Birth of Jobe Atene Hess, Part 1*: Three long, long, weeks of seemingly unending labor come to a sudden end

About 2:34 AM, just as I was finally drifting into that strange world that precedes sleep where one's conscious thoughts begin to blend with dreamlike images, I heard the family phone ring in the living room. I did not want to get up and answer it. It would not be the first time that I have answered a call in the middle of the night only to have it be a wrong number.

But... we had been waiting weeks now for a call to come from Jacob and Lavina to tell us that it was time. Yet... most of their calls these days come on my cell or Margie's and surely they know that at night, it is our cell phones that we are going to be close to...

...however... we also sometimes get late night calls from Rex, due to the heartbreak and turmoil that he is undergoing as a result of Stephanie having picked up and left. For reasons that I will not explore here, this past week has been exceptionally tough. Yet... Rex also calls our cell phones.

So I did not want to get up and answer the phone, just to hear a stranger ask for Bernadette or Bernard. Then I heard voicemail come on, followed by the sound of a male voice leaving a long message. The phone was too far away and the voice too muffled for me to recognize it or make out the words.

I knew I could not ignore it, so I gently pushed Jim, my good black cat buddy, off the side of my chest, opened the door, plodded down the hall into the living room, to the phone and hit "play."

It was Jacob. Lavina's water had broke. Her contractions had suddenly sped up to one minute apart. Jacob was about to take her to the hospital.

So I headed back down the hall towards our room and was surprised to see light slipping out from under our bedroom door into the hallway. I opened the door and found Margie standing by my bed, desperately struggling with my iPhone. She has not learned how to unlock it and by the time I could get to her and take the phone, Jacob had hung up.

Now, I heard the office phone that I keep in the living room begin to ring.

Yep. You guessed it, before I could get to it the call ended. This was okay, because next Margie's cell phone, which she has keeps by the bed when she sleeps, began to ring and she knows perfectly well how to operate that phone, so she picked it up and talked to Jacob.

Just over an hour later, I dropped Margie off at Jacob and Lavina's house so that she could stay with the sleeping Kalib and Gracie, picked Laverne up so that she could be with her sister and drove to Providence Hospital.

There, Laverne and I found them, in the delivery room, Jacob by her side as Lavina suffered the contractions and pains that precede childbirth.

She had dilated to five. As I certain most of my readers know, 10 is the number when the baby generally comes.

The rapidly thumping sound of the baby's amplified heartbeat filled the room. Sometimes, it sped up and the pitch seemed to increase, like a crescendo rising and then it would slow down and come down. I have experienced this before, so I did not let it worry me. Lavina's soft, yet sharp, painful little cries and moans accompanied the heartbeat.

A nurse came in and asked Lavina, "On a scale of 1 to ten, ten being the most severe pain that you can imagine and 1 being no pain, what would you say your pain level is?"

"Eight or nine," Lavina answered.

Lavina and Jacob were not alone, of course. Caleb had stepped into the room just minutes after Laverne and I had arrived. 

I asked the nurse for her best guess as to how much time we had. Margie and I had tried to call the rest of our children, but had reached no one.

I was particularly concerned about Rex and thought maybe, if the nurse were to say, "oh, it will be hours yet," I would drive over and wake him and Melanie myself. I would make certain everybody was okay.

"There's no saying," the nurse answered. "This is her second baby, it could happen at anytime. I've got a feeling it will be awhile, though."

Before Kalib was born, a nurse told Margie and I to go get some sleep, as it would be many hours yet before the baby came. Jacob and Lavina lived in a nearby apartment at that time, so Margie and I had gone to their place and made ourselves comfortable on their long, L-shaped couch.

Very soon, the phone had rang. Lavina had already begun to deliver. So we missed the birth of Kalib.

I did not want to miss this birth. I decided I had better stay put and just trust that everybody was okay and they would get the messages soon. 

Lavina and Jacob, waiting for their new baby.

Jacob and Lavina. You can see how tough it is on Jacob. 

Yet, here's the thing we fathers who accompany our women to childbirth always know - however tough it gets on us, we don't even know. We can't know. We want to know, but we can't.

We can only be grateful, and do what we can to help the woman get through the ordeal that our past supreme pleasure now demands of her.

So Jacob gives Lavina a back rub.

Caleb wonders why he is so tired.

Laverne reads a magazine.

Lavina bears the pain, without complaint.

At the last check, Lavina had dilated to seven. Now, the nurse came again. It appeared to me that the birth must be getting very close. It is nearing 6:00 AM.

People often speak of a once-in-a-lifetime event, like hitting a grand-slam in Wrigley Field in the bottom of the ninth with your team down by three points - yet it is conceivable that a ball-player could accomplish this twice.

