Third (Part 3)

     Once the operating room calmed and the staff regained composure, the process of prepping my wife for surgery started from the top.  It took another fifteen minutes and my wife was ready…or so everyone thought.  Then, Dr. Bryars went to make the cut in my wife’s abdomen and announced that the surgical application covering her abdomen had been taped on and applied upside-down!

     “Ahhhhhhhhh!”  I screamed silently in my head.  This was too much.  I looked at God, however one does that, and I smiled the biggest smile.  I knew he was playing with me.  At that moment I KNEW we were going to have a little girl.  Earlier, when the fly landed, I had a hunch He was up to something, but now I knew it.  He was toying with me and I loved every minute of it.  I whispered a silent thanks as I turned my attention back to my wife.

     The dressing was removed and replaced facing the proper direction.  It was the fault of an intern learning a lesson the hard way.  She was apologetic and rather embarrassed. Finally, the surgery began.

     And ten minutes later our child was pulled into this world by Dr. Bryars as he casually announced,  “It’s a girl!” 

     The words echoed in our heads and in our hearts.  My wife and I repeated them to each other.  “It’s a girl!  It’s a girl!”  We both started to cry.  ”It’s Hannah,” I said softly to her as the nurse handed our daughter to us.  “She is beautiful.  She is absolutely beautiful!”

     We had the name Hannah picked out since our first child and now she was finally here.  We could hardly believe it.  It was a moment neither of us will ever forget, a gift beyond any gift imaginable.  A little girl named Hannah was now a part of our family of five thanks to the One who works in amazing, magnificent, and memorable ways.

From my desktop to yours, it’s another Alabama memory.

Third (Part 2)

     It was a long wait.  From the time we found out we would not know the sex of our third child until his/her birth to the actual event was very, very, very long.  There was constant speculation.  My wife’s sister was absolutely sure we were having our third boy.  Our friends at church were hoping and praying otherwise.  We heard all kinds of “old wives tales” about how to determine the baby’s sex.  We took off our wedding rings and let them dangle over the womb, but the results were never consistent.  We talked about how high or low my wife was carrying the baby, what sort of food cravings she was having, where the baby was kicking her, and how bad her morning sickness was, but none of these things proved conclusive.  So, we waited.

     Finally, the time came for our child to be delivered.  Since the prior 2 deliveries resulted in C sections, the doctor decided to go ahead and schedule a third.  We arrived at the Women’s Pavilion (tasteful word for hospital) early in the morning.  We were a little nervous but everything was very familiar and that made it easier.

     As the first nurse entered the room to start everything moving toward the surgery she casually asked my wife, “Are you ready to have that third boy?”

     It caught us both off guard and my wife took a deep breath and sighed.  She did not respond to the nurse because she was out of the room before my wife could say anything.  I think she wanted to cry.  Of course, the nurse did not really know anything that we didn’t know.  But it was hard to believe that she did not have some sort of advantage with all of her experience.

     The usual preparation seemed to go a little faster this time and before we knew it we were in the operating room under the surreal lights surrounded by doctors and nurses.  Dr. Bryars, the doctor performing the section, spoke calmly to my wife and I about life in general as he went about his routine.  I stroked my wife’s hair as I sat next to her on a rolling stool.  Then, I checked the video camera to make sure everything was working as it should.  While I was doing that, the strangest thing happened.

     A small fly came out of nowhere and landed in the middle of the sterile gauze that had been carefully taped to my wife’s abdomen.  Dr. Bryars stopped abruptly in the middle of his conversation and stared in silent disgust at this disease infested interruption that had just ruined fifteen laborious minutes of painstaking preparation.  His eyes were soon joined by the eyes of everyone else in the room.  For a moment there was total silence.

     All I could do was smile and silently chuckle at what happened next.  For what seemed like fifteen minutes, this highly paid staff of seasoned professionals fervently pursued this tiny-winged terror all over the operating room.  I really wanted to turn on the video camera but I didn’t think they would like that too much.  The staff went from corner to corner and ceiling to floor, as they each took pot shots at this clever little insect.  It was to no avail.  Time after time he would escape them mocking their educated minds.  He taunted them from the surgical lights suspended over the operating table.  He extended his tongue in scorn as he perched on one of their heads.  His ridicule seemed to know no end, and the more they pursued the more clever his dodges became.  I am sure that my uncontrollable laughter did not hep them feel any better about the situation, but the more the chase continued, the more side-splitting it became.  I was in tears!

