Ruth's story

Although this is a long story it is a story worth reading. ~ Helen ~

Sometimes Things Go Wrong.

In early August of 1996 my father-in-law, Jack was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. It was a shock, in that we expected to be told he had suffered a small stroke. My husband, Dave, and I already had one child, a son named for his Daddy who would turn two in September and we were going to start trying for our next child after his birthday. Because Jack's cancer was stage four he was given 6 - 9 months to live, we decided at that time to start a month earlier in the hope he might be able to see the child. God blessed us and in September we had a positive pregnancy test. My first pregnancy had been "text book perfect" and we had no concern that this one would be any different.

As often happens when a much loved family member is terminal it brought out the best and the worst in a family. All I could do to help raise Jack's spirits was to make sure he got to see little Davey almost everyday no matter how tired or busy I was. I could see in Jack's eyes the anger, sadness and frustration of being dealt such a blow, this disease was taking from him what he loved the most. I won't go into the details but the things that were said and done robbed him of the small joys still available and that is inexcusable. Because my mother-in-law, Diane, has agoraphobia I often ran errands for them, I didn't mind, it was a minor effort that helped them in a small way.

My due date was May 5th and we didn't know if we were having a boy or a girl but my pregnancy seemed to be progressing nicely except for headaches which we attributed to stress from the family conflicts that were occurring at that time. My obstetricians office would alternate visits between the two midwives and the doctor so you would be comfortable with all of them. During the visit with Dr. B-, who had delivered my son, I told her of how when I would get angry about these conflicts I would get an odd pain in my abdomen and I was concerned this might be harming the baby, she then gave me the best possible advice "Don't let yourself get angry, obviously this person doesn't care whether or not you lose this baby." I tried my best after that not to let my temper get the best of me.

Easter was coming and Jack's favourite dinner was turkey with all the fixings. We decided to have the dinner at our home since we only lived across the street from David's Mom and Dad, so if Jack felt up to it they could join us for dinner or if he was too tired we could run over freshly cut portions that wouldn't need to be reheated. I even planned on making strawberry shortcake from scratch which was Jack's favourite dessert. In the week prior my ankles started to swell (a common side effect of pregnancy) and I figured it was due to all the running around I was doing for the holiday. My Mom and my brother's wife, Cindy, offered to help but I cheerfully declined telling them all they needed to do was show up (my sister-in-law had miscarried her first child and was newly pregnant I didn't want her to do anything more than enjoy a good meal).

At the next appointment I told the midwife of the swelling and she too believed it was from running around too much and told me to stay off my feet for an hour at least three times a day, a real funny statement considering I had a two year old at home with me. The night before Easter after I had finished the most of the preparation I looked down at my ankles and was alarmed to see my ankles and feet extremely swollen (like my grandmother's when she had gout). I called my mother when elevation didn't make the swelling go down and she urged me to call the number at the hospital since swelling and headaches were in the criteria to call immediately. The doctor on duty questioned me thoroughly and ascertained this was my second pregnancy with no complications on my first. He told me to stay off my feet, that Easter would come without me running myself ragged and should my headaches worsen to come right in. After feeling foolish I called Mom back and told her what he said; she gave me the "better to be safe than sorry" speech and told me she'd see tomorrow. All went well on Easter Sunday, Jack was too tired to come over, but he loved the dinner and dessert (David's Mom said it was the most she had seen him eat in a long time).

Now at some point I started to have a feeling of dread about my pregnancy, I just had a feeling that I wasn't going to survive the birth. I didn't share what I felt with anyone, we all had so much to worry about at the time, and I chalked it up to pregnancy hormones, but this feeling of doom stayed with me, like a little black cloud it followed me everywhere, I prayed to God that this feeling wouldn't come to reality, and if it did to please take care of my children.

