You Can’t Always Get What You Want

June 4^th, 1988, in the maternity ward at St. Joseph’s Hospital.

I can still hear the mocking lyrics from Mick Jagger of the Rolling Stones coming through the overhead speakers:

“You can’t always get what you want, yeah

You can’t always get what you want, yeah, child

You can’t always get what you want

But if you try sometime, you just might find

You just might find, you get what you need, ah, yeah.”

It all happened one night, as most of these things do. My wife Cheryl and I were sitting in the TV room eating popcorn while watching a show. The other three step kids were already in bed.

She turned to me and said, “I’m pregnant.”

Very rarely listening to her while I am concentrating on watching my show, I said nothing.

She jabbed me in the ribs with her elbow.

“I’m pregnant,” she said again, looking at me for a reaction.

“Huh?” I said through a mouthful of popcorn.

She pointed to her belly. “I’m pregnant.”

I later vacuumed the popcorn up off the carpet.

And so began the nine months wait, and I want to point out here that I am spelling wait, W-A-I-T.

It was an exciting time. All the family was thrilled and eager for the new child.

We went in to have the ultrasound done and were asked if we wanted to know the sex of the baby. I said, “No, maybe after its first birthday.”

The reason was, I knew that this baby was a boy. As a matter of fact, I had already named him: Caleb John-Paul Mitchell.

Caleb, for the man who Moses sent into the promised land, who said all things are possible. John-Paul which were the first names of Cheryl’s dad, and my dad, and Mitchell, just in case he wanted to live with us.

I already had plans for my son. Helping him through Boy Scouts. Showing him how to hunt and fish. Cheering him on at sporting events. It was going to be a great father and son experience.

The nine months went by quickly. It was easy for me, although Cheryl complained a lot.

We attended Lamaze classes, and I learned all the things that I shouldn’t say and do around a pregnant woman.

And then in June, we were walking through a back alley in the Fountain District to talk with my insurance agent, when suddenly Cheryl’s water broke. Naturally, there was not a section in the Lamaze class to tell me what I should do about this.

“We’ve got to get to the hospital,” she moaned.

“But we have cloth seats in the car,” I said. “Let me throw down a tarp.”

She never understands the practical side of things.

We got to the hospital and were immediately checked into a room. Two rooms down, a woman was screaming and swearing at her husband.

“Are they doing exorcisms here too?” I asked the nurse.

The labor pains began and increased through the day. Cheryl had some too. I, remembering what I had been taught about breathing techniques in the Lamaze class, began coaching Cheryl in her breathing. I was a little insulted when both she and the attending nurse started giggling. Apparently, I did a great imitation of King Louie from Jungle Book.

Late that afternoon, the dilation reached 10 centimeters and the nurse suggested that I should have my eyes checked.

With a couple of huffs and puffs, the baby started to come. He was face down. The head was a little pointy, but I figured that I could round it off again. Then came the shoulders. Fine broad shoulders. He had a strong upper body which would be good for rope swinging later on.

Continuing on out, I noticed the cute little butt. He’s taking after me I thought. So far so good. And as he continued to roll over in a front somersault, I thought I saw the indicator that I was hoping for. Joy to the World!

The nurse quickly carried the baby out to clean him up. Returning a short time later with him swaddled in a blanket, she gave him to Cheryl, and they bonded.

Then Cheryl asked, “Would you like to hold the baby?”  

The nurse put him into my arms. And clumsy me, the swaddling blanket fell off, and I was totally shocked. The indicator wasn’t there. I checked the floor. In a panic I looked to Cheryl and then at the nurse.  This is not what I had planned for.

From that moment on, Caleb John-Paul became Kalene Elizabeth.

And over the sound system, Mick Jagger sang, “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.”