The Beginning

In the fall of 1989 I learned I was pregnant with my fourth child. After three perfectly normal pregnancies and three healthy children, there was no reason for me to think anything could go wrong this time. After all, you get pregnant and nine months later you bring a baby home.

As the weeks and months went by, I happily prepared for what would be my last baby. At the time my son was eleven and my daughters were nine and five years old. My girls were excited but my son was not always so thrilled. He told me several times that “HE was too old for me to be having another baby!” Kids!

The ultrasound did not reveal to us whether we were having a boy or a girl but I felt it was a boy. I spent many hours preparing a nursery and shopping for the cute outfits. I really wanted to enjoy every moment of the pregnancy and preparation even more than before because this was my last baby. I could hardly wait for him or her to be born.

Like most expectant mothers, I had my moments of worry. I prayed for this baby often. Yet during that innocent time, I knew of only three outcomes….a perfect, healthy baby, a baby with problems that a doctor could “fix”, or a baby with problems you learned to live with. Nothing else ever entered my mind. I didn’t even know that babies died.

One week before my due date I was admitted into the hospital for several days because I had developed toxemia. Again, due to never having health issues or knowing anyone who had, I wasn’t afraid or overly concerned. After all, doctors could fix this. I was sent home and told to return the following week for induction. I made all the last minute plans, double checked my bags and tried to be patient. Soon my sweet baby would be in my arms. I was so happy and excited.

On the morning of April 9, 1990 my husband and I were at the hospital at 6am. I was quickly prepped and connected to the IV with pitocin. My in-laws and children joined us shortly. The big day was here! I recall that within a short time I wasn’t feeling well. My nurses seem to be checking on me more often but nothing seemed urgent or upsetting to me or my family. As the hours passed, I felt worse. I started running fever and the nurse’s concerns grew. When my doctor came in, he showed no concern whatsoever and said he would be back in an hour. By afternoon I could tell that my nurses were a little panicked and were watching the monitors and me even closer. I was by then so sick I could not really comprehend what was happening. When my baby’s heart rate rose to 210, the nurses called my doctor to come quickly. I remember being told that I was going to be taken to surgery for a cesarean in an hour. I had never had surgery before and had always been scared to death of ever having to. Yet I was so sick by that time I felt no fear at all. I did not have the capacity to even ask any questions or be in fear of what was wrong with my baby.

At 6pm I was rolled into surgery. I was shaking violently and throwing up as they prepped me. I remember how kind and caring the anesthetist was to me. He told me that as soon as my baby was born, he would put me to sleep because I was shaking so badly. A moment later I heard an aggravated, angry voice behind me say “Let’s get this show on the road!”. I was strapped down to the table yet I turned my head backwards to see who in the world was coming in there with that kind of attitude. It was the pediatrician. The doctor that came so highly recommended to me that I had chosen to take care of my baby after birth. I later learned that he had been called away from a dinner party and he was not happy about it at all. I was mortified yet helpless.

At 6:11 pm my baby was delivered. I heard a weak kitten like cry and the words “It’s a Girl”. Thankfully there were a few seconds after hearing those words before I was sedated that I thought to myself how happy I was that she was finally here and I wasn’t at all disappointed about having another girl. I just knew it was going to be a boy and had nothing but boy clothes but I was just thrilled she was here. Sadly that one weak cry was all I ever heard. I didn’t get to see her or hold her. I was sedated and unaware of what was unfolding just a few feet away. I later learned that Melissa was born blue, limp and unresponsive. She stopped breathing in the operating room and had to be resuscitated. Yet the pediatrician took her to the regular nursery as though she were a healthy baby and left the hospital minutes after her birth to return to his dinner party.

About four hours later I was awakened in the recovery room by nurses from another hospital’s NICU. They told me that due to being born by a cesarean that my baby’s lungs were filled with a little fluid causing her to have trouble breathing. The assured me she would be fine. They wheeled in an incubator and for the first time, I saw her. I saw Melissa.

What I saw though was not the bundled up, pink, healthy baby like my others had been. Melissa was not clothed, not even a diaper. There were wires everywhere and an IV in her head. She was not moving or crying. With the assurance from the nurses that she would be fine, I just knew she would be. She was a big baby weighing 9 lbs. 9 oz. She just had to be fine. I didn’t get to hold her, touch her or kiss her. But we met. We shared a moment. And then she was gone.

I was so heavily sedated that the next time I woke up I was in a private room. I was alone. I had no idea what was going on. I called the nurse’s station and they were able to get a call into the NICU at the other hospital. I talked to my husband and I could tell he was upset and scared but he tried to keep me calm. By then it was about midnight. I called one of my sisters who lived nearby and she came to be with me. The entire family had been told that Melissa would be okay and had gone home earlier. I called everyone to come back immediately. Once my sister got there we called the NICU again. My husband told me that Melissa was about to be flown from Shreveport to a New Orleans hospital and connected to ECMO. This is a devise that removes blood from your body, adds oxygen and recirculates it. Now I was scared to death and falling apart. My fear of flying also had me panicking knowing that my newborn baby was about to board a plane and be hundreds of miles from me. I lay there helpless, scared and praying harder than I ever had in my life.

Within a few minutes a nurse came into my room wanting to give me an injection to put me back to sleep. I refused it. I felt helpless enough and I certainly was not going to sleep while my child was fighting for her life. Only later did I learn that my sister had requested I be sedated. I think she knew things were looking really bad and she was trying to protect me. Still, I had to be awake and aware. As I lay there praying that the plane would land safely and my baby would be well soon, the door to my hospital room opened. The room was dark except for the small light over my bed. Still I could see my husband and a stranger. I wondered why my husband was there instead of with Melissa and I wondered who this strange man was standing there. The only thing I concentrated on was the look on this stranger’s face and no words had to be spoken. I knew. I knew my precious baby was dead. She died before ever boarding the plane to be transferred.

This stranger turned out to be the NICU doctor who tried frantically to save Melissa's life. After his condolences, he asked if there was anything else he could do for us. My husband asked him if Melissa could be brought to me and he made the arrangements. Within a few minutes two nurses walked in and handed Melissa to me. Finally I was able to hold her........