Worth the wait

Baby's birth turns soldier's return into extraordinary homecoming

Crystal McDonough sat and stared at the pregnancy test. Waiting.

She'd done this so many times in the last six years only to be disappointed.

Two lines.

No way, she thought. It wasn't possible. Doctors had told her she couldn't have children. She and her husband, Shawn, a Navy Corpsman, had given up hope.

"I couldn't believe it," she said. "I thought the manufacturer had screwed up the test or something."

The phone began to ring. Without even a "hello" she picked up the phone and said, "I think I might be pregnant."

Thankfully, the caller was her mother, Sharon Snyder. She didn't believe the results, either so she went to the store and bought her daughter another test.

Positive.

Most pregnancy tests claim a 99 percent reliability rate, but Snyder and Crystal still didn't believe the results were true. Crystal took two more tests.

Positive. Positive.

"Time stood still," she said. "One of the tests actually said 'pregnant.' I was looking so closely for the 'not.' It wasn't there."

She couldn't wait to tell Shawn.

After a long day, Shawn was driving back to his barracks at Camp Pendleton in California. It was August, and he was in the middle of a month-long pre-deployment cycle with the Marines to prepare for their departure to Iraq.

His cell phone started ringing. Crystal was on the line.

She didn't want to tell him while he was in the middle of traffic. They made small talk, and Shawn told her about a dream he had the night before.

In his dream, he and Crystal were shopping for strollers. Crystal said maybe they should buy that stroller after all.

"Why?" he asked.

She couldn't hold in the news any longer.

"We're pregnant!" she screamed.

The proclamation was more than he could bear. He had been promoted to Petty Officer First Class in less than 10 years, but now he had a rank that surpassed everything: Father.

He pulled over to the side of the road and wept.

"I felt like I was flying out the top of the sunroof," he said.

Shawn's commanding officer gave him three days of leave to come home to Kalispell. He attended the first doctor's visit with his now pregnant wife.

"I didn't believe it," he said.

The initial ultrasound that showed a tiny fetus helped convince him.

Shawn's visit was too short. His duty pulled him back to Camp Pendleton and to his second seven-month tour in the sandbox.

If the timing worked out - and if he lived - he had a chance of making it back for Derek's arrival.

Planes landing in combat zones come streaking out of the sky and practically dive bomb the runway to make themselves a more difficult target.

"It's just like a roller coaster," Shawn said. "You don't know if you are landing or crashing."

He couldn't believe how hot Kuwait was. Shawn stepped off the plane and into the 130-degree heat. At first, he thought he was feeling the airliner's exhaust, but it was the desert air. The temperature coupled with the jet's combat-style landing threw him off a bit.

But once he and his Marines received their live ammo, the realization that he would spend the next seven months in a war zone sunk in.

He had a job to do, and he tried to push the memory of his wife and growing child out of his head.

"Crystal's always on my mind," he said. "A couple of days before I leave, I sort of separate myself from her, but I try not to do that."

Shawn was attached to Marine Medium Helicopter Squadron 268 on a former Iraqi air base in Al-Taqaddum, about 50 miles west of Baghdad. Marines don't have their own medical services, but as a part of the Department of the Navy, they receive medical care from Navy Corpsmen.

"Marines have a different mentality," Shawn said. "They are designed to go in and destroy everything, but they treat you very well. I am their lifeline."

The squadron's initial assignment was to perform life flights and casualty evacuation during firefights. The Marines were removed from that job because the fighting had reduced to the point that they weren't needed.

Life in Iraq ranges from boring (long, long hours) to dangerous (indirect fire from enemy forces) to surreal (the surprising number of Iraqi soldiers who managed to shoot themselves).

When he wasn't working in the clinic that was basically a wooden shack, Shawn studied to requalify for his Fleet Marine Force pin. The process usually takes 18 months, but he finished it in two.

Shawn and one of the doctors also spent a fair amount of time working on their "lawn," a 1-by-1 foot square patch of grass they grew with materials shipped in from the United States. Sometimes, Shawn would just stand on the patch.

"It was the only grass in the country," he said.

But the best times were when he got to call home and talk to Crystal. During his first deployment he would go weeks without speaking to her. This time, they were able to connect almost every day.

"It was really good," Shawn said. "Things have really improved for the Iraqis and for us."

He also had Internet service so he could send her photos. When it snowed in December - the first time Iraqis had seen snow in almost 100 years - Shawn sent her a photo with a caption that read, "Hell froze over."

Back in Kalispell, Crystal was getting through her pregnancy without her husband. The couple, both 1997 Flathead High School graduates, bought a home here so when Shawn was deployed, Crystal could live close to her family.

Crystal was nervous. The women in her family have a history of difficult pregnancies, and she had a 75 percent chance of losing Derek in a miscarriage due to her own medical problems.

"Derek really wasn't even supposed to be here," Crystal said. "We prayed and prayed. He's a miracle."

The first five months of her pregnancy were difficult, to say the least. She was so sick her mother would take care of her all day, driving her to doctor's appointments, cooking for her and doing Crystal's shopping.

"I couldn't even walk up and down the aisles of the grocery store," Crystal said.

Sharon and her husband, Gerry, lived just down the road, which made taking care of Crystal a little easier.

