Third Time's the Charm

1971- and we were back in the USA. In a small apartment in Englewood, Colorado to be exact. D.Wayne had returned to working at KMart while trying to find his next chapter. Within a year, he decided to give selling life insurance a try, and walked away from the retail world.

Finding a small older home to rent in Denver proper, we moved... to 1699 S.Lowell Blvd. And soon enough, not being sure how long it would take him to make any money to support us, I started working as a nurse's aide on the graveyard shift downtown at St. Anthony's, Denver's major hospital at the time. Orthopedic Floor.

Insurance sales were hard to come by that year somehow. So we existed solely on my minimum wage job. Ouch.

I couldn't sleep in the day because D. would leave for work after I got home in the morning. Most often he'd come home for dinner, then leave for the evening to go to prospects' homes to try and sell. Somehow that was unproductive seemingly forever. So it was a struggle.

Usually he'd get home by nine, so I would have an hour to sleep before waking up to get ready and drive downtown to get to work by 11 pm. 

In the daytime, I would take my little babes in a wagon for long walks. Because if I stayed home, I knew I would inevitably doze off. And for the same reason, at work when it was time to sit down and chart my patients' reports, I had to stand instead of sit on the stools to do those write ups. 

Rinse and repeat. But we were young; it was manageable. 

After six months we tried a morning preschool. Not a great experience, so not for long. But soon we found the perfect babysitter. Our kids loved going to her home so much, that they didn't even want to leave and come back home!

So I slept four hours every morning and it was great. NO more mornings where the police pulled me over driving home erratically at 7am, or mornings when D. would come out and find me fast asleep with my head on the steering wheel. 

At least I parked in front of the right house!

But the BEST PART of all was buying our first home... 4185 S. Dale Ct, Sheridan, CO...  

1973- $18,500 GI bill, 0 down!
Sad- huge tree we planted in front yard is gone.

... and then getting a new job at Swedish Medical Center in Englewood... 

graveyard shift Newborn Nursery! 

YAY! Dream job!

Back in the day there was no rooming in for the babies and moms, so we had those precious newborns all to ourselves for our entire shift. Feeding, changing and cuddling babies all night long. What could be better than that?

The only drawback happened when we first got the newborns from the Labor and Delivery nurses, and we would be the ones to weigh and measure them. Weighing them on the scale was no problem, but measuring their height was scary! Super scary!

With just one hand, we had to hold them upside down over the countertop by their ankles, and use a measuring tape with the other to ascertain the exact inches! Because they were curled up still from being inside the womb, and that apparently was the best way to "uncurl" them to get an accurate height. Who does that? I had to be sure I was 1000% awake whenever doing so, and still it terrified me. Every single time.

So life was good, very good. And fortuitously many months later, a teenage Hispanic girl gave birth to a newborn daughter that she was giving up for adoption. Instantly I fell in love, and came home to announce that we were going to adopt this tiny cutie! However. Back at work that night, I was told the girl's aunt had convinced this 16 year old to keep her baby. My heart crumbled.

But at least it did make me aware that I was baby hungry and ready to welcome #3  sooner than later. So I started dreaming about it. And planning. 

Unfortunately as a couple we were really bad at communicating, so when I told my husband I was expecting and had turned in two weeks notice at work, it didn't go over as well as it could have. 

In fact, he didn't speak to me for the entire pregnancy. Ummm, it was a hard time. Really hard.

Another especially hard thing was early on in this pregnancy, when I was told at a regular appointment (probably at three months) that there was no discernible heart beat, no evidence the fetus was growing at all, and I had probably already lost the baby. Just wait and come back in two weeks to verify.

Not knowing was a bizarre torture. That was the most miserable two weeks of all.

No choice but to wait it out and return in two weeks. Exam revealed that not only was there a heartbeat and a viable baby, but that now there was a good chance I was expecting twins!! Hold my root beer float!

Roller coasters were never my thing, but that seemed to be the ride I unknowingly signed up for.

It took another month until the next exam to find out that twinning was not the case either.

On top of that, there were some other issues with my OB GYN. Well why not?

Normally the Drs. call the shots, but somehow I had picked up a book by Adele Davis, maybe the pioneer  of nutrition in the 20th Century. I had grown up on Wonder bread, margarine, and canned vegggies... like most of us back in the day, and I had come to the point now I was searching for better options.

And Adele championed things like raw milk, whole grains, home grown vegetables, etc. Packaged bread, among other things, was poison, and she was vehemently against prenatal vitamins because of the iron in them. Iron of course is foundational to health, but iron filings are toxic, and that was what was in the bread and vitamins, etc. Still is, by the way.