But being born - emerging from the wet, red, darkness of the womb into the open air - that is truly a once-in-a-life time event. It just will not happen twice. And nothing - not one event that anyone will ever experience is more important to their life than this one. Birth is the one event that makes all others possible.

It is an event that I have photographed five times in my life - once for each of my children. I had hoped to photograph Kalib as he was lifted up to gulp his first breath of air, but it didn't happen.

Now, I hoped to photograph grandchild number two. If I got the sense that it would be too much for Lavina to have her father-in-law there, or that this was something that Jacob and Lavina should experience without a parent, then I would leave.

But I hoped to stay and get that picture, to make a record of this once-in-a-lifetime moment, the likes of which simply would not exist if I didn't take it.

Then a moment came when a nurse began to usher people who didn't need to be there out. I was reluctant to leave, but was told that all that was happening was that Lavina needed to use the restroom and naturally wanted privacy.

So I stepped out, along with Caleb, who said he was going to search the hospital coffee and asked that I call him if something were to happen. I still hoped to return for that once-in-a-beginning-lifetime moment.

That's Natalie, Lavina's good friend and Maid of Honor, kneeling on the floor. She had accidently fell asleep atop her phone and did not hear it when it first rang, but still had arrived just in time.

I had not been out for more than just minutes when Jacob suddenly appeared, walking, his eyes wide with wonder. He had a little camera in his hand and on it was a picture of a new baby. "You have a new grandson, grampa," he said. "When she went to lay back down, the baby just popped out."

Laverne came out into the waiting area and started making phone calls to her mother and sisters in Arizona.

So there you have it - Lavina spent three weeks in labor and when the moment came, the baby just popped out, catching everybody in the delivery room by surprise.

I saw this piece of stained glass hanging in the nurses station. I wondered - did it represent all mothers and babies? Or was it the Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus? Providence is a Catholic hospital, so I think it is probably Mary and Jesus.

Even so, it could still represent every mother and every baby.

Now we had to wait outside the delivery room while Lavina, baby, and all that needed to be was cleaned up.

I looked at the closed door and, although I was a little disappointed, I felt okay that I was on this side of it. This is the side of the door that grandfathers have almost always been on. In fact, until my generation in America, this was the side that even fathers had been on - and not just for the birth, but even the labor.

How about all those old black and white movies, where the expectant fathers are all gathered together in a smoke-filled hospital waiting room, passing cigarettes around?

I was privileged just to be here.

I heard that old song from the early '60's in my head, in the voice of The Brothers Four: 'twas so good to be young then, to be close to the earth and to stand by your wife at the moment of birth."

I had stood by my wife five times for such a moment. Indeed, it had been good.

And now our oldest son had stood by his wife for the second time.

I stood quiet and listened and then I heard it: a powerful, angry, little cry, spurting out in bursts, each one the length of a rapid exhalation, punctuated by the inhalation.

My second grandson.

I had convinced myself that he would be a girl.

But he was not.

He was a boy.

Which means, according to their own master plan, that Jacob and Lavina must try yet again to make a granddaughter for us.

I hate to say it, but I clean forgot that Caleb, who was still wandering about the hospital but finding no coffee,  had asked me to call him. It was about 6:30 AM now and the hospital coffee shops had yet to open.

Laverne leaned against the wall, opposite the delivery room.

Then the door began to open, and the head of a shadow slipped out into the hallway. It was time for me to go in and meet my new grandson.

*I hope to have Parts 2 and 3 both posted before Sunday is over. Then you will know something of our new grandson, and you will see how Kalib reacted when he first met his little brother.

I say "hope" because I had hoped to have both posted Saturday, along with this, but Margie and I drove into Anchorage planning to make a one hour visit with our new grandson and wound up staying well into the night. 

Part of me wants to just keep going and get both parts done before I go to bed, but it is 3:12 AM and I have yet to recover and Jacob, Lavina and Family are coming out tomorrow to perform a little ceremony mandated by Navajo spirituality, so I think I had better see if I can get some sleep before I delve into parts 2 and 3.

To all those who have comments and questions the past few days, I apologize for my delay in responding, but I will.

One shot from today: Baby boy Jobe Atene Hess - more pictures will follow

I am exhausted and must go to bed as soon as I can, so I decided to post just one image from today's shoot. I chose this one for the simple reason that it is the first scene that I shot on the second compact flash card that I exposed today and that card is the first that I am downloading because it was in my camera when I came home and plugged it in - and I do like the image.

At the end of that card, there are some shots of Kalib meeting his new brother for the first time and I had thought that I would use one of those. But CF cards download extremely slowly out of my Canon 1Ds Mark 2 into my computer and Lightroom, and it will be awhile yet before that picture appears.

I do not have it in me to wait right now. Except for a cat nap after the birth, I have been up now for over 40 hours and I am fatigued, mentally and physically, even as I am overjoyed that our newest grandson has emerged from the womb to make himself known.

