In the early morning hours of February 18, 1992, I was awakened by a jab in my side. Diana, obviously wide awake, calmly informs me that she’s having regular light contractions 3 minutes apart. As a 3rd year medical student having just finished my OB rotation, I knew just enough OB to realize, for a 4-time, soon-to-be 5-time mom, regular contractions, even light ones, could be a harbinger for a precipitous delivery. So off we went to University Hospital. I started to park in the emergency parking right in front of the emergency room but Diana informed me she wanted to “walk out the contractions” so we parked in the parking garage and started our long trek to labor and delivery. 2/3rds of the way down the hospital corridor, Diana grabs the hallway sidebar, doubles over, and groans. The light contractions were not so light any longer. Grabbing a wheelchair from the ER, I whisk her up to L&D and she’s quickly admitted . Her OB (and one of my OB attendings) pops in from the room down the hall, briefly examines Diana, and turns to me and asks:
“Well, Lowell, are you ready?”
“Uh, yeah. . . I think . . . For what?”
“You know how this is done! Are you ready to deliver your daughter?!”
“Oh. . . Oh! . . . Okay! Yes! Of course! . . . Are you sure?”
“Yes! This is YOUR delivery, Daddy Doctor!”
And stepping forward with trembling hands, a cold sweat, and much anticipation, I clumsily delivered my little girl, Zoe Beth—the very first of hundreds of deliveries I would do over the next 20+ years. It was the first and, by far, the most precious delivery. And now that little one is 29 years old, married, and has two little ones of her own. Wow!! Seems like yesterday. Happy Birthday, Zoe! I’m really proud to be your dad!
Dash Stories 