An Edmonton Blizzard Baby, 1958, by Vernon Wishart, [See separate account by Joanne Wishart]
Date: 25 December 1958 to 7 January 1959
It began to look as though Christmas Day, 1958 would take on an added special ness. Although we hadn't planned it that way, the doctor informed us that our second child might be born on December the twenty-fifth. Christmas came and went, however, and the anticipated arrival did not take place.
When the baby was almost two weeks overdue, the doctor, hoping to trigger labour, prescribed for Jo, my wife, two ounces of Castor Oil. When that did not produce the expected results, she took matters into her own hands. She drank two ounces more! Shortly after, the contractions began. Around two in the morning, they suddenly increased, coming at five-minute intervals. After a quick consultation over the phone with our doctor, we bundled ourselves and our one-year-old son Jim, into the car and headed to the University Hospital.
It was one of those January nights when the temperature was well below zero and the streets were treacherously icy. These wintry conditions soon paled in importance. Each groan from my wife, following a spasm of pain, was translated directly to my foot on the gas pedal. As the time between each contraction decreased dramatically, the speed of the car and my anxiety increased proportionately.
Approaching 112th Street from 87th Avenue, I became mindful that the streetlight was flashing red. For a split second I harboured the thought of stopping. Another groan from Jo decided the matter and I sped through the red light. As I made the turn, I caught a glimpse of what I hoped I wouldn't see - a police car poised, waiting and watching. Anxiously, I looked in my rear view mirror. In determined pursuit was the long arm of the law. A siren signalled me to pull over. I skidded to a stop. Clutching our son in my arms, I jumped out. A policeman, whose size was accentuated by his buffalo robe coat and a beaver skin hat, got out of the cruiser and approached with ominous intent. Frantically, I blurted, "My wife's going to have a baby at any moment!"
Dark eyes beneath the fur-skin hat scanned my son and me and then the occupant of the car. I sucked in the cold air and waited for the verdict. Another sudden contraction and a sharp cry of pain from Jo swung the decision in our favour. "Follow me," he shouted. Dutifully, I swung our car in behind the cruiser. The flashing light was no longer pursuing. Indeed, it was leading us to the Emergency Wing of the hospital.
As I held our one-year old in one arm, and helped Jo out of the car with the other, she suddenly went rigid and cried through clenched teeth, "I don't dare move!" By now the officer had grasped the gravity of the situation. He dashed to the Emergency Room door, opened it and shouted, "There's a lady out here and she's going to drop something!" In a matter of seconds a stretcher appeared. While Jo was being lifted gingerly on to the gurney, a nurse made a hurried diagnosis and determined what it was she was going to drop.
Expectant mother and anxious father were whisked up the elevator to the delivery room. Seventeen minutes later a baby girl was born!
I was beginning to breathe easier when I suddenly realized that in the excitement I had lost track of her brother. In a state of panic, I rushed to the Waiting Room. There, nestled in the right arm of the police officer, was our son. Both were waiting patiently for my return and the news of the final outcome of our high-speed journey.
Beth was born in the wee morning hours of January seventh, 1959. She was born on Christmas day. She arrived on the day that those who follow the Julian calendar celebrate Christmas.
We had our Christmas baby after all - an unorthodox birth on an Orthodox Christmas.