Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas (10 page)

After everyone had their fill of the sumptuous breakfast--and, yes, birthday cake--they filed from the house and left us alone. Matt and I collapsed onto the big, comfy couch in the living room.

“So, how does it feel, Suzie? Another birthday?”

I couldn't help smiling. “You know how most people dread a birthday. They think, Oh God, people will start looking at me like I'm old. Well, I feel the exact opposite. I feel that every day is an extraordinary gift. Just to be here, and especially to be with you. Thanks for the birthday party. I love you.”

Then Matt knew just the right thing to do. First, he leaned in and gave me the sweetest kiss on the lips. Then he carried me upstairs to our room, where we spent the rest of my birthday morning and, I must admit, most of my birthday afternoon.

Dear Nicky,

I am still a little shaky as I write about what happened a few weeks ago.

A local construction worker was rushed into the ER about eleven in the morning. Matt knew him and his family. The worker had fallen eighteen feet from a ladder and had suffered trauma to his head. Since I had previously been the attending physician on out-of-control nights at Mass. General, I had seen my share of trauma. I had the emergency room functioning on all cylinders, full tilt, snapping orders and directives.

The man's name was John Macdowell, thirty years old, married, with four kids. The MRI showed an epidermal hematoma. The pressure on his brain had to be alleviated immediately. Here was a young man, so close to dying, I thought. I didn't want to lose this young father.

I worked as hard as I have since I was in Boston.

It took nearly three hours to stabilize his condition. We almost lost him. He went into cardiac arrest. Finally, I knew we had him back. I wanted to kiss John Macdowell, just for being alive.

His wife came in with their children. She was weak with fear and couldn't stop tearing up every time she tried to speak. Her name was Meg, and she was carrying an infant boy. The poor young woman looked as if she were carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. She probably felt that she was on this particular day.

I ordered a mild sedative for Mrs. Macdowell and sat with her until she could gather herself. The kids were obviously scared, too.

I took the second smallest, two years old, into my lap and gently stroked her hair. “Daddy is going to be okay,” I said to the little girl.

The mother looked on, letting my words seep in. This was meant for her even more than for the children.

“He just fell down. Like you do sometimes. So we gave him medicine and a big bandage. He's going to be fine now. I'm his doctor, and I promise.”

The little girl--all of the Macdowell kids--fastened on to every word I had to say. So did their mother.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she finally whispered. “We love John so much. He's one of the good guys.”

“I know he is. I could tell by the concern everybody showed. His entire crew came to the ER. We're going to keep John here for a few days. When it's time for him to leave, I'll tell you exactly what you'll need to do at home. He's stable now. Why don't I watch the kids. You can go in and see him.”

The little girl climbed down from my lap. Mrs. Macdowell unraveled the baby from her arms and lowered him into mine. He was so tiny, probably only two or three months old. I doubted that his mother was more than twenty-five.

“Are you sure, Dr. Bedford? You can spare the time?” she asked me.

“I have all the time in the world for you, John, and the kids.”

I sat there, holding the baby boy, and I couldn't help thinking about the little boy growing inside me. And also about mortality, and how we face it every day of our lives.

I already knew I was a pretty good doctor. But it was only at that moment, when I held the little Macdowell baby, that I knew I was going to be a good mother.

No, Nick, I knew I was going to be a great mom.

“What was that?” I said. “Matt? Honey?”

I spoke with difficulty. "Matt . . . something's going on. I'm in . . . some pain. Whew. There's more than a little pain, actually.

I dropped my fork on the floor of the Black Dog Tavern, where we were having dinner. This couldn't be happening. Not yet. I was still weeks away from my delivery date. There was no way I could be having a contraction.

Matt jumped into action. He was more prepared for the moment than I was. He tossed cash onto the table and escorted me out of the Black Dog.

Part of me knew what was happening. Or so I believed. Braxton Hicks. Contractions that don't represent true labor. Women sometimes have these pains, occasionally even in their first trimester, but when they come in the third, they can be mistaken for actual labor.

However, my pain seemed to be above my uterus, spreading up and under my left lung. It came like a sharp knife. Literally took my breath away.

We got into the Jeep and headed directly to the hospital.

“I'm sure it's nothing,” I said. “Nicky's just giving a heads-up, letting us know he's physically fit.”

“Good,” Matt said, but he kept driving.

I had been getting weekly monitoring because this was considered a high-risk pregnancy. But everything had been fine, even a joy, up until now. If I were in trouble, I would have known it. Wouldn't I? I was always on the lookout for the least little problem. The fact that I'm a doctor made me even more prepared.

I was wrong. I was in trouble. The kind of trouble you're not quite sure you want to know about before it happens.

This is the story of how we both almost died.

Nicholas,

We had the best doctor on Martha's Vineyard, and one of the best in all of New England. Dr. Constance Cotter arrived at the hospital about ten minutes after I got there with Matt.

I felt fine by then, but Connie monitored me herself for the next two hours. I could see her urgency; I could read it in the tightness of her jaw. She was worrying about my heart. Was it strong enough? She was worrying about you, Nicky.

“This is potentially dangerous,” Connie said, sparing me no illusions. “Suzanne, your pressure is so high that part of me wants to start labor right now. I know it's not time, but you've got me worried. What I am going to do is keep you here tonight. And as many nights as I feel are warranted. No, you have no say in this.”