So I refused to take the prenatals, and my Dr. found that confrontational. You were conditioned to think Drs. were almost Gods, and never question. Apparently I had missed the memo.

Oh well. I made beef liver and onions for dinner 3 times a week instead, and to his credit D.Wayne never once complained, not did my two littles. They actually ate liver and onions! All the time!

Well not surprisingly I was able to make a memorable impression on someone else as well. We had gone to Illinois for our yearly visit, and the kids and I were in the back seat of my parents' car when I casually happened to mention that I was pregnant. Apparently that caused the wheel of the car to lose control and we ended up being driven into the side of the road. Fortunately it wasn't a ditch. And we didn't have to call 911 for my Father. Or Mother.

Spoiler alert-  funny enough, this baby would end up being born on my Dad's birthday. Pretty cool!

Again, life was good. Pretty much. And it wasn't like this was my first pregnancy. I was now at the point that I was pretty confident.

Actually maybe a tad overconfident. 

I thought I knew it all, having already survived two pregnancies, and working in the Hospital OB for a year. I was probably invincible, no? So I came up with the idea of having this next baby at home all by myself. What could go wrong?

Of course I never mentioned this to anyone else, because obviously I wouldn't need to. I would just be in total control of it all.

And then the day came. The labor pains began. Interesting timing. The baby had hardly moved that whole week. Strange. And stranger that I ignored it.

It was Sunday afternoon. I was finishing a report for Church that I needed to drop off. . , 

Uh oh, wait a sec, D.Wayne was home. Not part of my plan.

What? Suddenly I could barely move, couldn't talk, not in control of my destiny at all. Was no one paying attention to how it was supposed to go? Things were going downhill fast.

Whoosh, my plan was out the window. Arrangements were made behind my back, and soon I was ushered into the car. On the way to the hospital, of all places! 

At least I saved face by dropping off that report en route.

Swedish Medical Center was ready for us. Seriously embarrassing to be surrounded by these nurses, friends I had been working with just the year before. 

Yes, I was in good hands on the delivery table for sure, but exposed in ways I hadn't intended. This was not at all the script I had written out in my head.

Then suddenly I was prone on the table, and quickly started projectile vomiting on these very nurses;  their faces went from smiles to ashen shock as the baby's heartbeat dropped in half, and kept plummeting. Alarms going off. They immediately directed D.Wayne to leave the room. 

Surprisingly though, the Dr. contradicted them, instructing D.Wayne to remain there.

Almost immediately an anesthesiologist bolted through the double doors and ran to slap some kind of gas mask over my face. 

"NO!" I gasped. 

And that was the last thing I remembered.

Every time I started to regain consciousness, I willed myself not to go back and face all I now desperately feared. I just couldn't. I couldn't go on. Powerless! Facing tragedy was so far beyond my abilities. So far.

Then one time I was coming to again, I heard soft voices from the corner of the room. Nurses discussing the baby's Apgar score. And it was pretty good. How on earth could that be? 

Unbelievable! The baby had survived! 

This little fighter was a BOY, and what a BOY! He had been in a rare transverse position (sideways), and had the cord wrapped around his neck three times! Prolapsed! And tied in 3 separate knots! It doesn't get any more dangerous than that. 

Everything had happened so fast. And it was all wrong! The baby was already too far down the birth canal to have an emergency C section. 

"Vaginal delivery is generally impossible and extremely hazardous even with expert intervention. IPV where the Dr. reaches in to grasp a foot and changes the position to facilitate a breech delivery has an extreme risk of death for both baby and mother."

I did not know this until my six week postpartum checkup when the Dr. shared the information. I had to pull off the road on my way home after the appointment to deal with the shock of what we had come so perilously close to.

Had things gone according to my plan of home birthing, there would have been no miracle. 

Having been forced to go to the hospital (only because it happened on a Sunday when my husband was home and forced the issue) was an absolute miracle. 

Having a highly skilled Dr. who could save both our lives was an absolute miracle.

Having a baby who was a genuine fighter for life was an absolute miracle. How had he endured so much?

Having a husband who was allowed to stay to witness this rare birth, when even I couldn't, was also an absolute miracle. 

He was so in awe of this special privilege, and it changed in an instant his attitude about having this baby when he saw the wonder take place in front of his eyes. From that moment on he held a special bond with Jared. 

It changed his Father's heart in the blink of any eye. Forever after that, he was never anything but supportive down the road, when I would tell him again (and again and again and again... ) of another baby on the way.

