It is almost midnight on January 6, 1986. I am sitting in a car outside my husband’s office building in the Denny Regrade area of Seattle. Don has run inside to leave a couple of project memos for co-workers. I am physically and emotionally uncomfortable. Internet and cell phones do not exist yet. I make sure the doors are locked, and I hope my husband returns quickly.
I am in labor with our first child.
My labor pains started four or five hours ago, and the hospital advised me to come in when they were about eight minutes apart. Don snoozes a bit, knowing that it is going to be a long night. I prepare a sandwich and snacks and keep one eye on my watch. The pains increase in frequency and intensity.
At about 11:00, I wake Don up and tell him that it is time to go to the hospital, a half hour’s drive away. My husband is cheerful and calm and looking forward to our new adventure as parents. But first, he just needs to dash into the office. I am not thrilled at the prospect, but I agree that job commitments are important. Fortunately, our son is not born in the dark in a white Subaru parked on Fourth Avenue.
I am still in labor the next morning as Don’s co-workers arrive at his engineering firm. Don takes time off from holding my hand and watching the tocodynamometer monitor to call one of his engineering colleagues. The conversation goes like this:
(Unintelligible engineering gibberish) (Pause). Oh, I’m sorry, I have to go, my wife says I need to get off the phone. (Pause) No, I probably won’t come to work today. I am at the hospital. (Pause) Yes, my wife is about to have a baby.
My husband’s voice is calm and measured despite the inescapable eventuality that a baby was about to arrive. I suspect that the same deliberate tone would deliver an opinion that a newly discovered fault in the foundation of a large concrete dam could cause imminent failure. For Don, cataclysmic events of all kinds are approached with thoughtful consideration, patience, and preparation.
Several days later, with a newborn son at home, Don returns to work. Our child’s arrival predated accommodations for paternity leave. Occupational devotion and dependability shaped a young professional’s progress. As for me, I take two weeks off from law school and then return to finish my final semester.
Not much has changed since that day in 1986. Don’s steadfast commitment to his career is unending. I recall him taking a couple of days off thirty years ago for rotator cuff surgery. Recent foot surgery prohibited him from reading emails for at least one day. But in the almost forty years that I have known him, I do not recall Don ever missing work because of illness.
Come to think of it, I have not taken an unplanned day off work in my entire career, either, except for five days in 1992 when my obstetrician ordered bedrest when our third baby threatened an early arrival. I spent an impatient week in bed and then called it good and waddled back into the office.
In fairness to Don, I cannot fault him for stranding me in a parked car late at night. I made good use of the time. I practiced my Lamaze breathing. I scanned my surroundings for police cars in case I needed emergency transportation. I had six or seven minutes between contractions to protest Don’s incessant occupational allegiance.
When it comes to careers – and each other - my husband and I are cut from the same troth cloth.