I looked at Connie like, You must be kidding. I was a doctor. I lived right down the road from the hospital. I would come in immediately if necessary.

“Don't even think about it. You're staying. Check in, and I'll be up to see you before I go. This isn't negotiable, Suzanne.”

It was strange to be checking in to the hospital where I worked. An hour or so later, Matt and I sat in my room waiting for Connie to return. I was telling him what I knew so far, in particular about a condition called preeclampsia.

“What exactly is preeclampsia, Suzanne?” he asked. He wanted every detail explained in clear layman's terms. He was asking all the right questions. So I told him, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“You wanted to know,” I said.

Connie finally came in. She took my blood pressure again. “Suzanne,” she said, “it's higher than it was. If it doesn't go down in the next few hours, I'm inducing labor.”

I had never seen Matt look, or act, so nervous. “I'm going to stay here with you tonight, Suzanne,” he said.

“Don't be silly,” I told him. “Sit in an uncomfortable chair and watch me sleep? That's crazy.”

But Connie looked at me and, in the clinical tone that she uses only for patients, said, “I think that's a very good idea. Matt should stay with you, Suzanne.”

Then Connie checked my pressure once more before leaving for the night.

I studied her face, looking for any kind of sign of trouble. What kind of look was that?

Connie stared at me oddly, and I couldn't quite figure it out.

Then she said, “Suzanne, I'm not getting a strong reading from the baby's heart. The baby has to come out now.”

Dear Nicholas,

All my life I had wanted a baby. I wanted to experience natural childbirth, just as my mother and grandmother had. Connie knew how important a natural delivery was to me. Matt and I had attended Lamaze classes together. She'd heard me go on and on about it in her office, and even over lunch.

I could see the sadness and pain in her face when she leaned over to me. She grasped my hand tightly in both of hers.

“Suzanne,” she whispered, “I wanted to bring this baby into the world the way you hoped it would happen. But you know I'm not going to put either you or this baby at risk. We have to do a c-section.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, but I nodded. “I know, Connie. I trust you.”

Everything began to move too fast after that.

Connie inserted an IV in my arm and administered magnesium sulfate. I immediately felt sicker than ever. A blinding headache overcame me.

Matt was right there as they prepped me for the c-section. He was told by a new attending doctor that this was an emergency. He couldn't stay with me.

Thank God, Connie came back in just then and overrode the decision.

Connie then told me what was happening.

My liver was swollen. The blood platelet count was alarming, and my blood pressure was 190/130.

Worse, Nicky, your heartbeat was weakening.

“You're going to be okay, Suzanne,” I kept hearing Connie say. Her voice was like an echo from a distant canyon. The room lights above my head appeared to be spinning out of control.

“What about Nicky?” I whispered through parched lips.

I waited for her to say, “And Nicky will be fine, too.”

But Connie didn't say it, and tears came to my eyes again.

I was rolled into the operating room, where they were not only ready to deliver a baby but also to transfuse me with eight units of blood. My platelet count had dropped. I knew what was going on here. If I started bleeding internally, I would die.

As I was being given the epidural anesthesia, I saw Dr. Leon, my cardiologist, standing right by the anesthetist. Why was Leon here? Oh God, no. Please don't do this. Oh please, please, please. I beg you. An oxygen mask was placed over my face. I tried to resist.

Connie raised her voice. “No, Suzanne. Take the oxygen.”

I felt as if I were on fire. I wasn't able to logically attribute it to the magnesium sulfate. I didn't know that my kidneys were shutting down, my platelets were dangerously low, my blood pressure had risen even more, to an alarming 200/115. I didn't know that steroid injections were being administered to optimize the baby's lung function and his prospect of survival.

The next few minutes were a blur. I saw a retractor come out. There were concerned looks from Connie, and then evasive eye contact.

I heard staccato orders and cold, unfeeling machine beeps and Matt chanting only positive things. I heard a loud sucking noise as amniotic fluid and blood were cleaned out of me.

There was numbness, some dizziness, and the oddest feeling of not being there, of not being anywhere, actually.

What brought me out of my surreal feeling of having entered another world was a cry. A distinct and mighty cry. You had announced your arrival like a strong warrior.

I began to cry, and so did Matt and Connie. You were such a little thing, just over six pounds. But so strong. And alert. Especially considering the stress you had been through.

You looked right at Daddy and me. I'll never forget it. The first time ever I saw your face.

I got to hold you in my arms before you were whisked away to the NICU. I got to look into the beautiful eyes that you struggled to keep open, and I got to whisper for the first time, “I love you.”

Nicholas the Warrior!

F EAR AND confusion swept over Katie again that night. While she read a few more diary pages, she forced herself to eat pasta primavera and drink tea. It didn't help.

Everything was moving way too fast in her head, and especially inside her sore, bloated body.

A baby boy had been born. Nicholas the Warrior.

Another child was growing inside her.

Katie had to think and be logical about this. What were all the possibilities? What could really be happening now?

Matt had been cheating on Suzanne all of these months?

Matt had been cheating, and I wasn't the first?

Matt had left Suzanne and Nicholas for some reason that was yet to be revealed in the diary? They were divorced?

Suzanne had left Matt for somebody else?

Suzanne had died--her heart had finally given out?

Suzanne was alive, but very ill?