1964: Winnipeg
I was eight months pregnant with my fourth child and alone in the outskirts of Winnipeg with the children. My husband had traveled to Ottawa for business. We would join him as soon as I was able to travel. Allowing for delivery and recovery, we would be in Ottawa within three months. Arrangements for assistance from nieces and nephews were in place.
The first few days passed quickly and without incident. It was fun to watch a 6-year-old boy assume the role of “father,” looking out for the girls, aged two and four. The dining room housed a child-sized table and chairs, and the kids spent hours reading and playing cards after meals. They thought I didn’t notice that most of their vegetables ended up in the nearby cupboard, and I ignored the fact that Chip, the family German Shepherd, was sleeping on the bed.
Halfway down the stairs to do the laundry, my water broke, and new plans quickly developed. I would go directly to the hospital while the children stayed with our nephew, Carl, and his wife, Bonnie. Carl and Bonnie were young, however, and three small children are a handful for even experienced parents. Could this be the next disaster?
Late that night, my husband called the hospital. He asked the staff to tell me that volunteers from the Air Canada crew had agreed to escort all three children on tomorrow’s flight to Ottawa. What? Tomorrow? All three? Where would they live? All these questions and more rushed into my mind but I too occupied with delivering my second son to search for answers. A healthy baby boy was born at 5:35 am, 5 pounds, 6 ounces.
I should not have worried about living arrangements. A large house in Manotick was waiting for us; after my recovery, we would join my husband, as planned.
In the meantime, the baby and I stayed with Carl and Bonnie. I would do the mothering and sleep so we would be no trouble; but the baby needed to eat every couple of hours and took at least an hour to suckle.
I switched him to a bottle to monitor the number of ounces he consumed. Feeding this tiny baby was a prolonged process; he would fall asleep after ten minutes and attempts to keep him drinking were unsuccessful. He never ate enough to last more than three hours and one hour was during feeding. As a result, there were two hours until the next feeding.
Within days, I was exhausted, so it was a pleasant surprise to awake one morning without the sounds of a hungry baby filling the room. When I went downstairs to brag about Jr sleeping through the night, they looked sheepishly at each other, then at me.
“The baby was awake at 3 am and we fed him,” they admitted in unison.
I had slept through his crying! What a horrible mother I was!
Within a month, we got sleep and Jr and I traveled to our family in Ottawa. I think Carl and Bonnie were relieved; Bonnie was pregnant and needed her sleep, too.
As soon as the baby and I settled in, I wrote a long letter to Air Canada. I thanked those wonderful crew members who volunteered to escort the children on their own time and to the company for the help they provided.
That is how I learned that people are kind and considerate in emergencies. I wish we would stop ignoring each other during normal times.