All that night, mom, who had just had her 9th child at the age of 42, laid in a tiny hospital bed at Brookhaven Memorial Hospital with an 18 gauge needle in her cephalic vein of her arm dripping someone else's A pos blood (11 someone elses' actually) into her nearly completely blood bare body. What had actually transpired while I was having my dream, clearly induced by some peri-dream connection to reality, was that mom had given birth to a not quite bouncing baby boy and suffered a massive obstetric hemorrhage as the placenta failed to completely detach from her uterus. The obstetrician from the hospital thought that she probably suffered from placenta accreta-basically the placenta invades and cannot separate from the uterine wall. This is condition which often requires careful observation throughout the pregnancy and exquisite care by skilled hands at the time of delivery and carries with it the threat of complications which are various and include maternal death.
"Well she's never had that problem before," barked John, feeling as if his doula powers were being called into question, "so why now?"
Dr. Jin fought back the urge to roll his eyes and raise his voice, and in his calmest best bedside manner fairly whispered, "There are several risk factors: advanced maternal age, multiparity-having a lot of kids..."
"I'm not an idiot, I am quite familiar with the English language!" Dad interrupted, in his not so best bedside manner voice.
"...And any damage to the uterine tissue itself during previous pregnancies or cesarean delivery." He continued as if he had never been interrupted save for the long breath he took to allow Dad his outburst. Rule number one of emergency obstetrics according to Dr. Jin: never get into a battle with a 6'5" irishman when his wife nearly died thanks to nine months and one insanely long night of rejecting western medicine. That was actually more like rule #2403, made up, just then, on the fly...but it felt like number 1 from where all 5'4" of his bespectacled self stood currently.
"Well all of her deliveries have been completely natural, so there goes your cesarean theory." Triumph mixed with white hot rage brought color up his neck and through his face. And then a memory flashed through his brain. Johnny or Tommy was it, I think it was one of the boys, had the doctor who had been impatient for the placenta to deliver. I distinctly remember this jackanapes putting his hand where it didn't belong and yanking on the placenta. Bet that loser scarred her with that move, hope he got to cocktail hour on time. Thanks for almost killing my wife, genius, guess that's why they pay you the big bucks. People are so lucky that I'm not litigious.
Mom awoke hours later, "Where's Ben?" she asked, barely enough energy to make a sound it came out like a scared whimper. Her last memory was of a less than pink, too small, lacking muscle tone, barely moving baby being wrapped in towels as she slumped in the tub and told her namesake, "Wendy, I'm going to Jesus now."
"Oh, No. You. Don't." Cried Wendy the younger with all the strength she could summon, "You're not leaving me all along with that man," pointing to Dad, "and all THESE kids!" waving her arms in demonstration as if there were a crowd behind her.
"Ben's alright, he is at home," Dad assured her.
And with that Mom got up, got dressed and discharged herself from the hospital. Her son needed her. Of course the doctors had different ideas, so she was forced to stay for another day. But she was back home as soon as she could get there, whipping up oatmeal shakes and downing them to make enough milk to get some meat on the bare bones of baby Ben.
No comments:
Post a Comment