On April 1st we got a freak snow storm and I became nervous when I saw the person who plowed my husband's uncle's gas station next door had packed the snow behind my husbands car so high and hard that it would take hours before it or my car would be free. My husband reminded me that he could use his parents car across the street if we had an emergency, but I got angry at the out and out meanness of the gesture. The person that had done it knew I was very pregnant, and we had a small child in the home (which anyone who has a child knows (this person had two) you never know when you'll be taking an unexpected trip to the emergency room). The day after a very kind friend of the family, who has a large backhoe, dug my husbands car out of the then iced-packed snow, he just gave us a wave and smile and went on his way.

We attended the first of two childbirth refresher classes, and my husband couldn't do anything right by me that night, he would rub too hard or too soft, his jokes were dumb, I even accused him of trying to irritate me on purpose. I was a witch by the time the class let out. When the class was over we picked up our son at my Mom's house and I went on a tirade about how the instructor seemed more interested in discussing "aroma therapy" than in discussing the protocol changes, or what would happen if things went wrong. I believe the instructor told us she would address those issues in our next class. My husband gloated about how he had told me these classes were a waste of time, I just glared at him and remembered Dr. B-'s advice not to get angry.

I was due to see the Dr. B- on April 10th the same day the wrestler Rick Flair would be signing autographs in a mall near our area. Because this wrestler was among Jack's favourites, and is my husband's and son's favourites I set it up with my mother to go with me after my appointment so she could watch little Davey while I waited in line. We agreed to this on Monday the 7th, on Tuesday I shot with my dart team as usual although I was getting much more tired lately and left the match early (something I rarely did), and there were good natured jokes about how I delivered my son after shooting at the same place years earlier. On Wednesday the 9th I brought my son over to see Grampy and Grammy who had some close friends over for a visit, but shortly after my husband showed up there after work, I told him I was going home to put my feet up and for him to bring Davey home when he was ready. I felt even more out of sorts than usual, tense without any reason. When I got home I felt completely drained and put my feet up on the couch but it didn't help relieve me. I talked to my sister-in-law Cindy on the phone until David came home.

That evening when Davey was in bed I asked my husband to go get me a pizza from a special place the next town over, he was happy to go, thinking perhaps it might help my ill temper. He brought the pizza straight home and it was still cold by the time he arrived. My rage broke when he brought me a butter knife to cut the cold cheese with. I started yelling that a steak knife would have been a smarter choice, he tried to keep his temper in check while attempting to cut through the cheese (he was exhausted from getting up in the middle of the night to help Jack get off the floor when he would fall out of bed, his mother tried calling David's brother on some of these occasions but he and his wife turned the ringer off on their phone because John needed his sleep), when I returned with a sharp knife he had just cut away the first piece and he started to hand it to me. I screamed how dare he assume to know which piece I wanted without asking me first. Then his anger broke, and we argued about of all stupid things, cold pizza.

The sickening headache began as I warmed a piece in the microwave, and after taking one bite I knew I couldn't eat the pizza without being sick. I got a horrible pain in my abdomen, not a contraction because it didn't end, but it was the same pain I had had earlier in the pregnancy when I got really angry except this was so much worse! My husband thought I was going for the sympathy vote and grudgingly brought me a glass of water while he glared at me from the kitchen. I laid on the couch trying to drink the water, praying for either pain to end, and fighting nausea. When I requested a bucket to vomit in he knew I wasn't faking it, and asked if he should call the hospital. I told him you have to wait an hour while drinking the water to see if the pain would end, it didn't, it only ebbed slightly before it began to get worse. After I threw up I told him to call. He called and the nurse wanted to speak with me after he told her the symptoms, she inquired about the type of pain it was, I told her as best I could, my head was throbbing to the point I could barely speak in a normal volume. She told me to come in, that I sounded as though I was in alot of pain (that was an understatement). We called my mother to come watch our son and I tried to get dressed again.

