2005-06-17
"Oh Auntie Em. There's no place like life."
She walked into the labor and delivery room at 2:30 and the first thing I noticed was how tiny she was -- and young. She could not have been more than 32 years old and weighed 90 lbs in full winter hiking gear. The second thing I noticed was that she appeared to either have a very bad cold or allergies. I couldn't allow myself to think there was another reason her eyes were red rimmed, her nose stuffed, her color patchy. Not the doctor. Surely she had a cold.
I was alone in the room with the Doula , whom she knew from spending the last 13 hours with, so she approached me immediately.
"Hello. My name is Ellen Kellog. I'm Lou's doctor. And you are?" In spite of delicate hands she had a firm handshake.
"Hi, I'm Lou's sister-in-law. It's nice to meet you. Jim is showing the baby to his parents -- he's down the hall." I tried not to sound as if I was about to pass out from fear, but I found it difficult to articulate my words -- my lips stiff and uncooperative.
She sat down on the end of the bed in front of the chair I was perched on, and she looked at us intently.
"I'm going to go find Jim and the rest of the family, because I have a great deal to tell you all, and I'd prefer to do it only once."
I nodded, and returned her frank gaze, trying not to look as if I was pleading for something more -- the cliff notes version -- a crumb -- a bone. Anything. Clearly I failed, because she paused, "Allison is in recovery. She's going to be fine. I just spoke with her."
I put my head in my hands and wept. She stood up, patted my shoulder, and went off to find Jim.
I asked the Doula if it was okay to deliver a baby with such a bad cold. She avoided my question and continued writing in her journal.
We had been in LDR 11 -- the Labor and Delivery Room where Allison had supposed to have given birth to Gracie -- since 10:30am, waiting to find out what had gone so terribly wrong that Allison had to be in surgery for four hours. All that we knew is that 2-1/2 hours into the surgery, when Dr. Kellog had stepped out to give us an update, that Allison had needed 6 units of blood, and that she was still losing blood. The doctor told us there was a chance she would lose her uterus. That doing so might ensure they could save her live.
Save her life.
I couldn't believe what I had just heard.
Earlier that morning Allison had given birth to a perfectly gorgeous 5lb 5oz. baby girl. Gracie's entry into the world was not without trauma -- she had been delivered via an emergency C-section after 12 hours of very hard labor. The meconium, the baby's first bowel movement, had been released inside the womb -- as opposed to outside, after the birth. This fact plus her pummeling heartrate made it necessary for Dr. Kellog to perform the emergency C-section immediately. We would later learn that the baby had been delivered in less than a minute.
When Jim, his parents, his twin brother and his wife all returned to the room, Dr. Kellog came in with the Chief Resident of Surgery.
Some of us took seats, some of us stood. Jim sat at the end of the bed -- the bed that Allison should have been lying in with Gracie in her arms -- and Dr. Kellog pulled up a stool and sat before him.
She started by going through everything that had happened -- that after the C-section Allison began bleeding uncontrollably, and that a second surgery was deemed necessary. When they opened her back up they looked for obvious signs of bleeding -- a tear in the uteran wall, a tear in surrounding tissue, a nicked artery. In spite of 3 hours of trying various methods to save the uterus, she deemed it impossible.
"Did you perform a hysterectomy?" Jim asked.
"Yes. We had to." she replied
And then she did something I have never seen a doctor do before.
Although she continued to provide us details on what all they had done or tried to do, she began to cry. Her eyes filled with tears which fell down her cheeks. She temporarily lost the ability to speak and had to take a moment to accept the kleenex which someone silently handed her. When she composed herself she said:
"As a woman. As a mother. I have to tell you this is the most difficult thing I have to tell a father... or a mother. I was able to save her ovaries, which is good, but in spite of everything we could think of, we could not save the uterus."
"But Allison is going to be okay. She's going to live , right?" I asked.
"Yes. But I am concerned that at some point down the road -- weeks or months from now -- she is going to feel sadness and possibly anger that she is unable to carry another child. You will all have to be prepared for that and be there for her when she starts to realize the enormity of this loss."
Jim finally looked up from his intense study of the pattern in the linoleum at his feet and looked at her.
"Dr. Kellog. You gave us the best gift of all. You gave us Gracie, and you gave us Lou. I have a healthy mother and a healthy baby."
Dr. Kellog looked at Jim and finally smiled.
"I think Allison and I have a special bond. When she woke up in the recovery room the first thing she asked me was 'I'm going to be okay, aren't I?' I told her that she was. And then she looked at me and said 'You were really scared for me, weren't you.' And I told her the truth -- that yes, yes. I was very scared."
I don't know if we will ever know how bad it really was in there -- how close we were to Gracie growing up never meeting her mother. What we do know is that Allison ended up needing 10 units of blood, 2 units of plasma, and 2 units of platelettes. They essentially replaced all of the blood in her body. Reading between the lines of what the doctor told us -- making reasonable assumptions about what she wasn't saying -- I believe we were closer to losing Allison than we will ever know.
When I finally saw Allison last night she appeared swollen and bruised and pale. But she was smiling. And although her skin stretched taut over nearly undistinguishable ankle bones, it was warm. I could tell just looking at her that she had more than the glow of motherhood, she was shining with life. She knew damn well what had almost happened, and in true Allison form, she knew what her blessings were and how to count them.
At about 8:00pm the neonatal nurse and the surgical ICU nurse conspired together, and at 8:30pm Allison met Gracie for the first time.
I have always hoped I would be able to witness a birth, but I learned last night that what I really wanted to see was just that -- the look a mother has on her face the first time she sees her child.
Welcome, baby Gracie.
And welcome back, Allison.
We love you both.
xquzme at sometime today