Happy birthday to both my little ‘fuzz-heads’

Sixteen years ago I was driving a truck with medical supplies out in the rural area of Mason County, Wash. I was transporting liquid oxygen and nitrogen along with compressed helium, oxygen and nitrous oxide. It was the one day of the week I drove way out in the boondocks to make deliveries at dentist offices and other customers that chose to do business out there.

It was the worst possible place to be when the phone rang from my scared and worried wife that I needed to get to the UW Hospital in Seattle right now! She had gone in for one of the check-ups they do as you’re getting close to the expected delivery date of your child. Apparently, things weren’t looking right. Well, she had a tendency to get overly worked up, so I asked her to hand the phone to the doctor. “Mr. Compton, do whatever it takes to get here as fast you can.”

Uh-oh.

You can’t exactly “hurry” driving a commercial rig, especially one with Hazmat placards all over it. But I had it pegged right at the speed limit the whole way back to Bremerton, where my Ford Explorer was parked. I did a hot-seat pass-off to another driver, jumped in my Explorer, turned on the hazards and proceeded to make the 55-mile drive to Seattle as fast as I could. At one point I passed two Washington State Patrol cars and I thought, “Oh boy, here we go.”

I was on a wide, four-lane highway and the afternoon rush hadn’t kicked in yet so I was doing 90 mph. No way were they going to not see me. But they didn’t. To this day I am astounded that they didn’t pull me over. When I got to the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, there was a construction backup. Using my knowledge of the back roads, I took an exit and drove through a bunch of side streets that allowed me to try and re-enter the freeway right at the bridge. Apparently, several other people had the same idea and the entrance ramp was clogged.

Dang it. I reached over, hit the 4x4 button and proceeded to climb up and over the dirt berm and onto the freeway. People were honking, justifiably upset and such. As I tried to merge onto the highway and the people were yelling at me out their windows, I sheepishly waved and yelled back that my wife was at the hospital getting ready to deliver our son. They instantly smiled and waved me in. Cool. Across the bridge and back up to 90 mph, I made it to Seattle in less than an hour — record time.

I ran inside and learned that my wife’s pre-eclampsia was pretty bad and they were going to induce the delivery of our son. And so they tried — for three days. Along the way, we learned that my wife was allergic to morphine. On day three, the heartbeat started to fade and there was suddenly a team of nurses and doctors crashing into the room and prepping for a Caesarean section. I was in the room when they operated and, man, it was not like what I had imagined at all. Tugging, pulling, yanking — and finally we heard Austin cry for the first time.

This was Aug. 22, 1997. A short visit in ICU, where they determined he was quite healthy, and he was in the room with us. Three more days in the hospital and we drove home. To this day, I tell Austin that he wasn’t born naturally, he “came out through the sunroof instead of the door.”

Flash forward a bit and nine years ago on Aug. 20 I was just about to fall asleep in bed when Glenny squeezed my hand and said, “My water just broke.” Off we went to the hospital in Ellensburg, Wash., to deliver what would be child No. 6. With all of our kids squeezed onto chairs and the little sofa they had in the delivery room, Glenny gave birth on Aug. 21 to Benjamin Magnus Frank Compton. All natural, no pain-killers. Pretty tough woman, that Glenny.

As soon as they let us, we all loaded up in the Oldsmobile and drove back home. Once there, Glenny immediately handed me Benjy, put on her overalls and proceeded to decorate the house, bake a cake, order pizza and start making phone calls to put together Austin’s birthday party. She said she didn’t want the delivery of his new baby brother to overshadow his special day.

I think about that every year at this time when Benjamin and Austin share their back-to-back birthdays. I don’t think I’ll ever stop being amazed at the way these two boys came into the world. Austin was scary and kind of touch-and-go for awhile. And with Benjy, Glenny made childbirth look almost easy and pulled off some true “supermom” moves afterward.

As Benjy opened his birthday card from the family just a few hours ago, he read the part from Austin that said, “Happy Birthday Fuzz-head, you were my birthday present and you still are.”

Makes a dad smile.

Ben Compton is a Palmer resident and publishes his column under the tagline “Compton’s Corner,” the same title used by his grandmother, Phyllis Compton, a longtime Frontiersman columnist.