A Christmas Baby, by Johanna Wishart; An Edmonton mother's memoir

Johanna Wishart remembers the birth of her second child at the University of Alberta Hospital in 1952.

When my Canadian husband, Vern and I crossed into Alberta at Cardston, I was filled with excitement as to what awaited us in Edmonton, our final destination. The sight of the river valley was glorious. The MacDonald Hotel and the Provincial Legislature gave an elegance to the view from the south side of the Saskatchewan River. I fell in love with the city and have always considered it home.


After getting settled, I searched for an obstetrician, who could look after me during my second pregnancy. Friends recommended Dr. Horner. He was willing to take me on as a new patient.


On my first visit to the doctor, it was established that the baby was due in late December, possibly the 25 th . This news was not the best, as we were making many trips back and forth to Calgary. My father-in-law was seriously ill in the hospital.


As mid-December approached, it became clear that we were going to be in Calgary for Christmas. Dr. Horner and I discussed various options. He gave me a referral to a Calgary doctor should the baby actually arrive on December 25 th .


Christmas came and went-no baby! We had to return to Edmonton, for Vern to begin teaching again in January. I visited Dr. Horner on January 6, 1959. His diagnosis was that the baby was not in the correct position and required a trigger to get things adjusted. He prescribed two ounces of Castor Oil to be taken that day. The pharmacist, for some unknown reason gave me four ounces.


Vern was preparing the next day's lecture for his course and couldn't take the time to keep me company. So I invited my sister-in-law, Pat to keep vigil with me during the early evening to see, if the Castor Oil would accomplish the repositioning. We felt that the oil should produce results in approximately four or five hours after being taken. Nothing happened!


After Pat went home, I foolishly decided to take the other two ounces of the oil. It was turning into a very long evening. I couldn't tell if the baby was changing position or not. At about 2:00 a.m. on January 7 th , my system quieted down enough to consider going to bed. On a whim, I decided to wash and set my hair.


The exertion of washing my hair was what really triggered action. I just got into bed, when a sharp pain hit me. It was unlike my first experience with childbirth contractions. I thought to myself, "Oh no, not false labor at this point." Five minutes later another contraction washed over me. After the sixth pain five minutes apart, I woke Vern. "I think the baby is on its way whether we like it or not."


It was a bitterly cold January night and neither of us wanted to leave our warm bed and brave the sub-freezing temperature. I struggled downstairs and called Dr. Horner at his home. He answered the phone sleepily.


"My contractions are five minutes apart and painful," I said.


"Do you have any pain in your back," he asked?


"No."


"Wait until you have pain in your back," he replied.


I hung up the phone and turned to go upstairs to bed. Just then, I felt as though I had been hit across the back by a two by four plank. I grabbed a chair to steady myself. By now the pains were coming closer together. Vern called Dr. Horner and said the contractions were really intense, that I had back pain, and we were on our way to the University Hospital. It was going to be a race to get to the hospital in time.


I dressed hurriedly, while Vern got our fifteen-month old son, Jim into his snowsuit. We had no one nearby to leave him with at this horrible hour of the morning, so we had to take him with us.


The cold night air made us shiver in the unheated car. We started toward the hospital. The streets were icy and bumpy. With every bump, I groaned. Every groan traveled to Vern's foot and increased his pressure on the gas pedal. We approached 112 th Street from the eastern end of 87 th Avenue. At that time, 87 th Avenue had a flashing red light and 112 th Street a flashing yellow light to control traffic at the intersection. We both saw the police car parked on the west side of 87 th Avenue waiting for late night traffic violators.


Just then a very urgent moan from me decided the issue. Vern didn't stop but swung onto 112th Street and headed for the hospital. The police car gave hot pursuit and pulled us over before we had gone half a block. The bulky figure of the officer clad in a thick buffalo coat and fur hat approached us in a very determined manner. I groaned again. Vern jumped out of the car clutching our son in his arms and in an anxious voice said, "My wife's about to have a baby!" The policeman looked into the car at me. I was in obvious pain. He stepped back and instructed Vern to follow him. The police cruiser instead of pursuing us led the way to the emergency entrance of the hospital.


Vern came to my side of the car to help me out. He held our son in one arm and steadied me with the other. It was impossible for me to take another step. Through clenched teeth I said, "I don't dare move." Vern was helpless. The policeman sized up

the situation and acted with great speed. He yelled down the hallway to the nurse on the desk, "I've got a lady out here, and she's about to drop something." He grabbed a gurney and helped load me onto it. The officer pushed the stretcher into the emergency entrance and down the hall to the desk. The nurse took over, and with Vern beside her, raced along the hall pushing the gurney as fast as possible. The ceiling tiles were whipping by so fast it made me dizzy.


An added misery developed. Every contraction was accompanied with the feeling that my head was going to explode off my shoulders. We arrived at the obstetrical ward at 3:00 a.m. I was taken straight into the delivery room. The nurse asked me, if I wanted some anesthetic. I needed it desperately. As I slipped into unconsciousness, I muttered, "Blessed oblivion." One hour and seventeen minutes had elapsed from the onset of labour to delivery.


Our daughter, Beth arrived at 3:17 a.m. on January 7, 1959. She was born on the day, that those who follow the Julian calendar, celebrate Christmas.


Vern and I had a few minutes together to savor the safe arrival of our second child. We suddenly realized that our son was missing. Vern dashed off to search for Jim.


As Vern neared the waiting room, he saw Jim nestled comfortably in the right arm of the policeman. They were waiting patiently for news. Vern thanked the officer profusely for looking after our son and announced, "We had a Christmas baby after all." It was an unorthodox birth on an Orthodox Christmas.