On the day of my little grandson Milo’s birth, the first child of my daughter Rachael and my son-in-law Andrew, I wrote the email below to some dear writing friends of mine. I am posting it here for a few reasons: 1) to have a record of what happened, 2) to remind myself and anyone reading this of how fragile life is, and 3) to explain to my faithful blog readers why, over the past 10 days, I’ve been so quiet.

My first email to this group of writers was a very brief birth announcement with a nod to complications that arose during Rachael’s labor. However, I didn’t go into detail about this until the second email, which I’ve included below. By that point, I’d slept for six hours being up all night and returning to Rachael’s at 8 am.

Here’s the email:

Dear friends,

There was a serious botch up regarding the pain meds, which Rachael didn’t request until later in her labor. Three only partially effective epidurals plus too much additional pain medication in an IV sent Rachael’s blood pressure skyrocketing and Milo’s heart beat plummeting. 

The nurses and the OB doctor were clearly silently furious with the anesthesiologist, who, one nurse said later, had been “making mistakes all day.”  

When they wheeled Rachael out for an emergency C-section, I wasn’t sure I would see her alive again, and if Milo was going to make it. Poor Andrew was sent to sit alone in a hallway outside the surgical suite. I begged them to let me go be with him, but they said only one person was allowed at a time in that hallway. 

Andrew texted me in the waiting room that Milo was okay but he didn’t know about Rachael. It was another thirty minutes before one of the nurses came out to the waiting room where the doula and I were sitting and told us Rachael was okay. In the meantime, my daughter Sarah called me after I texted the family the situation. She let me sob uncontrollable at the thought of losing Rachael and stayed on the line with me until we got the word she was okay. 

When I finally saw Rachael, she told me that once Milo was delivered by C-section, they took him instantly away, and she cried for twenty minutes thinking he was dead until the nurse returned and said he was okay. 

Very traumatic for all. 

Of course, seeing Milo all pink and pretty and responsive makes all of this recede quickly. However, as I write this, I am feeling a mixture of anger and relief. Will need to process this when I am not so tired.

Big hugs to all,

Len

The truth is, I have still not completely processed what happened. I am just so grateful that little Milo and his mama are alive, well, and thriving.

Hold those you love tight, my friends. Life can change before your eyes.