By the time she arrived I couldn't stand up straight, and I remember her hands on my face and her kiss on my cheek before I walked out the door doubled over in pain. They both thought I was in premature labour, so her look was worried but not beyond the realm of "I hope she has an easy labour". The five minute ride to the hospital seemed to take an eternity, I couldn't stand the seat belt on my stomach, my husband trying to gage my mood said "I love you honey" in a sickeningly sweet way hoping I would snap at him, when all I did was grab his hand and say "I love you too." he began to get worried. Inspite of the street lights it looked like we were travelling in a tunnel. The seatbelt was agony across my abdomen and I told him make sure they give me an epidural as soon as I get there, he started wisecracks about how I wanted to try it naturally this time. I was in too much pain to take the bait. By the time we reached the hospital I was in agony, and I remember thinking it can't get much worse than this, oh was I wrong.

The reception staff at the emergency entrance of Brockton Hospital were so kind, and nice. I was bent over at the hips, my face buried in my husbands shirt to shield my eyes from the stabbing light, turning my head to speak only when my husband couldn't decipher what I said (he has nerve deafness in his ears) in answer to their questions. On one such turn I saw two adolescent girls walking from the waiting area over to where we were, a curiously fascinated look on their faces as they stared at me. They stopped about 6 feet away and stood staring at me. The reception staff seeing this came out from behind their enclosed area and made a human wall between me and them while another went to get a wheelchair for me until Maternity arrived with theirs. I sat in the chair and the light was unbearable, I don't know if I was crying at this point but I know I felt like it. The maternity nurse arrived promptly and told us she had expected us sooner, my husband explained we had to wait for my Mom. I was moved to the new wheelchair and handed a small emesis basin in case I felt sick again. All the time the pains in my head and abdomen were getting worse, I felt like either one could split open at any moment.

I threw up again coming out of the elevator and the nurse had to hold my shoulders back when I wretched forward out of the wheelchair. I began to hope they would just knock me out. I was quickly changed and placed in the Early Labour Lounge, the baby monitor strapped to my belly, contraction belt strapped on and IV inserted into my hand. I could barely take not having my hand over my eyes for the IV. My husband was in the room but he tried to keep quiet and out of the way so they could do their jobs.

The doctor on call came in and I moved my hand long enough to get a quick peek at him. He had white hair and a gentle yet authoritative voice (gentle with me, authoritative with the nurses). He told me he would be quick about what he had to do so he could turn the lights down for me. I answered his questions and he gave his orders after examining me. The doctor then told David and I that our baby would be born that night. I nodded, the midwife had told me at the last visit that if I went into labour the baby was big enough that they wouldn't stop it.

(READER: At this point I am no longer able to remember chronological order of thoughts or memories) I remember the nurse saying you're not having contractions as she stared at the monitor, I asked what was wrong then? She told me they were going to find out. The doctor asked which hurt worse, my head or my belly, I told him my head. It was the worst pain humanly imaginable. I think I told them to please make it stop hurting, and things are unclear after that. I remember thinking people pass out from extreme pain and if God was kind I would do so soon. They told me they were giving me something to help the pain. I fell into a blackness after that, with odd thoughts entering my mind, like I should have gone to church on Good Friday to do the Twelve Stations of the Cross, maybe if I joined a prayer group the pain would end (mind you I'm Catholic but non-practising), that it was October all of a sudden and while I was sure the doctor was competent, I wished Dr. B- was there, that maybe she would know what was wrong (neither my husband nor I were told what was wrong).

Some point later I remember someone asking me if I was still in pain I told them yes (I began to worry they would think I'm a drug addict looking for a high) my headache blotted out every other pain. I couldn't feel any pain in my abdomen. Blackness came to me again, I heard the voice of someone telling me when I gave birth I would feel much better, so I tried to push. I was informed they tried to give me an epidural but were unable to accomplish this. My husband had gone home to tell the grandparents what was going on and to get my personal things. He still believed everything was normal, just premature labour. When he walked off the elevator he could hear me screaming in extreme pain down the hall, back in the room he saw them roll me back onto my back, I opened my legs and pushed, he told the nurses he could see the head and they told me to hold it in, not to push, to wait for the doctor. That's when, according to my husband, all hell broke loose, the room was full of equipment and people, there were nurses who were watching only the monitors, the doctor was delivering the baby, and I was issuing bloodcurdling screams.

