A Christmas Story

Although only one day past the winter solstice, the sun was setting in the mid afternoon. It was that day, the Friday before Christmas 1988, when the phone rang. “Gail, it’s for you,” Rich said. A woman’s voice on the other end of the phone identified herself as a social worker at Mary Fletcher Hospital in Burlington. “I work in labor and delivery,” she said. “We have a patient whose baby is due sometime next week. The mom-to-be is hearing, but the dad is deaf. The American Sign Language interpreter we have scheduled for the birth is planning to be away for the next 5 days to celebrate Christmas. We don’t expect an early delivery, but we want to make sure we have all our bases covered,” she explained. “We were given your name as someone who might help us out as an interpreter. Would you be available to be on standby from this evening until December 27th?” Then, quickly adding, “This is only a precaution. The doctor assures me that the delivery will be later next week.” 

What could I say? I had been interpreting for a few years, but only when others more skilled were unavailable. “Have you tried other ASL interpreters,” I asked. Her response was quick with a hint of panic. “Yes, but, because of the holiday, no one is around. Again, this is only a precaution.” I could hear the desperate “Pleeease!” in her voice. I paused for a moment and then finally said, “Well, alright.” Her sigh of relief was audible as she thanked me. After hanging up, I told Rich what I had agreed to do. We laughed when he said, “Wouldn’t it be funny if the baby is born on Christmas.” “Oh gosh, I hope not,” I said. 

Although I didn’t hear from the hospital throughout the weekend, the obligation was ever present in my mind, but, by Christmas Eve, it was almost forgotten as our little family anticipated Santa’s arrival. Our hand knit stockings were hung waiting for Old St. Nick’s presents. The Christmas tree and house were decorated with ornaments and colored lights. Our sons were both at that perfect age of being swept up into the Christmas magic. This only made the holiday more exciting for Rich and me. After an evening of anticipation ending with a reading of The Night Before Christmas, the boys reluctantly went to sleep. Not long after, we too went to bed excited about the next morning's celebration. Unlike the little guys, we were out like a light. 

I was deeply asleep when the sound of the phone jarred me awake. “What time was it?”, I wondered. The clock indicated a little after 4:00 am. Though still black outside, it was after Santa had delivered his presents and was long gone. “Hello,” I groggily said into the phone.“Hello, Ms. Isenberg, this is nurse White at Mary Fletcher. Ms. Green has just been admitted to the hospital. Her water has broken and she is in early labor,” she said with the calm voice of a woman who had delivered many babies. “Although the doctor has said that Mr. Green understands him, we would like to have you come and interpret.” I looked outside and was unable to see anything in the black early morning. Trying to sound awake, I said, “I think I can be there by 6:00. Will that be alright?”“No problem,” she replied. “The baby won’t be here for a while.” 

By now Rich was conscious enough to know that I was leaving. We discussed what to tell the boys when they woke up. “Don’t worry about us. We will be ok,” he said. I felt guilty leaving them and suggested that they go ahead and open their gifts while I was gone. I would open mine when I returned. Knowing that the new mom-to-be’s water had broken, I was hoping that my presence would only be needed during the morning. Fingers crossed, I would be home by early afternoon. 

I dressed quickly and stepped out into the dark, only then realizing that it was snowing! Not little flurries, but big fluffy flakes that were accumulating on the ground. Hopes of jumping into my car and driving the hour long trip to the hospital were dashing away like Santa and his reindeer. Time ticked on as I wiped snow off the car. 

Once cleaned off, I quickly drove out of the driveway only to discover the road had not yet been plowed. With heavy wet snow several inches thick covering the surface and big white flakes flying into my windshield, I started on my way. The good thing was that there was no traffic. The bad thing was that there was no traffic. I really could’ve used one pair of tire tracks ahead of me to keep the car safely in the lane. As one who has lived in Vermont for much of my adult life, driving in snow is not intimidating. However, these weather conditions do require a level of respect and caution. In this case, my usual fair weather speed of 50 mph plus, was now dialed back to 25 mph. The estimated time of arrival lengthened by the mile. 

