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As I mentioned in my last post, I’ll tell you my life story if you just give me a chance and a huge part of my life story was the day my children’s lives began. And so, as requested, here are their birth stories (told seperately of course, in two seperate posts). The details may have become foggy over the past few years, but those big moments I remember clearly. I’ll try to spare you the messy, goopy, mucus plug details, but no guarentees.
To say that our first pregnancy was a surprise is both an understatement and a lie. We were not trying to have a baby. In fact, getting pregnant at that point in time couldn’t have seemed more terrifying. I was in the heart of my PA education, Marty had graduated from the police academy but was working for 7-Up while he looked for a job, and we were renting out the basement in our friends basement. Not exactly a financially stable enviroment to start a family on. But, to say I was completely surprised when the stick turned positive isn’t exactly true either. Truth is, we knew there was a possibilty of me being pregnant two weeks before the test turned positive.
It’s funny really, how a seemingly ordinary day can change your life forever and can stand out in your memory for years to come…
(WARNING: Stop reading here if you get squirmish reading about women/period issues)
June 1st, 2008 I had my yearly “female” exam and voiced my concerns about my irregular periods. I hadn’t had a period in six months and knew that it needed to be evaluated (no, this is not one of those “I didn’t know I was 5 months pregnant” stories). During my exam the doctor laughed and said, “Well, I think you are ovulating right now actually, so as long as you haven’t had sex within the past 24 hours, you should be expecting your period in 14 days.”
The look on my face said it all.
“And if I have had sex within 24…”
“Then you need to take a pregnancy test in two weeks. Unless of course you would rather not wait, we can start a medication today to start your period and then start birth control to regulate your periods. It’s up to you.”
After the appointment I drove home in a fog. I sat in the car for twenty minutes outside the house, working up the courage to call Marty and tell him what the doctor had said. Neither of us really thought I was pregnant, but we both knew we had to wait two weeks to know for sure and that taking the medication to induce a period wasn’t an option for us, no matter what the outcome would be. Being the impatient person that I am, I couldn’t wait the full 14 days to take a test. Heck, EPT tests say you can take the test 5 days before your missed period right? Friday evening, I took a test.
Negative.
I can’t tell you what my first thought was when I read the negative result. I’m sure there was relief, but also saddness for the loss of the possibility as well.
But fear not, because on Sunday when I decided to take the test again (still 3 days before I was supposed to) two faded pink lines appeared in the window. This time, I know my first emotion. Complete and utter hysteria. I laughed, cried, and felt as if my heart would beat right out of my chest as I showed the test to Marty. Ready or not, we were going to be parents.
Flash forward nine months later through the horrible morning sickness, french fries and donuts cravings, and waddling my way through PA school.
At 38 weeks, I was convinced, absolutely convinced that I would die an old woman before my baby would be born. I was uncomfortable, anxious, swollen and completely over being pregnant. On February 12th, ten days before my due date, I begged my OB to do something, anything to speed this process along. She stripped my membranes; something that I thought was one of the worst pains of my life up until that point. (Ha, just wait naive pregnant Kate… just you wait.) At first I was ecstatic. I called everyone. “Baby Kranz might be here in less than 24 hours!” Then my mom informed me that she had her membranes stripped when she was pregnant too an all of us Allen kids were at least 2 weeks late. Bummer.
I returned to the office where I was doing my clinical rotations and worked the rest of the afternoon. Around 4pm I asked to go home because I ‘just wasn’t feeling well.’ We were living with my parents at this point (we were in the final stages of closing on our first home) and my in-laws had come into town that day to drop off some furniture and our washer and dryer. As we sat around the kitchen table, I remember getting very impatient and annoyed that everyone was laughing and having a great time as I sat there fat, swollen and not feeling well. Later that evening my in-laws took my husband and I out to dinner. As we drove to the Applebee’s my husband kept asking, “are you ok? You dont look like you feel very well.” I reassured him I was fine, just tired and cramping from the procedure earlier that afternoon. But as he helped me waddle into the restaurant I turned to him and said, “You know, we may want to eat quickly. I really don’t feel well.”
My husband, being the man that he is, suggested I try to go to the bathroom after we ordered our food. (Thanks honey). As I waddled to the bathroom I remember the looks the fellow patrons gave me “Sheesh, she looks like she is going to explode!’
As I sat in the bathroom stall, third door on the left, I felt as though I was dying. The pain in my abdomen was constant. This couldn’t possibly be labor. Labor pains were supposed to be intermittent, they were supposed to occur several minutes apart and slowly get closer and closer together. This pain was different. It didn’t stop. After what felt like hours, but I was told was 20-30 minutes, my mother in-law came to my rescue, pried my hands from the grooves I had carved in the stall, and led me back to the table. I attempted to eat my dinner but it’s nearly impossible to eat quesadilla’s when you have a death grip on your husband’s hand, begging him to put down his fork and time the contractions. My husband had other priorities though… like the fudge brownie ice cream he ordered for dessert. “We have time for dessert right?” At this point, I dont think any of us believed I was in labor.
As we left the restaurant, we made our way across the parking lot to the hotel where my in-laws were staying. They (my husband and in-laws) insisted we go up to the room where I could lie down while we opened our belated Christmas gifts. I remember glaring at my husband as we rode the elevator up to the 190832nd floor of the hotel. I walked circles in the elevator desperate to try anything to keep my mind off the pain. As my husband opened our Christmas presents, I talked to my sister-in-law on the phone. “Look Kate, a video camera!” I heard Marty exclaim as I explained my symptoms to Jayme. She told me repetitively, ‘go to the hospital,‘ as I continued to reassure her that I couldnt possibly be in labor. The pain wasn’t following any pattern. This was not how they described it in birthing class or in the 8 books I read on child birth. Needless to say, once my sister-in-law spoke with my husband, we were on our way to Royal Oak Beaumont.