What I remember of the birth is screaming from the horrendous agony in my head in a black hole or tunnel making my scream echo, certain my head was literally going to split in two, and pushing. The closest I can come to describing the pain was it was so intense I never even felt the labour pains or my child entering the world, just my skull trying to split apart. Wishing I was dead rather than feeling that agony. The world had become nothing but black pain, and then it just became blackness with no thought at all as I slipped into a coma. That was how my sweet Sarah came into the world on the morning of April 10th 1997. I was Medflighted shortly thereafter to Massachusetts General Hospital by Dr. B-, who came in on rounds shortly after her birth and took over on my case, in order to save my life as I was dying at the time.

My daughter was born at 6:30 am, 4 lbs. 14 oz., at 36.5 weeks and healthy by all appearances. She was the only happy thing about that morning and she was moved immediately to the Level II nursery to be seen by the neonatologist. I have no memory of her on that morning, no memory of being among the first to welcome this beautiful new life into the world, a condition called Severe Pre-eclampsia complicated by H.E.L.L.P. Syndrome robbed me of that and as I was to find out many other memories and abilities as well.

Pre-eclampsia (formerly known as Toxemia) is a rare condition of pregnancy, which is one of the leading causes of maternal and new-born fatalities (because labour is induced to "cure" the condition the child is often born premature and a lack of development (1. because of gestational age and 2. because infants born of this condition are usually underdeveloped compared to normal babies) causes the baby's death). The some signs of this condition are headaches, swelling of the face and extremities, protein in the urine, high blood pressure (mine was 210/110 upon entering the hospital) and irritability. They don't know what causes it, but some studies suggest the way the placenta attaches to the uterine wall is a factor, but the results are swelling of the brain, dangerously high blood pressure and swelling of the liver to mention a few, but the condition usually resolves itself after the delivery of the placenta (magnesium sulphate is the normal drug of choice for therapy). Some of the dangers to the mother are stroke, haemorrhaging of the liver, brain damage and death. The babies are in danger from lack of oxygen from the mother and prematurity, the doctors try to delay delivery for as long as possible to give the baby the best chance of survival without compromising the mother's life. H.E.L.L.P. Syndrome is Hemolytic Anemia, Elevated Liver Transaminases, Low Platelet Count (my red blood cell count went from 235,000 to 35,000 in a very short period of time) which in layman's terms means the body is attacking itself. Like Pre-eclampsia they don't know what causes it, but they feel a delay in treatment of Pre-eclampsia might be related.

David was still unaware of what was going on, suddenly he heard Dr. O- say "I can't get it, I can't get it out" referring to the placenta, the nurses told my husband "Mr. West, why don't you go see your daughter?" he didn't move "Mr. West, go say hello to your new baby girl." They finally got him to go to the nursery, after about ten minutes he was paged to the nurses station, he came out into the hall and saw me lying on a stretcher, pale and unmoving next to the desk, when my regular OB saw him she brought him into an empty room. When he saw them pushing me down the hall he turned to ask why? Before he could Dr. B- calmly but urgently apprised him of my precarious situation, she explained the condition and it's potential results if I wasn't medflighted immediately, he asked if he could go in the helicopter with me, he was told "No there's only enough room for the flight crew and medical personnel who need to be taking care of her." He tried to lie and say he didn't know how to get to Mass General, they gave him a detailed map and he left the hospital trying to figure out how to explain to our families what had just happened.