Jared arrived with battle scars, his face had some bruising, his ears for the moment were folded backwards, but no serious internal damages that would force an emergency helicopter trip to Children's Hospital. In fact, he was cleared to come home in a couple days like every other baby without all the drama. 

Like I said, miracle after miracle, after miracle.

The fact that this happened the way it did must have been some kind of harbinger of things to come in this little one's life. By the time he was a year old he had survived a few more close calls and hospital encounters. That paradigm remained throughout his life, often on the edge, nevertheless a survivor.

And an important lesson I learned, that even though this was a very rare occurrence, home births are risky. This was so far beyond the scope of any midwife, no matter how gifted. Time would not allow for survival had we not been in the right place at the right time. I would never ever encourage anyone to take that risk.

I am beyond grateful that everything went wrong that day so that everything could go right the rest of his days, and mine. 

Jared was born an entertainer as well as a fighter, and from the beginning he could make us laugh when nothing else could.

And our family felt perfect, complete.

It's a GIRL!

There's a first time for everything, or so they say. And being pregnant the first time seems to prove the rule.

So we married in June, 1968 in Logan, Utah, and spent our honeymoon driving to Illinois for our reception, then moving to Seattle. Two months later when my husband got drafted, we quit our jobs, packed back up and headed out to Idaho, his home state, where his notice came from. His mother and I drove him to the train station in a small town miles and miles away, and then cried in the car all the way back to Geneva. 

I was going to catch a plane back to Illinois the next day to stay with my family until we got word where he would be stationed, then we could make plans. But before that could happen, he showed up, having been rejected by the Army. How ironic that his back injuries from a motorcycle accident earlier that year turned out to be quite the blessing! So we packed the car back up and headed northwest again to find a new apartment in Seattle. 

D & Kawasaki

Our jobs rehired us. From then on, every month he would be drafted again, rejected again. Only by this time his papers had been transferred to Washington, so we at least didn't have to keep navigating the Interstate. And his work (KMart) held fake going away parties for him every month to celebrate, unlike that first actual party when we all thought he'd be shipping out. 

Rinse and repeat, the months went by. Such a joke! They laughed, he laughed, I laughed. 

So somehow it turned out it would accidentally be an opportunity to start a family. 

What were we thinking? We had never even given any thought at all to having kids. 

What were we smoking? We had never even given any thought at all to smoking. 

Yet here we were. 

The test was positive.

Fortunately, I didn't have a problem with morning sickness. Life seemed good, normal. 

However, reality check... the smell of the dry roasted peanuts he would buy was all of a sudden the most egregious of odors in the entire universe, and I would bolt out of the room if and when he opened the jar. Inevitably he would bring one home from work every week.

And there was that night I fainted in the bathroom and he found me unconscious after hearing the thud. Embarrassment seems to be a way of life for me. We then feared a possible ectopic pregnancy but it was just a scare. Life has bumps.

Of course, it worked out that almost as soon as we found out we were going to be parents and actually have to grow up, yes, you can imagine. He left one March morning to report again as usual for the draft. We knew the drill. 

But he didn't come home that night. 

I locked myself in the bathroom for two days and nights and cried and screamed relentlessly. Stopped laughing. 

And I never heard a word from him for two long, unbearable weeks. Not. one. word. 

D. was a founding member of the Y Americans his last two years at BYU. With his wholesome good looks, he sang patriotic songs, "This Land Is Your Land", "Freedom Isn't Free", on tour from Disneyland to the Ed Sullivan TV Show in New York. It was good times had by all, singing about freedom. Putting your life on the line for it, well that's a whole different animal.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XXLklPUxAPY&list=RDXXLklPUxAPY&start radio=1

(Video-April 23, 1967 Ed Sullivan Show, close up @ 2:52) 

Freedom is a pretty abstract, almost generic term, as used by most of us, casually, and with only a layer or two of understanding and appreciation. But those who have paid a price for it, by losing an eye or a leg or a loved one, or through blood, sweat, and tears, have far greater depth, far greater intensity in actually loving freedom. Because love is far more a song, than a parade, than a feeling; at best it's deep purpose, unwavering dedication, a selfless way of life. Proving it.

 At long last I got the phone call and found out he was at Ft. Lewis in Tacoma, WA. And I would be able to visit him on Sunday afternoons for the next six weeks of basic training. 

I didn't even recognize him the first Sunday. Seriously! His hair had been shaved off and he wore black rimmed glasses instead of contact lenses. Walked right by him. Awkward.

It seemed more like prison. You had to sit at a table across from your husband in a big room with everyone else doing the same. But you had an hour to talk, so what could be better?

