September 25, 1989
Seventeen years ago this past Monday, the Cleveland Browns were playing the Cincinnati Bengals on Monday Night Football. Lori lay on the couch, impatient with pregnancy, watching the game and enviously eyeing my cold beer. Every so often she would pick up a pad of paper that was laying on the floor in front of the couch and scribble something on it. I was too busy watching Bernie Kosar run for his life to think much of it. I just assumed she was masochistically keeping stats on the game for some reason… Bernie scrambles and is sacked… Bernie scrambles and is intercepted… Bernie is buried under a pile of orange shirts, etc. etc.
Finally curiosity got the better of me. “What are you doing?”
“I'm timing my contractions,” she replied nonchalantly.
“Excuse me?!” I said, already standing by the door, hospital overnight bag in hand.
“Relax, it's nothing to be concerned about, yet. Damn,” she winced.
“Shouldn't we let the doctor be the judge of that,” I said, handing her the phone.
Lori took the phone frowning at me. When the doctor answered, she described the intervals between contractions that she'd noted down.
“A glass of wine? Really? OK.” She put the phone down smiling.
“He says I should have a glass of wine, go to bed, and come see him tomorrow.”
I was incredulous. “A glass of wine? Are you kidding? Is that safe?”
“I dunno about safe, but it sounds good to me!” and off she toddled to the kitchen in search of a corkscrew and some cabernet.
Later, that night the Browns lost 21-14.
September 26, 1989
The next day I was sitting in Sen. Richard Lugar's office waiting to do an interview with him for the BBC about the Nunn-Lugar Cooperative Threat Reduction Program. Seventeen years ago, cell phones were about the same size as some of the weapons Lugar's program was proposing to dismantle, so I had given Lori the cameraman's pager number in case she needed to reach me. As I thumbed through a tattered copy of Indiana Today, Gary's pager went off. I saw him squint suspiciously at the numbers displayed and then stuff the pager back in his Domkey bag. “Must be a wrong number,” he shrugged. “I don't recognize it.”
And we all went back to reading our Republican propaganda while we waited for Lugar to finish his meeting.
When the pager obstinately beeped again, Gary fished it out of his bag and scowled at the numbers on the display once more. “Who the hell is this,” he muttered as he walked across the room to dial out on one of the office phones.
Of course it still hadn't occurred to me—immersed in Indiana Today—that the caller might be Lori trying to reach me from Georgetown Hospital with important news.
From across the room I could hear bits and pieces of Gary's conversation: “I don't know. You called me… (pause) Well, that's what I want to know… (pause) Who is this? Labor and livery? (pause) Do you mean… LABOR and DELIVERY?”
As Gary's voice rose to an inappropriate waiting room volume Bill, the director, yanked me out of the chair and pushed me in the direction of the phone Gary was holding out to me. By now all eyes in the Senator's waiting room were on me.
“Hello?” I said.
By now the hospital operator had figured out what was going on and had put Lori on the line.
“What's going on?” I asked.
“I went to see my doctor this morning and he sent me over to the hospital.”
“What are you doing now?”
“I'm just laying here watching TV.”
“You're watching TV?”
“Yes. The Beverly Hillbillies or something. I'm not sure.”
“Well, if you're just laying around watching TV do I need to come?” I asked.
“Yes!” every eavesdropper in the Senator's waiting room chorused.
“What about the interview?” I asked Bill as he propelled me out into the third floor corridor of the Hart Senate building.
“Sod the interview, mate,” Bill said just as Lugar opened the door to his office. “Get to the bloody hospital as fast as you can!”
OK, so let me just say there is no easy way to get from Capitol Hill to Georgetown Hospital. By the time I got to the hospital Lori was sitting in the reception room waiting for me. “The doctor says I should go home and have a beer.”
“I like this guy. Do you think he'd mind if I had one too? And how about some lunch?”
We had pizza and beer at Faccia Luna on Wisconsin Avenue and then headed back home; fighting the beginning of rush-hour traffic leaving the city, and wondering if this baby was ever gonna make an appearance. Six hours later we sailed back down Wisconsin Avenue in less than half the time it had taken to get home earlier. There's not much traffic at 11pm.
September 27, 1989
Andrew Michael Collins was born around 5:30am.
Happy birthday, Andy! In your honor, The Happy Medium Song of the Day is “A Day With Andrew” by Stiffed.
(Please use the comments box to share your thoughts.)