He told my mother first, her reaction was silent shock, how could this happen? How could I die when there were now two beautiful children waiting for their mother? David went across the street dreading telling his parents who had already been through so much, Jack and Diane were devastated, I had always been the strong one and now I might die? This was so unexpected. They were in tears, first the cancer now this. Jack remembered one of our conversations on the way to Chemo at Mass General about how he felt bad that I was taking him there, I told him that if it were me he'd do same and his reply was "That's different", now I was in need and he couldn't do anything to help me, being chairbound. Diane called David's Uncle Chet at the gas station to please go and get little Davey so my Mom would be able to go into the hospital to find out how I was doing. Mom called my sister-in-law Cindy back to ask her for a ride into Mass General, while waiting for Cindy outside she saw a helicopter go overhead and wondered if I was in it, the day had taken on nightmare proportions. Some family friends who were there the day before came to stay with Jack so Diane could go to an MRI appointment and to see Sarah, Diane walked into our family physicians office and by her expression they thought Jack had passed away, when Dr. H- came in he was blindsided by the news, the doctor from their practice that was covering the hospital hadn't informed him of what had happened, he left her to find out what was going on, he came back and told her the grave news, that I had the worst form of this condition, but I was a fighter and I had that going for me.

Diane and her friend went to Brockton Hospital to see Sarah. David hadn't told the nurses who was allowed to see the baby yet so at first all she could do was look at her, then he called to tell them the family list and they could finally let her hold her. I was told by Diane almost all the nurses were in tears and her friend who drove her was crying and of course she was as well, here was this new-born who might not have a mother to hold her, as word spread around town people who hadn't seen us in years began stopping by their house to find out my condition. The outpouring of emotion from people when I learned of it was overwhelming, these kind people who barely knew me were praying, crying and offering their assistance in anyway they could help. I got a large vote for town meeting member while in the hospital from the snow delayed election which was unusual because the "W's" are at the end of the ballot. Family and friends had three priest praying for my health, including Father Crowley who had married us. The nurse who had taught the childbirth class on my first pregnancy (who also happened to have gone to High School with my husband) saw the chart for West, Ruth and looked at it wondering if it was me, she was shocked at what lay therein, and called David offering her help, encouragement and kind concern.

Although David left ahead of Mom and Cindy, Cindy, who had worked downtown for 17 years beat him in there. At first they couldn't tell them where I was, I wasn't listed as a patient, finally they found my room on the maternity floor and I was there until they took me for a Cat Scan, but when I didn't return they discovered I had been transferred to Neurology. There in the N.I.C.U. waiting room they waited even longer, seeing my room at the end of the hallway. David stood staring down the hall until a male nurse closed the wing's doors in his face. Finally the doctors came in, when David asked if I would die the doctor would only say that I was very sick and that the next 48 hours were crucial. My husband went home after seeing Sarah and cried and prayed. He said our wind chimes sounded so different from normal and the life size portrait of the three of us that a friend had made seemed to fill our living-room. He was terrified that I would die and blamed himself, that maybe if he had helped me more I wouldn't be at death's door right now. When the phone rang that night he was certain they would tell him I was dead. They only allowed him and my family in for five minutes after hours of waiting. It was the hospital, but they were telling him I needed to have a D&C to remove the rest of the placenta, he gave permission, and that they might have to put a shunt in my skull to relieve the pressure on the brain. His next hours were spent praying, crying and pleading with God that I would live. When morning came after that endless night of praying and bargaining he knew I would live, his faith in God carrying him through.

They came to the hospital the next day and I was on a breathing machine and had many IV tubes running in me. They had to perform the D&C in the I.C.U. because I wasn't able to be moved and my mother heard several shocked nurses say "The first time I've seen something like that!" My face and body was swelling and I looked horrible, the decision was made not to allow my son in to see me like that, he stayed in the waiting room with my family and tried to follow a blond nurse calling "Mommy, Mommy?" after her.