     Finally the fly had his cockiness get the best of him as he returned to his original point of departure.  He landed on my wife’s abdomen again, and as he did a large, African-American nurse snuck up behind him.  With her eyes opening wide in anticipation of the kill she lifted a large roll of gauze and paper high abover her head and…”Whap!” she brought it right down on top of him.

     “Gotcha sucker!”  she shouted in triumph. 

     The room erupted in applause as the hunter wiped her prey into the trash can and smiled the sweet smile of victory.

     My wife was so out of it she didn’t feel a thing.

Next Week – Third (Part 3)

From my desktop to yours, it’s another Alabama memory.

Third (Part 1)

After my second son was born in May of 1996, I had the perfect family…for me.  I grew up with one younger brother and my Mom and Dad.  So, with the birth of my second son I was on common ground.  I knew I could handle the situations that would arise.  Everything was very familiar.  Then, my wife and I decided to have another child.

It was easy to talk me into having a third child.  I love kids!  They bring something into your life that no one else can bring.  So, in the latter part of 1999 we got the news that would change our lives forever, again.  My wife was pregnant.

Her doctor found out fairly early and brought her in for a sonogram at eight weeks.  Needless to say no one could tell at that time whether we were going to have a girl or a boy.  As the pregnancy progressed and the baby grew we decided that we could not stand the suspense this time.  We did not find out the sex of either of our first two children ahead of time.  This time we wanted to know.  The doctor scheduled my wife for another sonogram.

We were both quite excited the day she went for the sonogram that would reveal the sex of our third child.  Of course we were both hoping fervently for a little girl to join our family.  However, we knew the chances of that happening were rather slim.  After all, my wife’s older sister gave birth to three boys, and everyone told us the odds.  If you’ve had two boys already, there is a really good chance your third child will also be a boy.  So, we assumed that this child was probably going to be a boy also.  Even so, in the back of our minds and in our heart of hearts we both prayed for a little girl.

As my wife entered the room where they perform the sonogram she was nervous with anticipation.  She sat down and the nurse started to get things ready.

Then, out of the blue the nurse said, “Okay, we’ll need a check for the full amount before we can get started.”

“A check?” my wife replied.

“Yes,” the nurse clarified.  “You’re insurance doesn’t cover a sonogram to determine the sex of the child.”

“I thought the doctor ordered it,” she said.

“He did, but the purpose of the sonogram is to determine the sex of the baby.”

Somewhere, at some point a terrible miscommunication had taken place.  We thought that the sonogram was going to be covered by insurance.  It was not.  Our budget was tight, too tight to spend several hundred dollars on something we did not really need.  We would have to wait to find out if we were having a boy or a girl.  We were both a little depressed that day, but only a little.  We were used to waiting.

Next week – Third (Part 2)

From my desktop to yours, it’s another Alabama memory.

My Little Girl

       Okay, it’s time to get sentimental.  If you know me at all you know how much my family means to me.  They are the gift greater than all gifts in my life and I cherish each one of them, especially my little girl.  While I was growing up I was surrounded by my brother and my parents.  So, when my wife and I had two boys, our family seemed very familiar.  I was in my domain.  It was very comfortable.  Then, along came my little girl and life has never been the same.

       For most of my life girls have been an unsolvable mystery.  Even still I hold this to be true today, but with less intensity than during my youth.  During my younger days I was extremely insecure around the opposite sex.  I knew they were supposed to be ordinary people like anyone else, but I wasn’t really sure how to act around them.  So, with that background in mind, along with my “comfortable” family of three guys and my wife, imagine my thoughts when the doctor cried out, “It’s a girl!”

       I cried when my little girl was born.  I cried when all of my children were born.  As a matter of fact, I don’t see how anyone who witnesses a child being born can keep from crying.  Anyway, after I finished crying, I realized what had just happened.  I was now the father of a new little girl.  The whole idea was just downright crazy!  How could I be expected to raise a child of the opposite sex?  How could I take care of something or someone that had been so mysterious and alien to me for the majority of my life?  Eventually, my anxiety calmed.  I realized I was not alone in my new responsibilities.  I’m not sure I have ever been more thankful for my wife.  After all (stating the absolute obvious) she is a girl!  She would know what to do.

