Knee Deep in the Hooah!

I wrote most of the following while drinking Sniper’s Brew Colombian Supremo.

Maria and I married when I was a Corporal in Panama.  It was a bit pre-emptive only in the sense that I could have been better situated financially.  I pretty much lived paycheck to paycheck and was just beginning to understand what it meant to be financially responsible. Maria would probably argue that my maturation in this and other areas is an ongoing process.  She happens to be an extremely conscientious saver.  During the night and on weekends she was attending, and paying for out of pocket, Panama University. She accomplished this while holding down a full time job at the Department of Transportation.  I might have had Marine Corps discipline but she brought real discipline to a young household.

When we left Panama we had orders for a hardship tour in Monterey, California. I attended advance Spanish training at Defense Language Institute upgrading my proficiency as a linguist to the next level. Our finances had improved from Maria’s thrift, my promotion, and subsequent re-enlistment. We were ready for children and looking forward to the experience. I’ve always wanted a big family.  Maria and I would go through prenatal classes close by at the Army Base Fort Ord.  I have a baby sister ten years my junior that I took care of and Maria is the middle child of a large family so we had pretty good odds for figuring things out.

At the time I was surprised to see so many younger, and relative to my rank, very junior enlisted couples having children. It just so happened that on the night my son was born a unusually young enlisted soldier and his wife were having their baby in the adjacent birthing space.  The only thing that separated this couple from us was a thin curtain that acted as a partition.  Their behavior is something that I believe was rare and I haven’t seen since but the experience left an impression and would affect decisions regarding the particulars of having children for our next two go rounds.

As Maria attempted to find a comfortable position on the bed, the time between contractions became closer and closer. She endured much agony with muted vocalization.  Not so on the other side of the curtain.  The husband took direction from the nurse and began to encourage his wife’s rhythm. The loss of control began as the soldier creatively interpreted the nurse’s instructions and began yelling at his wife to, “breath… expletive… breath!!!” His wife responded with full force escalation proclaiming, “it hurts, it expletive hurts!!”  Repeat this dialog and vary the range of vulgarities and you’ve only scratched the surface of the oratory symphony. Maria and I looked at each other more than perplexed.

I’m not sure when peace was restored. They must have had a successful childbirth but this was to be just the first chapter of a very long night.  I offered Maria my feeble attempt to comfort as her own odyssey became more intense.  The wisdom from our doctor to experience natural child birth was at best shaky.  The plain math of the situation was that Maria was only five foot tall and before becoming pregnant just barely weighed 100 pounds. I on the other hand am six foot two and the genetic combination caused my bride to look as if she had swallowed a double sized watermelon. She was all belly.

Fifteen hours later mercy had merit. What we had surmised almost from the start the doctor finally became submissive to. Cesarean. He entered with a nurse and some paper work.  I’m not sure if what the doctor said next was out of callousness to the previous couple or a result of just a long night. “I need you to sign this in case your wife dies during delivery.”  I looked at the release and signed my name where required. My next recollection is looking across the floor at the doctor, a nurse, and one of those tall bedside tables that I had somehow knocked sideways.  Maria commented that from her vantage point on the bed, one moment we were talking and the next moment we were on the floor.  Somehow my angle of dissent and proximity took out three targets. As we picked ourselves up off the floor I’m guessing the doctor rethought his bedside manner.

“Sergeant Salmans I’m sorry but we’re not going to let you in the delivery room.”

“Look you just told me my wife’s going to die. I’m okay. Unless you want an extremely agitated Marine on your hands I’m going to the delivery room.”

After all these years I’m sure the conversation is not verbatim but I’ve shared this story many times. Whatever I said was convincing enough that I witnessed the birth of a very healthy nine pounds fourteen ounces baby boy.

With Utmost Respect ~ Semper Fi, Hank

Used by permission KDH Copyright © 2009 Sniper’s Brew All Rights Reserved.
Part II Canopy Beds