Cerebral consciousness for me would surface and pass, one of my first thoughts was my head doesn't hurt anymore, and there was a kind woman in nurses whites looking down at me. She was telling me what they were doing to me, an MRI but when I looked towards my feet what I saw looked like something out of a Japanese sci-fi movie but her gentle voice kept me calm and made me feel better. She always seemed to be there whenever I was conscious, she told me her name was Noel. She was gentle and kind and very soothing. Sometimes I would see what I thought was the outside of the hospital and a giant forklift moving the rooms around and I thought how nice, that way everyone gets the good view. My room became an elevator and Noel was with me and when the doors opened there was a man there in orderly whites who looked at me and said "She doesn't belong here." and Noel smiling widely as the doors closed again she told me I was going to get better but I had to rest. Then I was alone when a voice told me my family was waiting to see me, I waited a long time wondering how they would find my room since it was always moving, and one time when the doors opened there were about 8 people in white coats just looking at me from the doorway. I didn't understand why my family wasn't there yet. Someone asked how many brothers and sisters I had, I answered three brothers, the voice asked about my sister - I explained I had a half sister I had never met and a half brother I hadn't seen in years. Then I thought I must be dreaming, all the odd things I had been seeing weren't reality, and if I wanted to see my family all I had to do was sit up and go find them. When I tried medical alarms started sounding and the ceiling started to fall towards the bed, people were rushing into the room, I was terrified, I knew I had done something I wasn't supposed to and now I was in serious trouble, I called for Noel all I heard was her voice telling me I would be all right but I had to rest and that she couldn't stay anymore. When later asked by my family if I remembered any of the nurses I answered Noel, and described her, they all looked at each other, there had never been anyone by that description or name that worked on me according to them I now believe she was my Guardian Angel watching over me until I was better. A nurse in the room flipped a switch on a machine and the ceiling was suddenly back were it belonged. She spoke to me about my family as she got me ready to see them, I was so weak I couldn't even lift my head and they had to do all my personal hygiene even brushing my teeth for me, they were so kind and gentle as they cared for me I will never forget how much a caring touch can do for the human spirit.

At some point I remember looking through the windows to the nurses station, I saw a large group of young doctors in white coats conferring over a chart, occasionally one would look my way. I remember thinking "Gee someone must be really sick to need that many doctors, thank God it's not me", imagine my horror when they all walked into my room. I figured I had been sick, but not that sick. I figured the painkillers had left me in weakened state that would resolve itself as the drugs left my system. Dr. M- introduced himself and the other doctors, and asked if I had any pain. I told him no, he seemed surprised by this answer. He asked if I knew where I was, I looked out the window and guessed Boston (I knew from the view I wasn't in suburbia anymore). He nodded and asked which hospital, I didn't know, he informed me Mass General. He asked if I knew what day it was, I figured it had to be Thursday since I went to Brockton hospital on Wednesday night and answered that, he shook his head and answered No it's Sunday. My stomach hit the floor, I had lost three days! He asked if I knew the date, I couldn't tell him quickly and I was trying to look at the calendar across the room but I didn't have my glasses on, so he told me. I was so taken back by losing three days I barely heard what he said. He explained he would be asking me those same questions everyday and that more doctors would be in to see me later on.

My husband was there first, his tired face greeting me as he tried to hold my right hand (there were IVs and wrappings around the IV sites) he told me that I had been very sick, but I should just rest and let my body do what it needed to do. I asked him if I was going to die, I was so weak I could barely manage the words, he told me no. I then told him all the B--- S--- that had been going on with his brother's selfish and his wife's cruel behaviour doesn't mean anything now, that it was now made insignificant from where I was lying. He quickly agreed and promised that he wouldn't allow their head games to upset him or our home anymore. He gave me a blurry Polaroid of my baby, he told me the baby was a girl and healthy, that her paediatrician Dr. K- called him every morning with a progress report. I asked what her name was, he told me he was waiting until I could tell him what name I wanted (that was his bargaining chip, he figured I wouldn't let myself die if our daughter didn't have a name), Sarah Ann I replied. Then he was going, so that my Mom and brother Jim could come in. The nurse taped Sarah's picture to my bedrail so I could just turn my head and see her, with what strength I had left I wished I could hold her and told the picture I was sorry I wasn't there to do so, my child so tiny and alone many miles away in another hospital never having felt her mother hold her close to her heart.

