Alexander Thomas: A Birth Story

I never know how to start the birth stories of my children.  I stare at the screen for several minutes, watching the cursor blink, as I try to find the words to convey the emotions, thoughts, and excitement of welcoming my child into the world. Inevitably, I realize that there are no words that will adequately describe that day.

Words just aren’t enough.

However, I suppose the best place to start is the beginning. But where exactly is the beginning of a birth story? The last few weeks of the pregnancy? The moment I knew it was time to go to the hospital? When I knew I was within minutes of holding my baby for the first time?

See my dilemma?

The last few weeks of my pregnancy were far from pleasurable. I desperately tried to soak up every last kick and poke from my growing baby, but the truth was, I was done. I was feeling huge and incredibly uncomfortable. With each passing doctor’s appointment, I was hopeful to hear words of dilation and effacement and planned to dance out of the office with the knowledge that my baby was to arrive shortly.

It didn’t happen.

The last week in March, I was desperate to go into labor. I googled ‘natural ways to induce labor’ even though I knew that there had been no new developments in this area in the two years since I last googled it.  Furthermore, I had made the promise to my husband that I would not try any of these methods until after I hit the 37^thweek mark and April 1^st (at which time we received better insurance that covered labor and delivery).

But as our luck would have it, I began having contractions at work on March 19th.  I timed my contractions in between patient appointments and as I drove home that day I called Marty and told him I was driving myself to the hospital. Having just started at a new department, he was in training and scrambled to leave early.  I reassured him that I was fine and I would call him when I knew where I was in my labor.

After being checked in and given a room, the resident came to perform a bedside ultrasound since I was presenting prior to 37 weeks. I was less than surprised (and amused) when he informed me that I was carrying a “rather large baby.”   But, regardless of size, baby still was considered premature and I was given medication to stop labor progression.  Within hours I was sent home,  feeling larger and crabbier than ever.

On April 8^th I had an appointment with my OB/GYN. As he walked in and cheerfully said “Oh Kathrine. Still pregnant I see?!”  I did my best to fight back tears.  Although we had an induction already scheduled for April 15^th (a week before my April 22nd due date) I pleaded with him “Dr. Kim, I don’t think I can take much more of this. This baby is so heavy and my feet are so swollen.”

When he offered to strip my membranes (a procedure that may or may not start the process of labor) I nearly hugged him. Instead, I settled for thanking him….over and over again.  When he did the procedure however, a procedure that was extremely painful when I had it done with Lily, I was confused to find that it didn’t hurt… at all.  Dr. Kim reassured me that it was because I was already dilated to three centimeters, but I secretely thought that he had only pretended to strip my membranes and he planned on me being pregnant forever.

It was a conspiracy.

My irrational fear was only further fed when twenty-four hours came and went without any change in contractions. (With Lily, I went into labor just four hours after having my membranes stripped).  With no sign of labor in sight, I left the girls with Marty and told him I was heading to the condo to get some cleaning done before we moved in that weekend (Because who doesn’t move into a new home when they are 9 months pregnant?!)

However I ended up sitting in a sandwich shop for an hour and a half, sinking myself into a good book.  Watching the rain hit the window beside me, counting irregular contractions (contractions that I had felt for weeks and drove me half-mad because they never progressed to full-blown labor),  I dreamed about that moment that I would finally know it was time.   

(Eventually I did make it over to the condo and spent an hour vacumming and shampooing carpets, with the thought that maybe this would induce labor.)

Later that night, as the girls lay tucked in their beds and Marty was at work, I sent him text messages letting him know that my contractions had returned, were getting stronger, and were 6-8 minutes apart… but that I was not optimistic as I had experienced contractions daily for the past two weeks with no sign of active labor in sight. By the time he came home at midnight, I was in tears because the contractions had slowed down and were no longer painful.  We sat on the couch until 1:00am, hoping that my contractions would return, before we finally called it quits and headed to bed. Since Marty is on a different schedule than the rest of the family, he headed into the basement bedroom as I got ready for bed upstairs.  As I undressed, I starred at the stretch marks staring back at me in the mirror when suddenly I was struck with a contraction. A hard contraction.  Four minutes later, I bent over, clutching my dresser as another contraction hit me.

Could it be?