By the time I arrived at the hospital, the sky was magnificently pink and the city roads plowed. It was after 7:00 am when I walked onto the labor and delivery floor. Immediately greeted by a nurse, I was brought to the birthing room where mom and dad-to-be were settling in. Before I entered, the obstetrician came out, introduced himself and with a smile of self-confidence assured me that everything was in hand and I probably wouldn’t be needed. “I have just explained the purpose of the fetal monitor to Mr. Green. He understood me just fine.” I had heard this kind of thing before. It usually went like this. A hearing person having finished “monologuing” to a deaf person, would infer that the head nod and smile of said deaf person meant that they fully comprehended what they did not hear. And because the hearing person could not sign, they would not realize that communication had failed. Rather than challenge the physician, I smiled at him with complete comprehension as we both entered the room. 

I introduced myself to the two young adults using both voice and ASL. The mother-to-be shyly nodded “hello.” The young man standing at the head of the bed next to his wife signed “hello” then finger-spelled his name, Jake, followed by a moving pinky finger making the letter “J” in front of his heart, indicating his name sign. 

The doctor then asked the couple if they had any questions. I interpreted this to Mr. Green who nodded “yes.” Pointing at the fetal monitor machine, he signed, "What’s this and what’s it for?” I voiced the question to the physician who had just assured me that he had expertly elucidated on this very machine before I arrived. Sheepishly, he briefly explained the purpose of the machine and answered Mr. Jones’ additional questions with the assistance of the interpreter. The obstetrician quickly slipped out of the room and was not seen again until the baby was about to arrive. 

Because Ms. Green was in early labor, there was not much for me to do. The couple looked like a pair of deer caught in headlights. The small birthing room included a bed with a wooden backboard to appear more homelike, the fetal monitor machine, and a small bathroom. There were no chairs for people to come, visit and sit. It wasn’t a warm and cozy room, but it also didn’t have an antiseptic feel to it either. Its purpose seemed to only be for birthing, after which mother and baby would either go home or be admitted onto the ward for further care. 

Although our older son was born in this same hospital only 7 years before, I’m not sure a birthing room was an option at that time. Of course, when I went into labor, an Xray revealed my baby was in a breech position with the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. I was immediately transported to the operating room where Rich and I along with a surgeon, resident, anesthesiologist and assortment of nurses congregated to welcome our son emerging from a cesarean incision. A very different experience from the young couple I currently faced. 

On this Christmas day, I was confronted with a number of novel experiences. The first being my interpreting a birth. Actually, it was the first birth, other than my own, that I attended. Not only was the birthing room new to me, but interpreting for Mr. and Ms. Green was uniquely challenging. I had met many families in which the deaf person communicated in ASL, while hearing relatives used their voice. In these situations, interpreters voice for those who are deaf and sign for those who are hearing. To do the job well, the interpreter must be able to see the person signing and hear those people who are talking. Within the hospital setting, this was how Mr. Green and the medical staff communicated with my assistance. However, I was surprised to see that the couple both soundlessly mouthed words to each other. Mr. Green did not sign, and Ms. Green did not voice. It was as if they were in a cone of silence where only the two magically understood each other. I was fascinated with their unique communication system. Despite silently lip reading each other with relative ease, I couldn’t help wondering how effective this mode of communication worked when they had complicated discussions. On the other hand, perhaps I was looking for flaws in their system because I was rendered useless as an interpreter without a voice or visual hand sign to work from. As it was, while the Green’s were content to understand each other in their own special way, I was needed in the room to ensure good communication among all others. 

Throughout the morning there seemed to be extended periods of waiting with nothing to do. The primary nurse would regularly check in on the couple to ensure nothing significant had changed with the labor. The linguistic needs were limited to the nurse asking, “How are you Ms. Green?” The patient answering, “I’m fine.” The nurse then responding, “Ok, I’m just down the hall if you need me.” Mr. Green was easily kept in the communication loop. 