I quit my job and packed everything into our little car and moved myself down to a bad area by the railroad tracks in Tacoma. With $75 to my name, a room behind a dilapidated old one story building used as an insurance office had to do. And it did. Tacoma was the breeding ground for serial killers back in the day. The infamous ones. Ted Bundy, Charles Manson, later the prolific Green River Killer.

At least it was pretty quiet. Except for the trains. 

A lot went wrong there, so I couldn't really focus on being pregnant. Immediately got a job at Penney's in a Mall there, but after a month got fired when one of my coworkers told the manager I was pregnant. Against the rules back in the dark ages. 

It's ironic to be broke and unemployable when you're most needful, but some good life lessons. If only in hindsight.

Our cat, Midnight, given to us shortly after moving to Seattle, had become my best friend. My one friend. The only creature (other than my husband) that I knew within 1200 miles. Midnight ate off my plate, slept in my bed, and meant the world to me. But he was a tomcat after all, and needed his own time every night to go out and prowl around. There came the night he went out and didn't return. 

At dawn I went looking for my buddy, and found his body in the middle of the adjacent highway after he had been tragically run over in the night. 

Devastating. Tears became my only companion.

Military wife, of a Private, E1... consequently not really anything the Army was obligated to deal with. The saying was, "If you were supposed to have a wife, the Army would have issued you one." Besides, most of the guys he was stationed with were 18 or 19 year old kids, he was 25, having had college and mission deferments. They all called him "Grandpa."

"Grandpa"

When he was assigned six weeks later to Ft. Ord by Monterrey, CA, I again packed up our little Pontiac Tempest with all we had, and moved myself down there. Actually we had so much that I had to drive with my left hip up on the driver's door armrest. Pure class.

Two days down the coast, and I made it to Seaside, CA on June 3, our first anniversary! Immediately found an apartment and went out to find my missing husband. No idea how I arranged that without cellphones, but I did manage to pick him up and kidnap him for a couple hours to celebrate. By then I was almost 6 months pregnant and finally beginning to show a little. First time he'd be able to feel the baby kick. Felt official. 

Having been to an OB/GYN probably in March to confirm pregnancy, I never had the opportunity to go again for quite awhile. It was fortunate I did so well on my own. 

Or maybe just didn't know better. 

Somehow I became convinced I was the only person on the planet to ever experience being pregnant. Confident no one else had ever been in this circumstance. Despite looking around and seeing people all over the place who literally had to have been born. Wait, were they aliens? Twilight Zone or not, it was exhilarating to be the first and only pregnant mama. Maybe all those hormones go to the brain?

Grandma Lucy sewed this for me-
How I hated the regular maternity clothes of the day

In August, he was transferred to Ft. Benjamin in Indianapolis, IN. This time I didn't have to move alone, he had a whole week off. Just before we left, I went to the small animal compound on base and adopted the runt of the litter, a small pup the size of a hamster who barely had any chance of survival. And "Oink" became the focus of our trip to another very temporary home in the Midwest. Good practice for baby care?

Oink grew fast in Illinois

So I was dropped off in Illinois at my parents' home mid August and he went on to Indiana, coming to see us on the weekends. Or I would drive out there. For fun, I became hopelessly addicted to banana popsicles. My cousin, Vicki. hosted a great baby shower for me. It could have been worse, no?

Family support for the win.

Finally, I was able to get in with a civilian OB group six or seven weeks before my due date, the Army having to pay because I lived too far from an actual base to have to travel to Army Docs. 

And then, by the end of September, I was pleading with the Dr. to have my baby induced. Because instead of getting orders to the East Coast, as I had dreamed of, D.Wayne had just been given orders to Germany. He grinned like he had won the lottery. 

I wept. 

Never imagined being able to join him there.

Yes, of course, that was so above and beyond orders to Vietnam where literally everyone else he trained with at all three different bases were assigned. And of course, that could possibly change for him at any moment too. But he was a clerk by then, not infantry. Dodged a bullet, literally.

Naturally he was being shipped out on Oct. 10, my due date. Just no way to know at that time where precisely in Germany he would be stationed, so how to even let him know about the birth? I was not happy.

But life goes on. At Church one Sunday morning we met a young couple, and the husband just happened to be a pilot. Who just happened to have access to a private plane that belonged to a friend, so they invited us to meet them after lunch at the little airport that afternoon for a little fun.

And it was fun! 

Until.

Somehow the pilot thought at some point it would be a great idea to let D.Wayne try flying. So they traded seats and off we went. Practicing take offs and landings. A bit bouncy, a bit rough. What could possibly go wrong? Why nothing, nothing at all! 

