It was June, 1991, and I was a single mother to be.
I was due any day and had my little bag all packed with my things ready to go at the drop of a hat, or a water-breakage. I had little nightgowns, things to distract me during labor, a list of phone numbers, etc. I was scared and at the same time excited. I had waited my whole life to be a mother and I couldn’t wait. I knew I was having a boy which scared me a little since I was from a family of all girls, but I was prepared to do whatever necessary.
This wasn’t the ideal scenario in that I hadn’t actually planned this pregnancy but I was bound and determined to be the best Mom that I could be no matter what. I had not failed at anything thus far and I wasn’t about to start now. I was ready for this. No, I was MORE than ready for this.
There were many who thought me ridiculous and already had me and my son doomed, one of my sisters included. She couldn’t accept me for being an unwed mother and so kept herself at arms length. This saddened me but didn’t hinder my quest for everything and anything I needed to know or have for my baby. On some days it felt like me and baby against the world, but that was fine. I had to do what I thought was right for us.
I loved to read and always had, so when I read every night I began reading out loud. This may sound strange but I read my son to sleep every night and as I was commuting to work I sang to him in the car. This may have been more for me, than for him, but I already loved this unborn baby with all of my heart and soul and felt a bond that could never be broken.
I had been sick for quite some time and I was just completely exhausted. I had an appointment with my obstetrician to check my progress. It was June 24th, a Monday morning, and I almost thought I wouldn’t survive the weekend. I had been diagnosed with shingles the week before and I had miserably painful bumps following a nerve all the way down my left arm. I won’t go into the rest of my many complaints and symptoms here but there were MANY.
I did the usual weighing in, urine sample, and blood pressure. My doctor came in and took my blood pressure again. He left without a word. He came back with a furrowed brow and told me there was protein in my urine, my blood pressure had sky rocketed and I was going to have my baby that day no matter what. “By hook or by crook,” were his exact words. A real softy, huh?
I argued that I didn’t have my bag and I wasn’t prepared. He was dismissive and sent me down to labor and delivery. It caught me very much off guard. One of my sisters, who was to be my ‘labor coach’, was with me and attempted a hearty burst of cheerfulness but I felt something was wrong.
I got undressed and hastily put on a nasty hospital gown. The petocin drip was started to induce labor. It wouldn’t be long now I was informed. The petocin was upped every 15 minutes and still NOTHING was happening. Well, nothing but the elevation of my blood pressure I should say. There was a monitor on me, and one attached to detect the heart rate of my son. There were beeps and buzzes everywhere.
My Dad came in and looked worriedly at all the monitors and held my hand. He told me he had brought my special bag of tricks that I had packed. I thanked him but somehow knew I wouldn’t need them. My Mother was scurrying around talking to nurses. Two of my sisters were there and trying to look cheerful and excited through their concern.
Several hospital staff came in and asked me several series of questions but they were the repeat of the person before them. I was getting very frustrated.
The smell of hospital floated all around me, lethal and cold: Bleach, liniment, cotton. It permeated everything. I was under a white sheet and wondered how many other expectant mothers had used this sheet and how many of them felt the way I did right then. Was this the way it was supposed to be?
It is the strangest feeling being out of control of what your body is doing. My body had a mind of its own and no matter what I thought or felt mattered anymore. I am such a stubborn person and always have been, it just seemed weird to not be able to will myself into doing the right thing right then. I began to shake. How long had I been here? A few minutes? Hours? I had no idea.
Specialists were brought in and asked me all the same questions that had been asked of me before. I was answering out loud I thought, but it must have been in my head because they would look at me puzzled and repeated their questions. I looked to my Mother who looked just as puzzled. Did I smoke? NO! Did I take recreational drugs? NO! Was I SURE I didn’t smoke? Umm, duh! Was I bulimic? NO! NO! NO!!
I still heard the beeps and buzzes but it seemed as if I were hearing them from a distance. I looked to the foot of my bed. There I saw a separate area or room with accordion French type doors covering it. These doors began to open a little or wave I guess you might say. I was thinking that this may be storage or something.
Again, someone came and started asking me questions, tagging me and confirming allergies, etc. My doctor came in with another specialist and told me there was no more waiting, I was having what was called eclampsia, and I had to have an emergency C-section.
Whether this was a concern to me or a relief to me I really don’t know.
The doors at the foot of my bed were opening. I felt no pain. I also couldn’t feel my son move anymore. I knew then that things were really out of my hands.
Was this it for me? I had not come this far to lose everything now. This baby was meant to be, and I knew it!
I could hear someone saying that this would be over before I knew it. I had a shower cap of sorts on my head now and I couldn’t focus on anything. All of my family was in tears as they told me they would see me soon. I chanted 2 bits of scripture in my head from Philippians: “Trust in the lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.” And “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” These became my mantra.
I remember seeing the bright lights of the corridor as I was being whisked away to the operation room, very quickly I might add. From out of nowhere my sister, the only one who had been absent up to this point, was looming over my head. She grabbed my face and told me she loved me. More bright lights,…that’s the last thing I remember.
Shane Allen was born on June 24, 1991 at 4:06 pm. From the time I was wheeled into the operating room until the time on his birth certificate allowed 4 minutes. My family got to see him before I did. Apparently he was well and would be just fine.
Later I was told it was thought I may have had some seizures, but I will never know. When I recounted my experience and told my parents about the doors that kept flapping open they asked me what I was talking about and it was then that I knew that there were never any additional doors in that labor room.
My father’s name was John and in all the baby books I had read both the names Shawn and Shane were derived from John. I named him after my father, whose name means “Gift from God”. His middle name, Allen, was my Grandmother’s maiden name which was not passed down.
I didn’t have the strength to hold him at first but as soon as I could hold him all on my own I shook off all his blankets and counted his fingers and toes, covering my "shingled" left arm. I looked into his blue eyes and he blinked back at me. I scanned over every square inch of his perfect body. I held him close and listened to him breathe. I smelled him and took in every possible thing. This was a miracle, my son, truly a gift from God. That day changed my life forever, as I truly knew what it was like to hold my own son and know that I would do anything for him.
That experience happened to me 13 years ago today. To this day, you will not find Shane without a book in his hand and an attitude that will let you know that he is a fighter. He has been IQ tested and his reading level is on par with a college graduate. I guess all that bedtime reading paid off, huh? He is like a little sponge ready to soak up any information given to him. He is on a never-ending quest to expand his knowledge. Maybe I am tooting my own horn, but I know the reason that those doors at the foot of my bed chose not to open that day. You see, with one look at his big blue eyes I know that God has something very special intended for him.
Happy Birthday to Shane, my gift from God.
HAYNES, JOHN D. "J.D." Loving husband, father, grandfather and great-grandfather went home to be with his Savior and Lord Jesus Christ on Nov. 28, 2005, after a courageous battle with Melanoma. J.D. was born April 19, 1932, in Brashear, TX. He served in the military from 1953-1955. He joined the Dallas Fire Department as a Firefighter on May 1, 1955 at Station 41 on Preston and Royal Lane and retired after 33 years as a driver. He remained active in the Dallas Retired Firefighters Association and treasured the friendships of his Firefighter buddies. He also operated, 'Haynes Gulf' with his brother at the corner of Mockingbird and Skillman for 17 years. He was a devoted husband to Vera Haynes for over 53 years and loved spending time with his family. He was a member of Casa View Baptist for over 33 years. John was preceded in death by his parents, Robert and Alma Haynes, and his brother, Garlon Haynes. He is survived by his wife, Vera Haynes and four daughters. 
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