I paced the room, knowing it was ridiculous to climb into bed at this point as there was no way I could sleep through these contractions.  As the third strong contraction began again just 4-5 minutes later, I grabbed my phone and called Marty.

“Yeah?” he groggily answered. (Clearly he had just fallen asleep)

“It’s time,” I said. “Come upstairs. I’m calling my mom to come over.”

I glanced at the clock as I called my mom.

1:15am

Why must all of my babies come in the middle of the night?

But despite being the middle of the night, my mom cheerfully answered the phone on the second ring,“Is it baby time?”

Moms. They are the greatest.

In the fifteen minutes that it took for Mom to show up on our doorstep, bag in hand, ready to crash on our couch as we headed to the hospital, I paced the floors of our home.  I made note of the messes, the half-empty rooms (as some of our furniture had already been packed or moved), and the signs of our life as a family of four.  In just a few hours, we would be a family of five.

Five.

Wow.

I snuck into each girls room, kissed them on the forehead, and whispered “I love you.” I spent a few moments gazing at each of them. Both seemed so small and angelic, especially Charlotte. I choked back tears as I brushed strands of hair off their faces and re-tucked in stuffed animals.  I knew that in the morning, after having laid eyes on my newborn, my baby girls would no longer seem so small. In fact, they would seem as though they had grown inches overnight and Charley would no longer look like ‘a baby.’

Such a bittersweet moment.  Closing the door to Charley’s nursery, I walked away from one baby as I walked toward welcoming another baby into our lives.

As we drove to the hospital and walked into the ER, I couldn’t help but notice how calm, cool, and collected we were.  There was little fear or apprehension. We’ve done this before, not once, but twice.  In fact, I dare say we may have strutted into the ER, smiles on our faces, as we confidently stated “Hi. I’m in labor.”

Once in labor and delivery, I was given a gown, told to undress, and that the nurse would be in shortly.  I climbed into the bed and gazed around the room. The sight of the plastic newborn bed, prepped with receiving blanket and hat, nearly brought me to tears.

The nurse, Laurie, came in and hooked me up to the monitors. As the sound of our baby’s heartbeat filled the delivery room, Marty smiled and said “that’s the first time I have heard this baby’s heart beat. I’ve always missed the heartbeat at the appointments.”   We sat in silence for a few minutes, taking in the sound of our baby’s beating heart, before Dr. Kim’s resident came in to check for dilation.

3 centimeters.

I must say, I had hoped to be a little further than I had been at my last doctor’s appointment. The resident physician performed a quick ultrasound and stated (with much surprise in her voice) “this baby is about 9lbs, 8oz…give or take a pound.”  She then informed me that she would keep an eye on me for a few hours and then determine if we would continue with labor or if I would be sent home to labor at home. Our nurse must have sensed the panic on my face because after 30 minutes she reassured me that with the strength and regularity of my contractions, combined with being 38 weeks pregnant, I would not be sent home. Putting trust in her, I began texting friends and family to let them know that Baby Kranz #3 would be arriving sometime that day. This was it. Marty and I settled in to our terribly uncomfortable couch and incredibly too-short hospital bed respectively and prepared for a quick progression from 3 centimeters to ‘I see the head!’

But it wasn’t quick.

Hours passed and we tried to catch a few Z’s in between sending text message updates and playing CandyCrush. Around 8am, I was told I could get the epidural. Marty, extremely sleep deprived, begrudgingly gathered some of his things as he prepared to leave the room in anticipation of the anesthesiologist’s arrival.  Our nurse, likely sleep deprived herself, harshly advised him to fold up the chair he was sleeping on and to move it out of the way. Marty quickly snapped back at the nurse and shot me a look of ‘how come we always get the mean nurses?” before he left the room.

My face fell when the anesthesiologist walked in the room.  It was the same physician who performed my epidural with Charley… the epidural that only worked on one side.  Although I know that he was not at fault for the epidural not working two years ago, I couldn’t help but be apprehensive.  I remembered that pain and I had no desire to ever feel that much pain again.  I ‘casually’ joked that he could ‘throw in an extra dose or two’ explaining that I had ‘a bad experience in the past’ and hoped not to have a repeat performance.  Luckily, within ten minutes, my pain had significantly decreased and my faith in Dr. Khan had been restored.

