Blog Therapy: Repressed Memories

Wednesday, January 14, 2009.  8:30 AM  - it started out like any other regular work day.  Rach and I were running late as usual, lazily going through our morning routines.  Thank goodness for separate bathrooms - they've been an unlikely God-send contributing to the success of marriage so far.  While taking a shower, my mind started to reminisce on the fun-filled weekend we just had.  Our best friends, Aldrich and Janet, just tied the knot, and we were still riding the emotional high that comes only after a wedding.  A love hangover if you will.  My mind then drifted to the thought of how beautiful Rach looked in her bridesmaids dress.  A cute little blue number if I recall, perfectly tailored to accent her 23 week baby bump -- she's really starting to show now.  My mind then turns to images of holding him in my arms (yes we know it's a boy already) .... I can see him clearly now in my mind's eye.  Yes that's it little Elijah, don't cry, Daddy's here.  Rach still likes the name Nathaniel, but hey it's my daydream.  Mind still drifting.  Wow, what an epic year this is gonna be!  We're living the American dream: we have awesome careers making great wages ... we've got a house, two cars, and now I'm going to be a Dad.  Wow, a Dad!  C'mon Eph, snap out of it, you have the rest of your life to be a Dad, be patient .... only four more months.  I dry myself off ... shave, put on my clothes and go back to our room to exchange morning pleasantries with the wifey.

"Mow [Rachel's nickname for me], come here!!" 

Little did I know that these three little words, this ordinary Wednesday, this year of so much promise and excitement, the perfect world that God had blessed me with up until that point, would be turned upside-down on it's head and result in one of the darkest moments in my life.  A darkness that has just recently started to illuminate.

Those who have been married for a few years know the subtle nuances their spouses give.  That knowing look, that reproachful roll of the eyes.  I could immediately discern by the timbre of my wife's voice that something was very wrong.  I run to her bathroom.  Rach is on the toilet and blood is everywhere.  On the lid, on the floor, all over her legs.

"Mow, what are we gonna do?"

I get that sick sinking feeling in my stomach.  I can see the fear and panic in her eyes ... Oh Dear God, what are we gonna do?  No time for panic Eph, you must take control of this situation.  The adrenaline is starting to kick in.

"Ok, don't panic sweetheart.  Clean yourself up and let's call the doctor right now."

Dammit answering machine.  Rachel leaves a message.  I tell her to get ready just in case we have to go to the emergency room.  The on-call doctor calls back about three minutes later and with calm urgency she says we need to go straight to labor and delivery (LDR) at Hoag Hospital in Newport Beach.  Good Lord, why did we pick a hospital so far from us?

We're now about half way there.  I try to solace Rach the best I can.  For all we know it could just be something minor.  Nothing a couple days of bedrest won't cure right?  Oh he's still kicking?  See everything's going to be all-right.  We say a quick prayer for Elijah - God is on our side, he'll make this right.  Don't cry sweetheart, it'll be ok, I promise.  The panic and fear is tucked away deep in my stomach - I'm struggling with every inch of my being to keep it in check.  I must be strong for Rach.

We pull into the rotunda to the entrance of Hoag's newly renovated Sue & Bill Gross Women's Pavillion.  Home of some of the best labor and delivery professionals in Southern California.  Not only was God on our side, but the full brunt of medical technology was there too.  How could this not end well?  As I hand the keys to the valet, we start to feel a little better.

After check-in we're led by our attending nurse to a standard hospital room.  The nurse was optimistic, as its her job to be.  "Oh, this happens all the time, it's usually nothing to worry about," she says calmly.  Rach proceeds to go to the bathroom to change into her hospital gown.  She comes out dejectedly sobbing ... "I'm still bleeding...."

The ultrasound tech comes in to check how Elijah was doing.  She goes through the motions of the ultrasound, and the pictures on the screen, to me at least, looked normal.  It looked exactly like the ultrasound we just had a month previous.  I knew something was awry as soon as I saw the knowing glances that were being shared between her and our attending nurse.  The attending nurse immediately presses a colored button next to Rachel's bed and all hell then breaks loose.  The room was now a cacophony of doctors being paged, nurses going in and out, machines beep beeping .... what the f*&k is happening?  Why isn't anybody talking to us?

The attending OB/GYN doctor finally rushes to the scene. In a cool, clinical tone, she informs us that Rachel is fully dilated and that Elijah's leg is already in the vaginal canal.  If we don't deliver now, we will lose him.  Rach is now sobbing uncontrollably.  "I can't, it's too early," she manages to to get out in between sobs.  Can't we just put him back in?

"Honey, there's a really slight chance we can save him and we're gonna do the best we can, but if you don't give us permission to try, your son will die," the doctor proclaims in her same cool and calm manner.  How in the world do you expect Rach going to answer this question? The doctor turns to me .... you'll have to make this decision.  I am completely shell-shocked.  Just an hour ago we were having our ordinary Wednesday and now we are making a life or death decision?  Jesus, please deliver us from this nightmare.

"Do it," I say calmly.

Two teams of medical workers are now in the room frantically prepping Rach for surgery: the c-section team and the NICU team that will take over once Elijah is delivered.  A scant ten minutes after we give the doctor the order, Rach is whisked away to the operating room a couple floors up from where we were.  I, in the meantime, stop by the adjacent recovery room to put on operating room scrubs so I can be with Rach while the c-section is being performed.  I had a hard time putting them on, in fact I think that in my flustered state, I put them on backwards.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see an unmistakable sea of blue.  I walk over to the back of the recovery room, to check out the panoramic view of the Newport Beach harbor.  What a beautiful day, and what an awesome view.  We were supposed to see this view from our own room four months from now, Elijah cooing in our loving embrace, our family and friends around us.  It was supposed to be perfect.  For the first time during this ordeal I break down - the adrenaline is gone now.  My guard is down and my strength is spent.  I cry with a gutteral despair I've not ever felt in my life.  Why is this happening to us?  Is God punishing us for some indiscretion from the past?  Get a hold of yourself Eph, we're still in crisis mode.

I've gotta call our parents.  First I call my mother-in-law.  Next my Dad.  I can literally hear their hearts breaking with every word.  They're on their way.

Another woman, freshly delivered, new baby cradled in her harms, was in one of the recovery beds.  Her husband beaming, saw the trouble I was having earlier with my scrubs.

"First time?"
"Yea, you could say that, I'm having a preemie," I replied.
"Don't worry, I was a preemie myself, everything's gonna be alrite bro."
Perhaps God, now channeled through this stranger, is telling me it's going to be ok?  I was about to find out.  The NICU doctor leads me into the OR.

I sit on a small stool the staff has setup for me next to Rach.  The anesthesiologist is performing his magic.  I hold her hand.  All I can do is hold her hand.  I kiss her forehead.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm broken," is all Rachel could say as she looked at me.  It kills me that she's blaming herself.  Blame me instead ...  I lied sweetheart, everything is not going to be ok.  My heart and soul is broken.  My faith is shaken.  Our lives will never be the same.

To be continued .... therapy session is over for now.  Thanks for your time blog reader/therapist.