In the hands of strangers
The whole experience seemed surreal. It was as if they didn’t even see me. I was in the hands of strangers, a doctor who seemingly didn’t care and an anesthesiologist that knew next to nothing about me or my condition. It was doubly hurtful to go from a caring physician who’d left explicit instructions for my care, to being treated by Dr. Bradford who willfully ignored those directions and an anesthesiologist who went along with him. They gave me no words of comfort, no words of encouragement. All I saw in their faces was grim determination.
The delivery room became frantic as the doctors shouted directions to each other. Clearly, they were now panicked and working under tense conditions. They had to deliver this baby quickly. Hours and hours had passed since the evening, when my water bag broke, to now, the wee hours of the morning. Finally, they could see that my baby was in distress and that if it stayed any longer inside of me, more damage and possibly death could result. Seeing all this happening while still sitting on the edge of the operating table, I wanted to scream at the green-garbed, masked hospital staffers, “What’s going on? Tell me the truth. Now!” But I couldn’t scream, and even if I had, no one could or would have told me.
I felt totally deserted. They worked on me as if I were an inanimate object. I remember wanting to freeze time and yell, “Stop! Listen to me!” At that moment, a mask was pressed over my face. And the next thing I knew I was spiraling downward into darkness.
I was out cold. Later, I was told they’d administered gas because the baby’s life was seriously threatened. Now knowing that our baby could die, they performed an immediate Caesarian. Complications arose, which I’ll share with you shortly, but I was advised after the fact that gas is extremely dangerous, even deadly, to a baby in the womb.