In addition to this card that is currently downloading, there is the first card that I filled, which is twice the size of this one and will take twice as long to download - and there is another card from my pocket camera.

The pocket camera card will download fast, but it has to wait its turn and it is the third in line.

So I am going to bed.

Sometime after I get up, I will download the remaining two cards, do somewhat of an edit and make a more complete post on today's event.

Jobe weighed in at seven pounds, ten ounces - a full pound more than did Kalib - and came out 19 inches long. The woman giving Lavina a neck message is her good friend, Natalie.

Jobe is greatly loved and we are glad to have him here.

More later.

The Russian Immigrant boy who loved Willow; Royce; the grandmother who prayed for a coffee shop; horses; ravens; musician; a warm Pistol

On December 29, I devoted my entire post to a series of pictures of children of Russian immigrants as they sledded down Tamar. In that post, I recounted a bit of a story from years before when a young, freckle-faced, Russian boy with red/blond hair used to happily come out to greet the dog Willow and I whenever we would come walking by.

I wrote about how he would follow along, but just for a little ways, because he knew that his parents would not want him too.

This is he, on the left, Ruvum. I hardly ever see him now, but today I did, carrying a snowboard on his back, accompanied by two girls. The third girl declined to be photographed, but she happily recalled how she used to see me with Willow.

As it happens, I meant them right in front of the house where they lived back when Willow was alive and walking with me. Today, they live on the other side of the block, although I am reluctant to call it a block because it is much bigger than the typical city block. 

Much bigger. But it is square shaped, as blocks are.

Both he and the girls were very polite and courteous, if reserved, and their faces seemed to tell me that they are decent people, good kids.

I miss those old days, when they would come running out so eager to see Willow, when Ruvum would follow along for just a little bit, and then turn back.

Compared to how he was last weekend, I think Royce is doing quite a bit better. He is still heartbreakingly thin and light. When I pick him up, I feel bones, not meat or fat, beneath his fur, but he is eating well, seems to have energy that belies his appearance, and the prescription food mixed with Metamucil seems to be doing at least part of its job.

He's dropped some healthy looking turds into the litter box lately.

Now, if only it will do the rest of job and put some weight back on him.

Through the Metro Window Study, #Three billion-two-point-five: As I have mentioned before, a dog wash used to sit on the site now occupied by Metro Cafe. Then one day, the dog wash went out of business, the property went up for sale, the property was sold, the dog wash came down and construction began on a new project.

Nearly every day that I spent home and not somewhere else, I would pass by the construction scene, either in my car, on my bike, or sometimes on foot.

I, and the other members of this family were all most curious to see what rise in place of the dog wash.

We weren't the only ones. See the woman on the left? That is Carol, pictured in this magnificent study with her granddaughter, Serenity. Carol lives in the apartments right next door and she, too, was most curious. She would peek out from her window and sometimes she would sneak through the trees, hoping to get a close look, to see if she could figure out what it was going to be.

"I prayed that it would be a coffee shop," she says. Most of the time, she is on foot and there were no coffee shops in walking distance for a woman whose cane testifies that she is feeling the wear of this life. She wanted a good coffee shop, where she could go and sip a delicious cup as she sat down at a nice table with her granddaughter and enjoyed the company of the proprietor, and of other friendly people seeking the same pleasure that she sought.

So she prayed, and her prayer was answered, affirmatively.

When I paid Carmen today, I offered her the usual dollar tip, but before she could take it, the wind grabbed it and sent it flying down the drive-through. I could see a vehicle coming from behind, so I pulled up away from the window, got out of the car, grabbed the dollar bill and walked it back to Carmen.

As I did, a pickup truck pulled in and parked not far away. I began to walk back to the car.

"Oh, it's those cute girls!" I heard Carmen exclaim.

I turned back and saw several little girls pour out of the pickup and run laughing towards the coffee shop. They all looked to be Native, and all were happy. I could not take a picture, because I had left my pocket camera sitting on the passenger seat.

I got back into the car and thought about driving around and back to the window, so that I could do another study shot of those girls through the Metro window, but that seemed to me to be cheating.

Plus, from the tone of Carmen's exclamation, I knew that they were regulars.

I must trust that one day, before too long, I will pull up to that drive-through window when the cute little girls are in the coffee house. I will then make them the subject of a Through the Metro Window Study.

I wonder what number I will be at by then?

In order to give myself a chance to hear a little news, I took the long way home. Not so long ago, it was pitch night at this time and one could barely make out the forms of these horses against the snow - if one could make it out at all.

Look at it now.

The weather remains unrealistically warm. It feels like spring.

But what do you want to bet that it's not?

As I headed down Schrock, I saw a group of Russian Old Believers walking alongside the road. Before I could reach them, they turned and disappeared down a trail into the woods.

Further along, I saw some ravens, flying off to my right.

