March 27, 1973. Five days past my due date.
I was fixing supper the night before, when I excused myself from the stove and visited the bathroom. There were some signs that we needed to head out for the hospital, although I remember trying to talk myself and Daddy out of it for some reason. I said maybe it's a false alarm. It's funny that it wouldn't have been totally evident to us, but although this was the seventh child, we never got the hang of this part of the process.
When I called the doctor, he told me to come in immediately and I said I will, right after I finish cooking supper. That's the first thing he said to me when I came in -- well, did you finish cooking supper? My doctor wasn't on call; I saw one of his partners for the first time.
Labor didn't start till around 4 a.m. and it was brief -- they were born at 6
5 and 6:15. I was put under right before the birth so I missed out on the surprise, but they woke me up while we were still in the delivery room so I could look at my two precious little girls. Since they weren't expecting twins, there was only one isolette. Christina was just plopped on top of Angela, and that was my first glimpse of them, both facing me, one atop the other.
Since I was going to sleep off the anesthetic for awhile, Daddy went home to make sure everyone had gotten off to school okay. He had called home with the news before they had to leave to catch the bus, and the neighbors still talk about the Ferrara children racing up and down the street at 6:30 in the morning, in and out of houses, to tell all their friends about the new babies. Sue was on a platoon schedule at her high school where classes started really early and she had to leave to catch the bus before the births. Daddy called the school secretary and asked her to get a message to Sue. For some reason, the news passed through the school like wildfire. During one class, the teacher said at the beginning, "Okay, let's have a hand for Mrs. Ferrara and her twins." I believe Sue will correct me on this if I'm wrong, but I think that's the gist of it. He was just tired of hearing about it.
When Daddy came back to the hospital at 10 a.m., he came blasting into the room and sort of shouted at me, "Ginnie, you know we have to name them!!" I was sound asleep, but I answered him nicely. "I know it, Sam."
And now, here they are. All grown up and then some.