In October 1973, Raj found out she was pregnant again. Once again, we kept this news to ourselves, not sharing it with our parents because we did not want them to worry. Raj seemed to be getting along well. She rested much more, and I also took extra pains to remind her not to do so much work around the house. Subhash was walking by this time, so Raj did not have to carry him as often, and the young ladies in our neighborhood were a great help to her, often visiting the house while I was at work to see how Raj was doing and to let their children play together.
In June, our neighbor Nancy Hollinger threw Raj a baby shower. The other ladies from the neighborhood gathered at Nancy’s house, bringing gifts for Raj and the baby. They played games, drank tea, and ate snacks. Raj seemed to enjoy herself and appreciated this gesture from Nancy. It was a great comfort to her to have a woman close to her own age to confide in and to take an interest in her baby and her wellbeing.
One summer evening in June 1974, Providence Hospital hosted the quarterly medical staff dinner meeting at the Crosley Mansion Courtyard, which was part of the hospital campus. I volunteered to cook the steaks, and I spent most of my time in front of the flaming grill with Mayer Kray, the assistant administrator of maintenance and engineering. I wore a tall white chef’s hat, and with my experience in cooking, I enjoyed flipping the fresh steaks high into the air, catching them expertly on the spatula, and throwing them back on the grill. I put on quite a performance, and as the doctors arrived, they watched me at the grill.
With dozens of steaks to cook, Mayer and I had no time to get our own drinks. Eniko, the food service director, made routine rounds to fill our glasses.
“Kris, drink up!” he’d say, filling my glass to the brim.
I did drink up, and before long, I was in high spirits, flipping the steaks even more exuberantly. Sometimes I accidentally dropped a steak on the ground. Grabbing it with the tongs, I placed it back on the grill. “No harm done!” I called out.
At around 8:30 p.m., my citywide pager beeped. Having such a great time drinking and cooking the steaks, I ignored it. About ten minutes later, Mr. Gilreath came over and said, “Kris, Raj has been trying to call you. I think you need to go home.”
I set down my drink and turned over another steak, examining it to see if it was nearly finished. “No, she is okay,” I said. Raj had been in labor with Subhash for 24 hours so I figured I had plenty of time.
“Kris, go home,” Mr. Gilreath said in a firm voice, leaving no room for argument.
When I saw how serious he was, I sobered up. “Okay, okay, I’ll go home.”
I called Raj from the phone in the lobby and told her that I was coming.
“I’m not feeling well, Kris,” she said. “Please hurry.”
I was not about to go without taking a steak with me. I went back to the grill, cooked two more steaks, finished my drink, and put the steaks on a plate.
When I walked in the door, our neighbor Skip was sitting with Raj. I said, “Skip, what are you doing here? Go home.”
“Raj called me,” Skip replied, looking concerned.
Raj felt embarrassed at my rudeness, and she could also tell I had been drinking. She gave me a hard look and turned to Skip. “Take Subhash with you. I’m going to the hospital.”
As Skip left with Subhash, I took the two steaks out of a bag along with a bottle of steak sauce.
“Let’s sit down and have steak first,” I told Raj.
Raj stared at me. “No, I have to go to the hospital!”
“You’ll be fine,” I said as I went to the kitchen for a fork and a steak knife. “These steaks are all the way from Chicago Stockyards. It’s not every day you get to eat one of these!”
Raj looked at me in astonishment. “Kris, I have already called Dr. Brunsman. He is getting everything ready for me at the hospital. You must take me right now!” Her voice rose to a high pitch, and her eyes flashed angrily.
I cut off a chunk of steak, slathered it in the sauce, and put it in my mouth. “Mm, this is good. You should try some, Raj,” I said, cutting another smaller piece and pushing the plate toward her.
“Kris, I have to go right away! Maybe we should call the ambulance.” She started to walk to the phone.
“No, no. I will drive you.”
“Do you know the way to the hospital?” Raj asked.
I forked another bite of steak into my mouth, and chewed with great enjoyment. It was perfect, it was juicy, and it was everything a steak should be. Raj watched me, tears forming in her eyes as she waited for an answer.
“Of course I know how to get there,” I said.
Raj’s delivery would take place at Christ Hospital in downtown Cincinnati, since Providence Hospital did not have a labor and delivery unit. I sped toward the hospital as fast as I could, hoping a cop would pull us over, so I could explain the situation and he would escort us to the hospital. No such luck. Instead, after driving for 30 minutes, we ended up right in front of our driveway. By this time it was around 9:30 p.m., and Dr. Brunsman had been waiting for us at the hospital for more than an hour.
Raj burst into tears. “You are too drunk to drive!” she cried. “You took the wrong exit. We should have called the ambulance.”
“Stay calm,” I said. “I will take you to the hospital.”
This time we made it to Christ Hospital, and immediately, the nurses whisked Raj away to labor and delivery.
Several hours later, as