The ravens flew on.

Then the ravens crossed over the road, and flew to my left.

Then they drifted off in the direction of the Talkeetna Mountains.

As I neared home, All Things Considered began a story on Gil Scott Heron, the singer/songwriter who, in the 1970's, did a very angry and excellent piece titled, The Revolution Will Not Be Televised. Some says he is a father of rap. He has come out with a new album title, I'm New Here. It was mighty bluesy and damn good. I pulled into my driveway about half-way-through the story, but I could not get out of the car until the story ended, until Gil Scott Heron quit singing.

This would be a good album to have. So would The Revolution Will Not Be Televised.

I shut down the car and the radio went off. I stepped into the house and there, by the door, sat Pistol-Yero on a chair, looking at me. He was so thrilled to see me he could hardly contain himself.

I'm not joking, either. I'm serious. I know this cat. He was thrilled to see me.

Margie goes to town and drops me off at the edge of the highway, I find food to eat and see some fascinating sights

Margie had a physical therapy appointment in Anchorage this morning, so I had her drop me off at the side of the Parks Highway as she left town. I then went looking for food, and wound up at Mat-Su Family Restaurant, about 30 feet away.

This is my waitress, waiting on someone else.

I am a generous person and am happy to share my waitress with others.

Here is a fellow who has already finished his breakfast, walking back to his vehicle, keys ready to be inserted in the ignition.

She came by refilling coffee cups.

This is the view that I see as I look out my Family Restaurant window: Alaska.

Now I am walking home from Family Restaurant - close to four miles. A dog comes riding over the hill. There is a man in the vehicle with him.

The dog wishes the man would get out for once, and let the dog drive.

But the man won't. The dog does not understand why.

Bill. I think you should go to bed. Get some sleep.

A military jet passes overhead.

Then a military raven flies by. It is carrying little bombs. They will not kill you, but you don't want to get bombed - not by a raven, anyway.

This is Ken Clark. He is wondering why a strange looking man is walking down the street towards him, taking his picture.

He was very amused once he found out.

Now he will be remembered forever.

Just by looking, you can see that this was a very warm day. It got above freezing.

I suppose some people like it that way, but not me.

Not this time of year.

It's just not right. 

It's like mother nature has forgotten where we're at.

Through the Window Metro Study, #42A. That's Karl, Carmen's brother-in-law, and Cindy.

On my way home from my coffee break, I had to stop for these moose. Some may not believe this, but if this had been a cold, snowy, winter, instead of the warm farce that it has been, we would be seeing many more moose.

The number of horses would remain the same.

Two postmen: one rescues me from mean, vicious, snarling, barking American Bull Dog (imagine it comparing paw notes with the pit) Metro study

On my walk, I see in the near distance - a dog!

An American Bull Dog.

Barking.

Growling.

Snarling.

Preparing to attack.

H'mmm... looks familiar... haven't we been through this before?

Like 79 times?

"I'm going to tear your head off, Picture Man!" the dog growls.

Suddenly, before she can attack, she turns, and runs, fleeing in terror, all decorum and modesty forgotten. Someone has come to my rescue. Who could it be?

"Are you okay?" I hear a voice behind me. I turn to my rescuer. It is this postman. 

"I'm fine," I say. "That's Tequilla. She doesn't mean any harm. She's just likes to put on a show."

The postman is greatly relieved.

And he is pleased to know he will be in my blog.

He will be remembered forever now.

Except for his name.

I didn't get his name.

So he will be remembered forever as, "Anonymous Postman Who Saved Legendary Wasilla Blogger From Bluff Attack by Sweatheart Barking Bull Dog Named Tequilla."

The Postman drives away and I walk on. Tequilla relaunches the attack, sneaking loudly up from behind.

She stops, pretending with satisfaction that she has done her job and has frightened me away.

Well, once again, our little town's most famous, self-proclaimed, pit bull has managed to dominate national news stories of the past few days. She should get together with this character. They could write notes upon their paws and then stage a barking and growling contest.

"Woof! Woof!" it would be written on the paw of the American Bull dog.

"Bark! Bark!" the Pit Bull's paw would read.

Later, at the usual time, I drive to Metro Cafe, where I come upon a second postman, John. He agrees to pose for, Through the Metro Cafe Window, Study #2.

Certainly, there have been many more images than one already completed in this amazing study, but every study must have a #2. This is my #2.

After we finish the shoot and John leaves, Carmen tells me that more and more postmen are taking their breaks at the Metro Cafe.

"They're really good people," she says. She is glad they have found her.

The school bus drivers, however, just drive right on by during their breaks. "They have a three hour break and they don't even stop," she laments.

C'mon, school bus drivers. Stop at Metro Cafe and get a coffee. 

You won't be sorry.

And you might wind up in one of my famous studies.

Then you, too, can be remembered forever.