Seventeen years ago this past Monday, the Cleveland Browns were playing the Cincinnati Bengals on Monday Night Football. Lori lay on the couch, impatient with pregnancy, watching the game and enviously eyeing my cold beer. Every so often she would pick up a pad of paper that was laying on the floor in front of the couch and scribble something on it. I was too busy watching Bernie Kosar run for his life to think much of it. I just assumed she was masochistically keeping stats on the game for some reason… Bernie scrambles and is sacked… Bernie scrambles and is intercepted… Bernie is buried under a pile of orange shirts, etc. etc.
Finally curiosity got the better of me. “What are you doing?”
“I'm timing my contractions,” she replied nonchalantly.
“Excuse me?!” I said, already standing by the door, hospital overnight bag in hand.
“Relax, it's nothing to be concerned about, yet. Damn,” she winced.
“Shouldn't we let the doctor be the judge of that,” I said, handing her the phone.
Lori took the phone frowning at me. When the doctor answered, she described the intervals between contractions that she'd noted down.
“A glass of wine? Really? OK.” She put the phone down smiling.
“He says I should have a glass of wine, go to bed, and come see him tomorrow.”
I was incredulous. “A glass of wine? Are you kidding? Is that safe?”
“I dunno about safe, but it sounds good to me!” and off she toddled to the kitchen in search of a corkscrew and some cabernet.
Later, that night the Browns lost 21-14.
September 26, 1989
The next day I was sitting in Sen. Richard Lugar's office waiting to do an interview with him for the BBC about the Nunn-Lugar Cooperative Threat Reduction Program. Seventeen years ago, cell phones were about the same size as some of the weapons Lugar's program was proposing to dismantle, so I had given Lori the cameraman's pager number in case she needed to reach me. As I thumbed through a tattered copy of Indiana Today, Gary's pager went off. I saw him squint suspiciously at the numbers displayed and then stuff the pager back in his Domkey bag. “Must be a wrong number,” he shrugged. “I don't recognize it.”
And we all went back to reading our Republican propaganda while we waited for Lugar to finish his meeting.
When the pager obstinately beeped again, Gary fished it out of his bag and scowled at the numbers on the display once more. “Who the hell is this,” he muttered as he walked across the room to dial out on one of the office phones.
Of course it still hadn't occurred to me—immersed in Indiana Today—that the caller might be Lori trying to reach me from Georgetown Hospital with important news.
From across the room I could hear bits and pieces of Gary's conversation: “I don't know. You called me… (pause) Well, that's what I want to know… (pause) Who is this? Labor and livery? (pause) Do you mean… LABOR and DELIVERY?”
As Gary's voice rose to an inappropriate waiting room volume Bill, the director, yanked me out of the chair and pushed me in the direction of the phone Gary was holding out to me. By now all eyes in the Senator's waiting room were on me.
“Hello?” I said.
By now the hospital operator had figured out what was going on and had put Lori on the line.
“What's going on?” I asked.
“I went to see my doctor this morning and he sent me over to the hospital.”
“What are you doing now?”
“I'm just laying here watching TV.”
“You're watching TV?”
“Yes. The Beverly Hillbillies or something. I'm not sure.”
“Well, if you're just laying around watching TV do I need to come?” I asked.
“Yes!” every eavesdropper in the Senator's waiting room chorused.
“What about the interview?” I asked Bill as he propelled me out into the third floor corridor of the Hart Senate building.
“Sod the interview, mate,” Bill said just as Lugar opened the door to his office. “Get to the bloody hospital as fast as you can!”
OK, so let me just say there is no easy way to get from Capitol Hill to Georgetown Hospital. By the time I got to the hospital Lori was sitting in the reception room waiting for me. “The doctor says I should go home and have a beer.”
“I like this guy. Do you think he'd mind if I had one too? And how about some lunch?”
We had pizza and beer at Faccia Luna on Wisconsin Avenue and then headed back home; fighting the beginning of rush-hour traffic leaving the city, and wondering if this baby was ever gonna make an appearance. Six hours later we sailed back down Wisconsin Avenue in less than half the time it had taken to get home earlier. There's not much traffic at 11pm.
September 27, 1989
Andrew Michael Collins was born around 5:30am.
Happy birthday, Andy! In your honor, The Happy Medium Song of the Day is “A Day With Andrew” by Stiffed.
(Please use the comments box to share your thoughts.)