Hey. Sorry I was a little too late to respond.Thanks for sharing that post with us.You guys rock big time. Barney

> Seven years ago Joseph insisted on taking me
> to the doctor because I was seeing black
> spots and I was already suffering from
> toxemia in this the beginning of my sixth
> month of pregnancy. I didn't want to go. I
> felt fine but in my heart I knew that black
> spots could not be good. And I hate all the
> doctor things that they do to me, the
> needles, the tubes that go everywhere (and I
> mean everywhere!) and the incredible pain
> that comes with caesarean birth. So I really
> didn't want to go, after all I still had
> three months to go.

> But we went to have breakfast at the
> restaurant across from the hospital and then
> over to see the doctor. Then we spent hours
> trying to convince them to see me, (the
> idiots) and finally saw someone who had
> working medical knowledge on high risk
> pregnancies. I was whisked off in an
> ambulance to a better equiped hospital, with
> all my tubes already in place. This tiny
> oriental lady explained that she would be
> taking the baby that night or sooner if need
> be. Whoa, I had thought they would just
> admit me for a few weeks to give the baby a
> chance to live but no...the oriental lady
> doctor explained that the way things were
> looking they had to take out the baby right
> away or neither of us would live.

> They pumped me full of some chemical to
> prevent the onslaught of seizures that were
> about to happen and to prevent the stroke
> that was about to happen. They padded the
> rails of the bed to protect me from breaking
> my bones if I actually went into grand mal
> seizures. And Joseph sat there with me the
> whole time. Not knowing if his life was
> going to be forever altered by the events
> that were about to take place. Would he even
> have a wife? Was his unborn baby going to
> live? If the baby lived, and I died, what
> was he going to do? How could he raise all
> three children by himself and one of them a
> tiny little premie to boot.

> I think he was feeling very guilty about
> things.

> In a moment of weakness right before they
> hauled me off to prep for surgery I do
> recall crying a bit but then sucked it up
> and went along for the ride. When stuff like
> this happens the patient just becomes a
> passenger on the ride of life, I had no
> control over the things that were happening
> to me. I was either going to live or I was
> going to die. At that stage I was closer to
> the dying side.

> The operating room was huge and cold, except
> for the gigantic lights above the table. I
> of course was stark naked stretched out on
> the table with my arms strapped out in the
> shape of the cross. Don't think I didn't see
> the irony in this. Joseph was able to come
> and sit by my head and report on the various
> stages as they happened. I asked him later
> what it looked like as they cut me open and
> his answer was along the lines of "stew
> meat".(To this day I don't really care
> for stew meat.)

> Now the really precious thing that I get to
> keep in my memory forever is the look on
> Josephs face when they lifted the baby out
> of me. It was such a combination of
> eagerness, desire and anticipation all over
> his face. He half stood up in his
> anxiousness to see the baby and then with a
> great deal of joy told me that we have a
> baby girl. And another red head! Quietly to
> my self I thanked God that it was a girl
> because I knew that the survival rates for
> girls was way better than for boys.

> The next few hours was a glorious adventure
> in the world of morphine. Including an
> encounter with little monsters that popped
> up out of the white sheets on my bed. And an
> intense itching of the skin. But I loved the
> happy high feeling of not having a care in
> the world. Occasionally someone would come
> and give me an update on the baby. "2
> pounds, 2 ounces", " On the
> respirator", "Hanging in
> there."

> Needless to say it was quite awhile before I
> was up and about and even longer before I
> actually got to see my baby. My rabbi friend
> wheeled me to the neonatal intensive care to
> have my first look at her. A tiny little
> smidge of a person. Premies are not cute.
> They look like little old men who have been
> horribly abused. But she was so helpless
> looking, and so restless. We couldn't touch
> her or talk too loud because the sensory
> overload alone might have killed her.

> After two months I got to take my baby home.
> She weighed just over 4 pounds at the time
> and was the cutest little red head monkey
> you ever saw. Smaller than many dolls and
> with a sweet angel face. And healthy, Oh
> Thank You God!, She was healthy.

> Today is Caseys Birthday. We are
> celebrating. She is seven years old. They
> had a spelling test in her first grade class
> and cupcakes at snack time, courtesy of
> yours truly.

> God bless you guys.