Around 10am, the resident came in and broke my water. “Please oh please, let this speed things up.”

Friends and family began to arrive as I continued through labor.  My parents, my younger brother Zack, Jende and Haley scattered my room, kept me company and filtered in and out when the nurses came to check for dilation.  The environment was calm and relaxing, as if I were sitting at home in my living room, with the occasional interruption from nurses and doctors.

Unfortunately, despite my contractions being three minutes apart, labor wasn’t progressing as fast as the doctor’s would have liked.  The resident suggested emptying my bladder. I was skeptical, but why the heck not? Within an hour of having this done, the nurses announced “she’s complete” and began fluttering around the room. Marty and Haley exchanged questioning looks and asked “um, in other words…?”

“She’s dilated to ten.”

It was finally time!

My mom and Zack came back in the room, only to be told that it was time for them to head to the waiting room. Hugs were exchanged and soon Marty and I were left alone to welcome our third baby into the world.

Dr Kim, my fabulous OB/GYN showed up and announced “Ok Kathrine, time to meet this big baby!”

As they got me into position and the doctor’s scrubbed in, Dr Kim asked me to push during the next contraction.

I laughed, “Dr. Kim, I can’t feel the contractions. You are going to have to watch the monitor and tell me when to push.”

As I began to push, my eyes darted to the clock on the wall above Dr. Kim’s left shoulder.

I have several favorite times during labor and delivery; the anticipation of the drive to the hospital, seeing the plastic crib next to the hospital bed, the moment the baby warmer is wheeled in the room and the minute I look at the clock when I start pushing.  It is that moment in time when I am the most aware.  It is in that minute that I am suddenly aware that life as I know it is about to change forever. Soon this baby will no longer be physically attached to me and I will see my baby’s face.  It is a time, solidified in my heart forever, that greatness is coming. In that moment I know, I am standing on the cusp of falling head over heels in love…again.

The next six minutes are kind of a blur. I remember Marty telling me that the baby had hair and that “this baby is much bigger than Lily and Charley” (as if I needed to be told).

At 2:01pm on April 1^st, 2013 a little body was placed on my chest.  I couldn’t see much. Just a little pink wrinkled body. I was smitten.

Now comes the embarrassing part of the story. I’m not proud of it and I wish I could leave it out, but I try to document my children’s birth stories exactly how I remember them, careful not to leave any detail out (if possible).  Plus, my friends find this hilarious.

As I gazed at the little person that was just welcomed into the world my first thought was “I think those are balls.”

Embarrassing, I know.

Careful not to shout out, careful not to get Marty’s hopes up, I looked at my husband and asked “What is it?!”

He peeled his eyes away from mine, looked at our baby, brought his face within inches of mine and said with a smile “It’s a boy!”

Before I could say a word, the nurses rushed over, told Marty to quickly cut the cord and whisked my baby to the other side of the room. He wasn’t crying. Why isn’t he crying? Why isn’t he crying? Why isn’t he crying? I asked over and over again.

But then I heard it. The small lamb-like wail from my little boy.  Relief came over me and I grasped my husband’s hand with all my might as I said “We have a boy. Oh my God, we have a boy. Marty we have a son. We have two girls and a boy. I can’t believe it. We have a boy.”

The nurses wiped him down as the doctor’s continued their work on me. As they worked they began to guess how big our little baby was going to be. Dr. Kim guessed 9lbs 4 oz, the resident guessed 9lbs 8 oz… our nurse grabbed Marty’s arm and said “Get your camera, Daddy. You are going to want a picture of this. He isn’t no 9 pounder.”

10 pounds 3 ounces and 22 inches of beautiful baby boy.

Marty made his way over to the baby warmer and gazed lovingly on our new baby, just as he had with Lillian and Charlotte.  But as he took pictures and video of our little boy, I wished that someone was able to capture Marty’s face. The face of a father meeting his son for the first time.  I tried my hardest to study his face, every detail of his joy, as I know that it is a moment that will exist only in my memory.

Once clean and bundled, Alexander Thomas was placed in my arms.  The little body that had poked and kicked me for 9 months molded into my arms as if that were where he had always laid. And as he snuggled in and I was able to breathe in his sweet newborn smell, he nuzzled his way into my heart, where he will always stay…

My little boy.