is strapped down and localized. She cannot see that she is cut open and they are just about ready. I can sit by her, but still watch the doctors and nurses work. There are 3 other people just standing and watching.
It begins. Ass first they pull. Another heave, the legs get free. Still pulling, the arms come loose. The head seems stuck. Three or four yanks and the head is still lodged in there. Finally one big hard tug, the head pops loose, followed by the placenta. The doctor, holding the baby, then slips and falls onto the wife’s legs. The baby is still held aloft by the stumbling doctor. The baby cries immediately. The wife felt slight tugs, but no pain and no idea just how hard, violently they were pulling the baby loose. I, on the other hand, kept mouthing, “holy shit,” over and over.
The 3 watchers spring into action. They take the baby to the other side of the operating room, place her under the heater, and being cleaning, scoping and unblocking the baby. They are huddled on all sides around her. We can hear her screaming and crying. The doctor tells me I can go watch. The wife nods for me to go.
I walk over, looking at my daughter for the first time. She is beat red, splotchy, screaming, crying, her poor legs in the breech position are flailing in the air, bent at the knees. They are wiping off the bodily fluids that nurtured and grew her in the womb. If she wasn’t my baby, she’d be the ugliest little thing. Instead, she is beautiful. It’s a moment where the tears fill my eyes, then subside. A moment I don’t ever want to forget.
Ah, that subtle bias
Clearly the BBC "presenters" are far more balanced and evenhanded in their dispensing the news of the day, as this
op-ed piece from BBC News 24 presenter, Gavin Esler:
Blair and Bush privately disagree over so many other matters. American trade protectionism and farm subsidies. Mr Bush’s weird Axis of Evil speech which demonised Iran, Iraq and North Korea at a time when the British are still hopeful Iran can be pushed towards democracy.
Well, I suppose you could call it weird since it didn't engage in euphemisms. Iran can be "pushed" to democracy? Right. All they need is a gentle nudge, not the complete overthrow of their despotic, terror-supporting, intolerant, repressive regime.
Arafat has now called fresh elections in January, and my guess is that despite his obvious flaws, the corruption of his regime, his lack of vision and courage, and his lack of popularity among his own people, thanks to George Bush’s cack-handed diplomacy, Yasser Arafat could be re-elected.
Way to acknowledge the flaws, Gavin. But, it's Bush's actions that will result in his reelection? Not, as you concede, "corruption of his regime" which might, just might... oh, I don't know... rig the election or something?
His Middle East speech has finally blown away the convenient fiction that Washington is even-handed. Instead, Mr Bush merely parrots the views of the hawks within his administration, Vice President Dick Cheney and Defence Secretary Donald Rumsfeld, and they in turn echo the views of Israel’s prime minister, Ariel Sharon.
There it is, the truth as known by Gavin. Israel controls the US!
In November, both houses of Congress are up for grabs. Jewish voters are particularly important in Florida, the state governed by President Bush’s brother, Jeb. But Mr Bush’s anti-Arafat stance also pleases Christian conservatives, a key constituency for the Republican party. Christian conservatives are staunchly pro-Israel. The Israelis are like Us, they say. The Palestinians are most definitely Them.
And they say anti-semitism is on the rise in Europe and the UK? Where could those thoughts ever be displayed?
Said without a trace of irony
An Egyptian spokesman issued this
statement:
"Egypt strongly supports the democratically elected Palestinian leadership and refuses any attempt to outflank it," Maher told reporters.
"We have told all that we support the will of the Palestinian people as it was expressed in the 1996 elections in which Arafat was freely and democratically elected," he said. "Next year's elections announced by Arafat will also prove so."
I will give the AP credit, for adding this line near the end of the story:
Mubarak's regime has also been criticized as undemocratic, so he may be wary of setting the precedent of ousting a fellow Arab leader accused of failing to meet U.S. standards for democracy.
I always wonder whether the reporter finds himself laughing at his own understatements with these dispatches, or just rolls his eyes.