As my little girl has grown to the age of six I can truly say that, so far, my fears have been in vain.  So far, it has been an amazing adventure to see a girl growing up.  There have been tough moments, but there were and are tough moments with my boys, too.  The truly amazing thing has been watching my little girl be a little girl, to see the things that set her apart from all of the little boys in the world.

       My little girl can make me smile in a way that no one else can.  She is delicate and yet very strong.  She is dainty while she lifts a twenty pound puppy and carries him to her room.  She is gentle unless she is beating up on her older brothers.  She works hard when she wants and she does things voluntarily that no one else will do.  Granted, she can be stubborn, very stubborn.  At times she will take punishment instead of doing what she is told.  She will never believe that she cannot do anything and everything her older brothers can do.  She loves her friends and her family, and she hates it when people are mean.  She wants to dance ballet and take karate.  She loves books, soccer, movies, green peas, animals, her mommy, and great big hugs.  She also loves to be tickled.

       My little girl is special beyond words and for me, to hold her is to embrace heaven.  For through her God gives me a treasured glimpse of his unconditional love.

From my desktop to yours, it’s another Alabama memory. 

Happy Birthday, Scott!

Today is my oldest son’s twelfth birthday.  As any parent will tell you, it seems like just yesterday when I was carrying him around in my arms so his grandparents could see him for the very first time.  There are many great memories surrounding the years he has invaded our lives.  Some of them are funny, some are sad, and some are just downright embarrassing.

I remember taking our church youth group to a camp in the mountains of North Carolina when Scott was still a baby.  We had dinner at a Pizza Hut in Brevard, and my “shy” boy decided he liked our waitress.  So, he patted her on the fanny while she was taking our order.  It startled her until she realized what had happened.  Then, she laughed.  My wife and I laughed, too.

I also remember many late nights and difficult days when the only thing that would get him quiet was my index finger in his mouth.  A pacifier would not do it; rocking and coddling would not soothe him;  nothing seemed to calm him until I let him suck on my finger.  Don’t worry, I always washed first.

One of the hardest weeks in my life came when my son was older.  During the summer following his third grade year, Scott went to the same North Carolina church camp we had visited when he was young.  (I always wondered if he was going to try to find that waitress again!)  This time he was away from all of his family, for a week; and I was without him, for a week.  He was over 300 miles from home in a place I could not be, all week.  I did not think that week would ever end, but it did.  When Scott arrived home I gave him the biggest hug of his life.  Then, we talked.  Was he homesick?  He told us he was.  Did I cry while he was gone?  Absolutely.  Would I do the whole thing all over again?  In a heartbeat.  He would, too.

The older I get, the more I realize that Scott does not belong to me.  I’ve known it all along (read my earlier blog entitled “Thank you, God”).  It’s just that as I get older, he spends more and more time away from me.  It’s hard.  He is one of my best friends of all time.  And when you are away from one of your best friends, your heart just doesn’t feel quite the same.

Happy Birthday, Scott.  May every minute of your life find you growing in knowledge of the grace of the One who made you.  May you find joy and happiness with His Spirit living in you, and may you always be totally content with His love and His plan for your life.  I love you.

From my desktop to yours, it’s another Alabama memory.

Twenty Years and Counting

I kissed her.  It was a short goodnight type of kiss.  As a matter of fact, it was a goodnight kiss.  But I kissed her still the same.  I found out later she didn’t want me to kiss her, but I did.  I kissed her, and the rest is history.

It was twenty years ago today.  Twenty years ago exactly.  On August 8, 1986, I went on my first date with the young lady who would one day become my wife.  I still marvel that she ever went out with me.  Actually, when I asked her out the week before I knew she would say yes.  I know that sounds sort of cocky, but the truth is my best friend had asked her if she would go out with me, and she had said she would.  So, when I called to ask her out  I already knew her answer.

I can’t remember what time I picked her up, but the plan was dinner and a movie.  So, I picked her up and started for the steakhouse.  It was an hour wait for a table.  We decided to try an Italian place down the road.  It was a forty-five minute wait.  We would never make the movie in time.  So, we decided to downgrade to a local Mexican favorite, El Palacio.