"I didn't worry a lot because I have a lot of faith in God," Sharon said. "When I felt like I needed to pray, I would pray for what God was laying on my heart. I'd tell Crystal that everything was going to be all right."

Sharon took pictures of Crystal's belly to e-mail to Shawn, and they sent him ultrasound images of the growing baby.

"The excitement didn't go away, but it was heartbreaking because he didn't get to experience any of it," Crystal said.

The months wore on, and her belly continued to swell. Relief finally came when Crystal received an e-mail from the wife of Shawn's commanding officer: Her husband, and his squadron, were coming home.

When your husband is a corpsman attached to Marines in a war zone, seven months becomes 213 days of anxious hell.

"It's the slowest time of your life," Crystal said while waiting for Shawn to land at Glacier International Airport on April 1. "I thought I'd never get to today."

Shawn's family and friends stood at the gate and waited with balloons and cameras. Crystal sat on a chair and stared out the window. She couldn't contain her tears of relief as the Delta jet rolled down the tarmac.

At last.

Passengers exiting the ramp knew who she was waiting for.

"Don't worry, he's not too far behind," a woman said as she passed.

And then he was there; they were together again. Shawn kissed her and put his hand on her expanded stomach, which he hadn't felt before. He was surprised that it was so firm. He was expecting something more like the feel of a water balloon.

After a round of hugs and "welcome home" greetings, the reunited couple walked hand and hand for a quiet moment near baggage claim.

Crystal beamed, the last seven months erased by the last seven minutes.

"When you marry someone in the military, you know what you are getting into," she said. "You just have to be tough. It's never easy saying goodbye, but it's so exciting to say hello."

The rythmic thumping reverberated off the walls.

On April 4, Derek's heartbeat was steady and strong. Shawn couldn't help but smile as he listened to his son's heartbeat for the first time.

Dr. John Lavin pressed the heart monitor against Crystal's stomach, and the sound absolutely filled the room. All three enjoyed the moment. Lavin had seen Crystal for numerous appointments, but he hadn't seen Shawn since the first visit.

He once wrote Crystal a "prescription" to give to Shawn's commanding officer stating he had to be home in time for the birth.

"It was pretty amazing to hear his heartbeat," Shawn said. "He's going to be a stout little man."

Lavin gave the anxious couple advice on how to prepare during the next week. Shawn was way ahead of him.

The car already was tuned up, full of gas and packed with baby supplies. Besides, Lavin said, if they forgot anything, Shawn could run home and get it.

Crystal said she'd send her mom for the supplies instead.

"He's been away long enough," she said. "I'll keep him with me."

In the early morning hours on April 6, Crystal awoke.

She was feeling the early pangs of contractions. Next to her, Shawn was sound asleep. Crystal didn't want to wake him until she knew they needed to go to the hospital. Twenty-four hours later, at 4:30 a.m., they were checking into Room 136 at Kalispell Regional Medical Center's birthing center.

Crystal's work had just begun, and their hope was that the labor wouldn't take too long.

Derek, however, decided to take his time.

The fetal heart monitor broadcast the baby's heartbeat in the room. Whenever Derek moved, his struggles came through the speakers as scratchy sounds of static.

"I don't think he's too excited about being evicted," Crystal said.

At 8:30 a.m., the doctor broke Crystal's water to speed up the process.

"Now the pain will really begin," Sharon said.

Contractions, she said, feel a lot like the horrible stomach pains when a person has the flu - times one thousand.

Crystal's contractions grew in frequency and pain. The screen next to her bed charted her contraction length and intensity, with a 12 being the highest number. At 11:30 a.m., the line literally went off the charts.

But Crystal, who couldn't take any pain medication because of allergies, never cried out. Her knuckles went white as she clutched the hospital blankets. Shawn and Sharon sat silently and stared at the screen, waiting for the line to come back down.

Shawn wanted to help, to comfort his wife, but she didn't want him to touch her stomach because she was too sensitive.

The day wore on and Crystal continued to endure an endless string of contractions. Derek just didn't want to cooperate.

Around 9 p.m., after more than 40 hours of labor, the doctor said Crystal was ready to start pushing. She pushed and pushed and pushed. Sharon had to leave the room.

"It got very tense for me because she was trying so hard, and he wouldn't be born," she said.

Sharon went to the waiting room and sat with Gerry. She called family members, asking them to pray.

"We prayed, and I cried a little bit," Sharon said.

Finally, at 10:16 p.m., Shawn and Crystal got to hold Derek - their miracle baby.

Crystal stayed up most of the night just watching her newborn son. By morning, the new parents were the picture of pride.

Shawn couldn't have been more excited about his boy. Derek was only 14 hours old, but he already was a superhero.

They memorized his every move, his every sound.

"He'll be the man of the house when I'm away," Shawn said.

Derek likely will get his chance to be the man of the house before his first birthday. Shawn and Crystal will move to Camp Pendleton next month to settle into life on a new base, and Shawn's unit is scheduled to deploy by this time next year. Back to the desert. Back to war. Until then, the couple will enjoy the addition to their family.

"This time is precious," Shawn said.

Reporter Michael Richeson may be reached at 758-4459 or by e-mail at mricheson@dailyinterlake.com