Dear Friends and Family,
When I wrote earlier today, I felt like the world was ending. It was so incredibly hard to see the love of my life fight for each and every breath. My hands felt like twenty-pound weights; I couldn’t even open my computer, let alone type. I silently prepared for the worst.
Seconds seemed like minutes. Minutes seemed like hours. Nurses and respiratory therapy technicians were my constant companions. Nancy had two sets of X-rays done right in our room because she was too sick to go to the radiology suite. The pulmonologist, the lung specialist, came and went and came again.
His report?
“All of her tests are inconclusive so far, Dr. Winn. If need be, we will do a lung biopsy. In the meantime, if she worsens, we’ll need to intervene. I’ve started her on steroids. They sometimes help in these cases.”
He didn’t elaborate any more than this, knowing I knew what he meant. He didn’t mention that if Nancy had a lung infection, steroids could make her much worse.
Though Nancy squeezed my hand a few times, she mostly continued to be far away. I did notice, however, a different look on her face even though it was swollen.
Determination.
The look on her face transported me back in time to twenty-five years ago. Nancy was pregnant with Jaret. Like many first-time expectant moms, Nancy did everything right: no medicines, no alcohol, exercise, classes about delivery, and books about child development. We looked forward to a “perfect” birth. After talking to her friends who had already experienced labor, reading about different birth methods, and discussing all of the options with my medical partner, Tom Schwenk, who was slated to deliver her, Nancy announced her decision. “I want to go natural, Tom.”
Nancy jogged two miles every morning until the day her water broke. She was physically and mentally prepared for our first child. Her bag had been packed for weeks. As we pulled out of the driveway on the way to the hospital, she declared, “O . . . K,” and gave me a thumbs up. I was frightened. She was not. When we were halfway down the mountain and I glanced at her beside me, I saw “the look” for the first time. I was both reassured and excited.
Childbirth can be fickle. Though Nancy grabbed my hand often and smiled the best she could through her increasingly frequent pains, the labor dragged on and on and on. In fact, she progressed so slowly that I once fell asleep while leaning against the wall. When I awoke minutes later, Nancy’s visage remained unchanged. She was doing far better than me.
Determination.
Two full nurse shifts later, our original nurse from the previous day returned. She was shocked that we were still there. “I didn’t expect to see you. How’s it going?”
I would have answered “not well.” Nancy’s expression reported differently.
Before Nancy could verbalize, Tom entered our room, reviewed her chart, and examined Nancy. His assessment was blunt: “Nancy, it has been a full twenty-six hours of labor. If you won’t let me give you medicine, you could end up with a C-section. That would not be best for you or the baby.”
Thirty minutes later, after an epidural helped relax Nancy, our son Jaret entered the world. And when he looked at his tired but happy mother, I am sure he saw the last vestiges of the same look that I see on Nancy’s face today. Like then, I know that whatever the outcome, Nancy is giving it her all.
Determination.
As the daylight shining through our window began to fade, so did Nancy’s oxygen needs. The nurses began to smile on their frequent visits. So did Nancy. Her face regained its radiance and gradually lost its swelling. Within three hours, her breathing returned to normal. Within four hours, the oxygen mask was gone.
A miracle?
I have learned that in some patients, the drug ATRA causes breathing problems that are transient and responsive to steroids. The miracle is that Nancy is a member of this group. We survived a serious scare, and as the day has progressed to night, the sparkle has returned to those beautiful sky-blue eyes. Needless to say, I have ascended from the depths of fear and depression to near ecstasy in the course of twelve hours.
Summary: Nancy is feeling and looking good again.
Full of love for all those around me including you,
Winnie