Even though the restaurant hopping was sort of awkward, everything else was great.  We talked all through the evening and it was fun getting to know such an attractive young lady.  I’d like to say I knew at that moment I was going to share the rest of my life with her, but that would be lying.

After our romantic dinner for two, we went to the local movie theater and saw Top Gun with Tom Cruise and Kelly McGillis.  It was a bit steamy for a first date movie, but I don’t think either one of us minded too much.  I know she enjoyed the Cruise scenes, and I really liked the action.  All in all it was a great first date.  Of course, you already know how it ended.  That’s right.  I kissed her.

From my desktop to yours, it’s another Alabama memory.

My Field of Dreams

I am a huge Cincinnati Reds fan. 

Why on earth would someone raised in Alabama root with sincere fervor for a team that is located in a city more than five hundred miles away?  Well, there are several reasons.  First, I have always loved the game of baseball.  It is a thinking man’s sport, full of strategy and statistic.  Second,  I had the privilege of playing baseball as I grew up.  This gives me a deeper understanding and appreciation of those who still play today.  Of course, neither of these reasons gives foundation for being a Reds fan.  For that loyalty I have my father to thank. 

I loved my Dad.  He passed away in 2002.  My love for my father is central to my love for baseball.  It will sound cliche, but the one thing we always had in common was baseball, more specifically Cincinnati Reds baseball.  I could talk to him about the Reds any time and it would always turn out to be an excellent conversation.  That was not the case about everything.

I still remember going to Riverfront Stadium with my father to witness the Big Red Machine in action in the 1970s.  Back then I did not understand the game as well as I do today, but I had my father all to myself.  I asked him question after question and he answered every one of them, glad to share the knowledge he had acquired.

As I got older I decided I did not need to ask any more questions.  I had all of the answers and my father needed to listen to me.  Needless to say that did not work out very well.  My arrogance hurt my relationship with Dad quite a bit.  Fortunately for me I was able to apologize to him as I grew older.  By God’s grace I quit trying to share all of my knowledge with him, and I started listening again, just like I did at Riverfront back in the ’70s.  Our relationship healed, and all was right the night he died.

In the 1989 movie Field of Dreams based on a novel by William Kinsella, there are many memorable lines.  One of these is “If you build it, he will come.”  I don’t think there is much that I would not set out to build if it meant I could spend some simple time with my father again.  If I could play catch with him or watch a baseball game with him one more time, it would be an experience beyond words.  I am sure that is why I always find myself in tears at the end of this 1989 movie.

From my desktop to yours, it’s another Alabama memory.

Running low on wisdom…PART 1

Have you ever had your wisdom teeth removed?  Does it mean you are not as wise as you once were?  Or, does it mean that you realize the oral surgeon who sedated you, carved you up, and sent you home “loopy” would not have made enough to cover the payments on his new yacht if your wisdom teeth were still around!  Maybe that’s why I don’t feel so wise.

Any way you look at it, having your wisdom teeth removed is a memory worth sharing!  So, share I will:

          It happened on a Wednesday, sometime between 10:30 and 11:00 in the morning.  My wife and I arrived at the Oral Surgeon’s office, signed in and took a seat.  I was a little nervous and a little punchy.  I had not eaten any food since seven o’clock the night before, and my breakfast consisted of three pills and 3 ounces of water.  As I sat down and looked around I realized that there were close to twenty people in the same room waiting for the same procedure.  My financially centered heart immediately began to do the math and it did not take me long to decide on a new profession for my youngest son.  My oldest already has his heart set on being a veterinarian.  “Everyone has wisdom teeth,”  I muttered out loud.  My wife ignored me.

     After two or three minutes of pondering, I heard my name over the loudspeaker.  I headed for the door only to be directed to the cashier. 

     “That will be five hundred and twenty-six dollars, Mr.Urban,” she quickly stated (my sixty percent copay). 

      ”Wow!  That was more painful than I expected,”  I replied.  “Couldn’t you have sedated me first?”

       She smiled politely.  I wrote the check and went back to the waiting room. 

