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 Rosie,
a stunning, petite redhead with deep brown eyes, had a doctor's
appointment at 10:15. She also had three-minute long contractions
every five minutes. She and her tall, and darkly handsome
husband Regi, and their three-year-old daughter, Milan, were
racing along the freeway when Regi glanced her way to ask
if they should keep their appointment or hurry to the hospital.
He didn't see the huge steel ladder in the road, but he felt
the thud as they ran over it. "I think we should go to the
hospital," Rosie declared. "I think we have a flat tire,"
Regi replied. "I'm going to have the baby on this freeway!"
she screamed.
Tensely
gripping the steering wheel, Regi concentrated on maneuvering
their Montero safely to the gravel-strewn freeway shoulder.
He caught a glimpse in his rearview mirror of a CHP car pulling
up behind them. When the officer approached the driver's side
window, Regi exclaimed, "She's having a baby!" The officer
took one look at Rosie and another at the flat tire, and immediately
called for an ambulance. Regi grabbed the cell phone and dialed
AAA. They assured him they'd send someone right away. "I better
stay with Milan and the car," he told Rosie, "By the time
you get to the hospital, I'll be there too."
A
few minutes later, they could hear the wail of a fire truck's
siren over the roar of passing freeway traffic. Milan grew
excited as the flashing red lights came closer–she thinks
fire trucks are "so cool." A strapping tall blonde fireman
and a young ambulance guy gently lifted Rosie from the car,
and laid her on the stretcher. When the woman driving the
ambulance told her she had four children of her own, Rosie
knew she was in good hands.
The
emergency doors swung open, as they wheeled Rosie inside the
hospital. "What's going on?" inquired the nurse behind the
desk. "She's having a baby," the ambulance driver replied.
"Then why is she on a stretcher?" the nurse queried. "She
had a flat tire," answered the driver. "Oh," the nurse said,
"You better take her upstairs."
At
Labor and Delivery, the receptionist asked Rosie her name,
but she was in so much pain she couldn't think. The ambulance
driver quickly answered for her. The contractions were now
three minutes long, and three minutes apart.
When
Regi arrived with Milan in tow, Rosie was already hooked up
to a number of machines. Regi couldn't believe his eyes. He
was sure the contractions were only Braxton Hicks; the baby
wasn't due for another three weeks. Astounded, he said, "It
looks like we're staying! Are we staying?" "She's staying,"
the nurse said.
Rosie's
friend, Ana, came for Milan. When Milan said goodbye, Rosie
told her, "Baby Sanjay will come out to play with you; the
next time you come, he'll be here." Milan had often said that
Rosie's tummy was a door and that her belly button was the
door knob, so Rosie told her that they were going to open
the door for Sanjay. Milan was delighted. She couldn't wait
to see what he looked like.
Twenty-four
hours later, Rosie was still only two centimeters dilated.
Her OBGYN broached the possibility of a C-Section. Dejected,
Rosie's shoulders drooped. She had hoped for a normal delivery.
But Rosie was a fighter and she wasn't about to give up. The
Head Nurse suggested that it might help if Rosie got down
on her knees and elbows and wagged her bottom. She did it
for two hours. It didn't help. When the doctor said, "We're
going for the C-Section," there was no hiding the resignation
in Rosie's voice as she bravely said, "Let's go for it." She
couldn't wait to see her baby and hold him in her arms. But
when Sanjay came out, he turned purple and stopped breathing.
She only got to see him for a second, and they took him away
to ICU. Rosie started crying and praying to God that everything
would be okay.
The
next day, Rosie woke up with excruciating mental and physical
pain. She begged the nurse to take her to see her baby. She
was wheeled into ICU but when she saw Sanjay, it broke her
heart. He looked so small and fragile. Her baby had oxygen
tubes in his nose, an IV in his wrist, and pulse sensors on
his chest, stomach, and toes. Her heart went out to her newborn
baby and she ached to hold him. The doctor relented but cautioned
her to hold Sanjay very carefully because of all the tubes
hooked to his small body. Rosie's natural instincts took over
and she stripped off her shirt--she didn't care who was looking.
She held Sanjay against her skin and he started crying uncontrollably.
She asked the doctor if she could feed Sanjay. Distracted
by another case, he replied, "No, he's not breathing on his
own yet." In the meantime, the baby had latched onto Rosie's
breast and had begun nursing. Rosie was overjoyed. "He's nursing!,"
she cried out. Amazed, the doctor and nurses clustered around
the mother and child. Sanjay was eagerly sucking away. Two
hours later, Rosie returned and fed him again. This time,
the doctor said, "He's doing excellently. He's breathing on
his own. You might be able to take him home with you." Rosie
beamed.
His
mother's milk had made Sanjay strong. On Monday, Rosie and
Sanjay triumphantly left the hospital.
Three
weeks later, Sanjay is a healthy seven-pound baby boy. He
has brown hair, brown eyes, and long eyelashes, just like
his mother. Rosie whispers sweet nothings to him, while rocking
him gently in her arms. This idyllic image contrasts sharply
with the picture lying on the table beside her of Sanjay in
ICU. "I thought we suffered with Milan's birth, and all she
had was jaundice--this was so much more," she reflects. "Everything
that could have gone wrong, went wrong, but it was a happy
ending. My little boy is home."
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