During these downtimes, however, I longed to go home to be with my family. I envisioned the festive house, with presents in stockings and under the Christmas tree and the boys longingly eyeing which gifts might be for them. I knew I was providing a valuable service to the couple and medical staff, but I felt badly that the kids’ celebration was being delayed. 

I was able to call home on one occasion. Rich reassured me that the boys were in good spirits. Being able to open and play with Santa’s stocking gifts had been a joyful experience. “They are great,” Rich said. “It is touching to see how they want to help the baby and his or her parents at the hospital by waiting for you to come home before we all celebrate the day.” I teared up as he told me how wonderful our young sons were behaving, and ever thankful for having such a loving and considerate partner. 

As the hours ticked by, the nurses began spending more time in our room. Ms. Green would turn toward her husband and silently mouth “It hurts,” as she experienced increasingly intense contractions. He would wordlessly comfort her by patting her shoulder or rubbing her back. At one point the lead nurse decided it was time to explain to Mr. Green what his job would be when the baby was ready to arrive. She placed him behind his wife’s head and back. “When I say ‘push’, you support mom by pushing against her back,” explained the nurse. “When I say ‘stop’, you let her relax back down.” Once Mr. Green signed that he understood, the three of them rehearsed their performance. As the nurse spoke, I would sign, “Now push/support.” Then, “Finish, rest.” It was a simple yet effective system for us all. 

I stood at the foot of the bed to allow the father-to-be to see me clearly. The position also allowed me to point to whoever was speaking at the moment, which was particularly essential when the medical professionals began wearing face masks. Without an interpreter, Mr. Green would not only be unable to hear people talking, but would also be blind to their facial expressions. He would have no idea what was happening in the room. Fortunately, Mr. Green was readily kept informed. 

What I didn’t anticipate was that I would have a clear view of the birth. As a nurse pulled Ms. Green’s medical gown away from her lower abdomen, I was suddenly exposed to her groin area. This was both surprising and a bit uncomfortable. After all, I was not a medical provider. What right did I have to witness this intimate experience with a better view than the mother and father? Trying to avert my eyes, I looked up at the ceiling, to my left at a wall, or straight into Mr. Green’s eyes. But when the nurse asked me, “Can you see ok?” implying that the special event was not to be missed, I looked with intense interest. 

The fact is, I never experienced a vaginal delivery. Both sons were born via c-section. My body was not made to drop children from a birth canal. I was fascinated to see a baby emerge the “normal way.” So, while signing as needed, for the nurse saying, “NOW, PUSH! STOP pushing! RELAX!” another nurse encouragingly observing, “You are both doing a great job. The baby is almost here!” and finally, the doctor proclaiming “Congratulations you are the parents of a healthy baby.” I watched the crown of the head grow larger and the rest of the body inching its way out into the world. 

The medical staff congratulated the new parents. Mom and baby were exhausted from their labor. Ms. Green mouthed silent secret thoughts to her husband. Mr. Green signed “Thank you” to me and then turned his attention to his wife and child. The nurses quickly and efficiently cleaned up, and the physician moved on to his next patient. 

I stood there in that little room watching people settle into a new after-birth routine. I wasn’t quite sure whether I should stay or leave. Obviously, I wanted to go home as soon as possible, but I didn’t want this new father to feel abandoned by a communication vacuum. It was when the grandparents arrived that I knew my assignment was completed. 

I left the hospital in late afternoon. The snow had all but melted on the roads and the sun was quickly descending. I was so eager to return to my loved ones that I didn’t ask to use the phone to let them know I was coming home. As I drove, I was filled with a mix of emotions: excitement, exhaustion, anticipation and happiness. I arrived home, as I had left, in the dark. Christmas lights greeted me, silently affirming that I had not missed the holiday. As I walked through the door, all three of my guys showered me with hugs and Christmas wishes. We then celebrated the remaining part of this magical day together. 

Although the boys, who are now much older, do not remember that Christmas, Rich and I do. It continues to be our favorite holiday experience. On that day a child was born and I was there to witness and assist. What a gift!