Until. 

The men started talking about nausea and sharing experiences while flying and boating. Details. Evidently the pilot wasn't paying attention to the fact that a pregnant woman with a due date a week away was now seated right behind him. Luckily I had believed in the magic of saltine crackers my whole pregnancy so never experienced any nausea at all!

Until.

I vomited down the back of the actual pilot twice. Twice!!

D.Wayne drove me home and went back to help clean up the plane. I never ate Spanish Rice again the rest of my life. And we never saw that cute young couple ever again either.

So I concentrated on the coming event and how to make sure D.Wayne could be there. Or Plan B- at least we could find out where to reach him in Germany to let him know about his baby when she or he arrived.  But there was no assigned place yet we knew of to reach him, so a predicament. 

The Drs. had little sympathy, saying they had been notified about their own babies being born when they were overseas during the Korean War. But soon enough they acquiesced, and I was scheduled for induction at Sherman Hospital in Elgin on the morning of Oct. 8th. 

It all went perfectly. (Only enough Pitocin to get labor started and then a local injection for the episiotomy. Zero for pain.) 

Agony? Sure, but just when I became panic stricken and thought it was the end of the world  because I could handle no more, the nurse directed me to look in her eyes, and unequivocally reassured me I could handle it. 

Me? Comforted by the voice of experience and her absolute confidence, I managed to ask her how many children she had. None, she said. 

I knew I was going to die right then. 

But surprise! After four hours of intense labor, ta da... "IT'S A GIRL!" 

And I was handed the most beautiful baby you could ever imagine. A thick mop of black hair, blue eyes, long dark lashes, delicate pink lips, porcelain skin, dainty fingers and toes... 6 1/2 pounds of exquisite perfection!

(So sad that Dads couldn't be in the delivery room at that time.) 

I was so overwhelmed with joy, I couldn't speak. Heaven was close, so close. Silently I was wondering when the Tabernacle Choir was coming into that sacred room to sing. Where were they?

When the proud new Daddy went down the elevator to the Lobby to tell my Mom we just had a baby girl, she said his smile was beaming like nothing she'd ever seen before, it lit up the entire hospital. 

My world changed the instant I held her. In a flash, unconditional love pulsed through every cell in my body, something beyond imagination until that very moment.

In an instant the world had dramatically changed and became not just more breathtaking, but fiercely threatening as well. Instinctively, a Mother Bear was born at that very moment. 

                                                         THE NAME

But a little background. We had been locked in a naming duel for months. If we had a girl, D.Wayne wanted the name Monica, while I dearly loved the name Amy, because of a beautiful song, "Amy" sung by Glen Yarborough. 

Then in June we got a telegram from D.'s sister, Karen, that they just had their 4th girl. 

And named her Amy!

Plan C- D.Wayne was still was holding our for Monica. That was not an option in my mind, but I switched to subbing Jennifer for Amy, in honor of his mother, Jennie. 

Just the day before the birth, we had received a check for $3 from D.Wayne's Dad for some reason, from his account in Afton, Wyoming. When I saw that, it reminded me of the Homecoming Queen our senior year at BYU, Afton Young, the most stunning beauty I had ever seen. 

Perfect!

They let us bring Afton home early, two days later, before he had to leave, to share a precious few hours. And almost two months later, we joined Daddy in Bavaria, Germany. 

And she grew up to be beautiful, inside and out.

                                                                     

                                                             EPILOGUE

Yay, we got to leave the hospital after 3 days, which was a day early, because of D. Wayne having to ship out, so we got a special day together before we were left behind. 

And I spent the next almost two months awake nearly 24/7, watching her breathe in and breathe out, just to make sure she stayed alive. Somebody had to do it, right?

Oh, and nursing her every waking moment because I was worried she wouldn't be getting enough milk to survive if I didn't. Neurotic much? So she almost doubled her weight in two months, but I got the Dr. to prescribe a certain formula just in case she was actually secretly starving but just didn't look like it.*

Early on my Grandma Lukey advised that her doctor back in 1920 told her that drinking a little malt liquor was the secret to increasing milk flow, so I bought some thinking it kind of medicinal. But when I put it to my lips to try, it was so beyond my pay grade to swallow, that I couldn't do it. I wrote my husband about it. Boy, was he livid!

*Breast feeding had gone out of fashion well before my mother's generation, so my parents were not at all on board with my choices. And truth be told, it didn't begin resurging much until the 1970's. By the 1980's almost 60% of babies were breast fed.

And soon it was time to move on to the next chapter.