       I rejoined my wife and commented, “Well, the painful part is over.”  She smiled politely.  My thoughts went back to an early retirement mooching off of my rich son.  About the time I reached the beaches of Tahiti I heard my name again.  “Wow, that Lortab is good stuff!”  I thought to myself.  I made my way to the back room.  It was time.

       As I settled into my temporary home for the morning and told the second nurse I had seen in two minutes what I had to eat last and when, I was feeling pretty good.  Then, she picked up the IV needle.  

      ”Okay, this is going to feel a little like an ant bite,” she said just before inserting it.

       “That’s not bad,” I replied.  I thought maybe my worries were misdirected.  Then she plunged it in and I screamed the loudest silent scream possible.  “Oh, you meant one of those Australian bullet ants!”

        She smiled politely.

        In less than a minute it didn’t matter any more.  I was asleep. 

NEXT TIME – RUNNING LOW ON WISDOM – PART 2

From my desktop to yours, it’s another Alabama memory.

Thank you, God.

I love my family.  They have been a constant throughout my life.  I still remember the day that God brought each of my children into this world.  Of course, the first is the most memorable.

It was in August of 1994 and I was about to start a new job teaching Alabama history to ninth graders at Northport Junior High School.  I had my classroom ready and was eager to prove myself in this new position.  My principal was aware of the possibility of my absence near the beginning of school, which was a good thing because sure enough, on the eve of my first day teaching, my wife went into labor.  It started as back pains, and then turned into regular back pains.  Once she was having these pains about every five minutes I took a deep breath and called the doctor.  We grabbed her bags and headed for the hospital.  We were awake all night.

Just before daybreak my wife and I were prepared for surgery.  She had pushed and sweated and given it her all.  It was time for a section.  My adrenaline was still pumping as I put on my mask and waited.  They won’t let you in the room for the spinal tap.  I was very nervous, but I wanted to be strong for my bride.  After a few minutes of waiting, I was allowed in the operating room and given instructions.  Somehow, I heard and followed them, but my attentions were more focused on my wife, flat on her back, arms spread out as Christ on the cross, somewhat relaxed for the first time all night.  I sat down and spoke to her, trying to offer continued comfort.  The whole scene was surreal.  The lights that covered her body were intense and brilliant.  The doctors and nurses worked at a steady pace.  I did not watch at first, but my curiosity soon got the best of me.  It was about that time that our son was born.

It was incredible, overwhelming, beautiful, amazing, fantastic, and unforgettable to see a new life, a new person, emerge from under those intense surgical lights.  My first thoughts were of the Creator God who formed this baby from the start.  I had nothing to do with this.  I did not place his eyes where they were.  I did not give him arms and legs and lungs to breathe.  I did not even make him a boy.  All of this was done without consenting me.  All of this was done in the silence of the womb.  It was a gift beyond gifts to be allowed to be the first to witness His creation up close and personal.  When I held my son for the first time I cried and I smiled and I prayed.  Thank you God.  Thank you. 

That is a moment I will never forget.

From my desktop to yours, it’s another Alabama memory.

Resurrection is a beautiful thing!

When I was a younger man growing up in the northern part of Alabama I had a Golden Retriever named Feather.  I remember him with a warm heart even though I cannot bring to mind any specific tender tales to share at the moment.  My most vivid memory surrounds the end of Feather’s life.  He was thirteen and I was approaching my teens when he died.  The day I heard the news was one of the saddest I had ever experienced in my short time of existence.  I remember crying and hurting and hurting some more.  I guess his death really blindsided me.  Somehow I thought Feather would always be a part of my life, and now he was gone…forever.  I cried a lot that day.  I think I also learned a lot without really knowing it.  Maybe that is why I recently felt the need to honor the memory of my childhood companion by bringing him back from the dead.  No, I am not talking about performing a Christlike Lazarus moment.  Instead, I am speaking of turning a vague, shadowy, dearly held memory back into reality.

Three weeks ago my family and I went to a show breeder in southern Mississippi and picked up our seven-week old pet-quality male Golden Retriever puppy.  With too many smiles to count and more happiness than you can find in a lifetime, our new puppy has become a family member overnight.  It almost brings tears to my eyes as I think of my memory reborn and the joy he is already bringing to my children.  What’s his name you ask?  Why, of course, you already know.

It’s Feather.

From my desktop to yours, it’s another Alabama memory.