As we rode in the car, the 40 minutes to the hospital felt like hours. We didn’t tell anyone except our parents that we were on our way. I was petrified I would arrive and be told I was constipated or just had gas pains and needed to go home. I was afraid I would be “that girl” that wasn’t actually in labor and was over-reacting.
We were barely in the triage room before my water broke. To this day, I wish someone else had been in that room when it happened. My husband’s face was priceless. Within seconds my pain intensified and I requested an epidural. FYI they dont give epidurals in triage, you must wait until you are in the delivery room. Another FYI, don’t go into labor the night of Friday the 13th. Apparently the hosptial was full, short staffed, and didnt have a room available for me.
Approximately 3 hours later in pregnant woman time (30 minutes normal people time) I was taken to the room where I would eventually meet my new baby. I writhered in pain and gripped my husband’s hand, begging him to make the pain stop.
At one point our conversation went like this…
In the middle of a contraction I squeezed his hand so hard he pulled his hand away and yelped, “Damn! That hurt!”
“THAT hurt?! You want to know what hurts? THIS shit hurts!”
“I know. I’m sorry, but when you squeeze my ring finger with your retard strength… ” (I apologize for my husband’s choice of words)
“MY WHAT!? RETARD STRENGTH!? IS THAT A JOKE? NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR JOKES!”
At that moment, my husband carefully backed out of the room and paced the halls asking every patient, nurse, and janitor if he was the “epidural guy.”(true story)
My savior and ‘new best friend,’ as I called him repeatedly, arrived with my epidural when I was at 6 centimeters. Within two glorious seconds I was pain free and smiling at my husband. Marty held my hand and glanced wearily at me, ready for me to lay into him for his previous remark. To which I sweetly responded, “Now you can make all the jokes you want. All is right in the world now.”
For the next hour we watched a re-run of the Red Wings game (I had no idea they did re-runs of sporting events) and we talked about how this had to be a sign. We must be getting ready to meet our future hockey player. We must be having a boy.
Our parents and my little brother trickled into the room and settled in for what we expected to be a long night. My mom kissed my forehead and said, “Sweetie, you look great. You make labor look easy.”
“That’s because you did this naturally mom. This epidural is awesome. You have no idea what you were missing!”
Shortly after speaking those words the heartburn that had consumed my pregnancy returned. The room began to spin and I felt sick to my stomach. I turned to my mom and said “Mom, I think the epidural is wearing off. I can feel a lot of pressure now.” Little did I know, but my mom knew… it was almost time.
I started vomiting and between heaves turned to Marty and said, “Can you call the nurse? Tell her I’m puking.” My husband, calm as can be, sauntered (honestly, he couldn’t have walked any slower) over to the call button and said, “Um hello. My wife is nauseous.”
Nauseous? Pretty sure I had surpassed ‘nauseous’ six heaves ago.
Suddenly, instincts kicked in. Nature took its course. And I knew.
It was time.
“Forget ‘nauseous!’ Tell her I need to push!”
Within seconds my parents covered my forehead with kisses and my mom quickly ushered everyone except Marty out of the room. (Note: Marty and I had discussed allowing people to be in the delivery room or not when our first child was born. Ultimately we decided, we created this baby alone and therefore we should be the first to welcome him/her into the world. I later had a conversation with my mom about this. She had told me that as much of an honor as it would be to be asked to stay in the room, it would have been very difficult for her to watch her baby in so much pain. A pain she was incapable of stopping. As a mother now myself, I get it.)
I’d like to say I shared a special moment with my mom at that moment, that last moment before her baby had a baby. I’d like to say the moment lasted longer than a kiss on my forehead and her brushing my hair out of my eyes. I’d like to say that she was able to provide me with the secret to motherhood, a secret only passed on at that precise moment before a woman becomes a mommy herself. But to be honest, even if that moment had existed, I probably wouldn’t have remembered. (Sorry Mom) At that moment I was focused on one thing and one thing only.
Meeting our baby.
Most of the next few minutes are a blur as the nurse prepared for delivery, checked to see how I was progressing, and quickly paged the physician “You better get here quickly. The baby is already crowning!”
As I tried to let my instincts guide me, I clung to Marty’s hand as the extremely perky and all-too-cheerfull-at-three-in-the-morning physician exclaimed, “You’re awesome, a few more, you’re doing great!” At one point, as Marty bravely watched as our child was being born, I grabbed him by the collar of his hoodie, pulled his face within inches from mine and said “If I’m going to do this, I need you here. Right here. Tell me I can do this.”
Moments later a weight was put onto my chest. A cry filled the room. Our baby was here.
I stared at our newborn. The chubby cheeks, the squinted eyes, ten perfect fingers that clung to mine. For nine months I dreamed of this moment.
For the past 20 years I dreamed of this moment.
I whispered to my new baby, “I love you.”
I kissed my husband.
And finally I asked the doctor, “Um, what is it?”
She nodded and said, “Take a look Daddy.”
Marty gazed at our new miracle, carefully unwrapped the blanket, and smiled, “It’s a girl. We have a girl.”
Nothing can compare to that moment.
There are very few true surprises in life. Surprises that take your breath away, surprises that change your life. We had chosen not to find out the gender of our baby. Having my husband, the father of my child, being the one to tell me we were now the parents of a beautiful baby girl, is a moment I will remember and cherish for the rest of my life.
Words can’t express the amount of love I felt the day our daughter was born. It is a feeling that can only be understood when it’s experienced. The love one has for a spouse is amazing, but the moment a child is born- that is the most honest and true example of unconditional love.
Nothing else compares.
