GreenLeaves of Fyn

Day 4; scariest birthday ever!

The most frightening birthday ever was that of my youngest daughter. She was born fast. She was born while the hospital aids were running down the hallway to the delivery room. A doctor had literally vaulted onto the gurney as they ran past. My husband was off doing paperwork so the doctor had no way of knowing that we were both Caucasian.

My baby was deep black, a bluish-purpled black.

"Fix her," I remember saying. No one had yet told me that she was a she.

"The baby is fine."

"No, she isn't." I said hysterically, pushing her back at the nurse.

A faint prick and I woke up hours later.

"Where's my baby?" I screamed. Babies were supposed to be in our rooms with us. I staggered out to the nurse's station, saw the sign and followed its pointed arrow to the nursery.

No 'Baby Maglione.' She wasn't there. "Where is my daughter?" I am screaming at the top of my lungs. My husband and the doctor show up at the same time running from two different directions.

"Where is she?" I demand the doctor for answers.

"You mean no one has told you?"

"Told me what?" Both my husband and I answer him in unison.

"Your daughter was born with no blood sugar. She also had three times the number of red blood cells than she is supposed to have. There wasn't enough oxygen getting to her blood. I'm sorry. She's had a blood transfusion, but we are only giving her a five percent chance of living, and, if she lives, a five percent chance of being anything other than a vegetable. We will let you know when you can see her.

I slid down the wall and sat on the floor, shaking. My (now 'ex') husband said, "I can't deal with this." Then he left.

Hours later, when a nurse tried to kick me out of the smoking lounge, I explained the situation. She left, then returned and said, “Follow me.”

I followed her down the hall, into a special shower, and into a sterile gown, bonnet and booties. Then she led me into the pediatric intensive care unit. She gathered wires together, turned down beeping machines and handed me my daughter.

She was now all roses and cream. Her vividly blue eyes were open and her tiny fingers wrapped around my pinky. At that moment, I knew, absolutely knew that she was going to be okay.

The nurse handed me a bottle and I fed my daughter. She drank every drop.

“She’s still critical,” cautioned the nurse. I smiled. It didn’t matter what she said. I knew!

We got our five percent of five percent. Not only did she live, she’s brilliant, accomplished and an all-around awesome individual.

Her birthday was both the scariest and the most ecstatic day I have ever experienced.

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