I fell into a state of sleep, but during it I felt I was lying in the hand of God, that I was loved and protected by the great hand which held my whole body in His palm. All would be well and I would live to hold her for the first time and to hold my son again.

When I opened my eyes again Mom and Jimmy were there, I've never seen them look so worried. They talked about holding Sarah, that she was beautiful and healthy, that my brother Warren and his wife Missy had come from out of state the day before to see me. That I had scared Johnny (my brother closest in age and temperament) to death because when he had bent to kiss my forehead, my body (though paralysed for the breathing tube) tried to sit up, he thought I was in the throes of death right then because I shouldn't have been able to move (his wife Cindy was there with him and witnessed this and we can now smile about this event because of how composed he normally is) he literally ran out of the room. Very shortly they told me they would also be leaving, I shook my head (it was easier than talking) and managed a weak "no" (I didn't understand why everyone kept leaving so soon). My Mom told me I had to rest, "You have to get your strength back so you can hold that beautiful baby." I couldn't argue with that.

Soon after Johnny and Cindy came in, I wanted to tell them something very important about what David and I had decided so they would hear it from me, but they wouldn't let me talk. Instead they too told me about my sweet Sarah, I felt like my heart was breaking, this little baby was so far from me and while I was grateful that she had so many loving arms ready to hold her, all I wanted was to hold her desperately. Was someone telling her and my son that I wanted to be with them but I couldn't right now? That Mommy didn't have a choice right now? That I would do whatever was necessary to get out of the hospital and back to them as soon as possible? They also left after only a short visit telling me I needed my rest. I didn't understand why everyone kept leaving so soon. Why didn't anyone bring me flowers (I didn't know you couldn't have them in ICU) or cards?

Later a very nice doctor came in and introduced himself as the obstetrician who took care of me at Mass General. He told me that Dr. B- sent me to Mass General by Medflight to save me and she called him everyday to find out how I was doing. I told him "She's a wonderful doctor I'd trust her with my life, well actually I did and ..." my hands gesturing and a small smile came on my face. He asked if I had been told what had happened, I told him my husband said Toxemia, he nodded and used the proper term and asked if I knew anything about the condition. I said "Isn't that what the lady on E.R. [the TV show] died of?". He explained the differences between the character's condition and mine. He asked what I remembered of the birth and I told him screaming in my head, in a black hole, I asked if he knew if I had screamed for real, he replied in the affirmative, I felt bad, I told him I hoped no first time Mommies To Be were in earshot because I was screaming from the pain in my head, not labour pains. He smiled at this, but I was serious, I have a big beef with people who needlessly scare pregnant women. He was very patient explaining things to me and was very kind.

Sometime later another doctor entered, he was older than all the others and had a very pleasant accent. He projected a large presence, he knew what he was doing and I knew this was the doctor who would say when I could go home. I also noticed the nurses stepped a little quicker for him, he had me do light physical tests for neurological damage and seemed very pleased with the results. He asked if the other doctors had explained what had happened to me, I answered him and after explaining his part of it he was soon on his way. I asked one of the nurses if he was the "big cheese" and she answered "Oh yes". I slept some more and one of the nurses (I think it was Maura) woke me to tell me I had a visitor, and did I recognise her? I turned my head and saw it was Sue, David's Uncle Chet's close friend and I smiled and said "Hi Sue" and she looked so happy (I knew she had gone through nursing school but I didn't know she was working at Mass General) she jokingly told me how I had scared everyone and that she too was checking on me for the family (my husband is not the best at informing due to his hearing). She told me to rest that she would be back to visit again later (again I thought why does everyone keep leaving so soon?).

Later I asked Maura (she had the most soothing Irish accent) if I was N.P.O. (it means nothing by mouth) my mouth was so dry. She said yes I was, that I had a feeding tube down my nose and throat, and was surprised I knew the term. There was my first goal, get the N.G. tube out, they wouldn't release me if I was on a feeding tube. Getting the tubes out are how I measured my progress, at one point my family counted 16 I.V.'s in my arms and a central line in my chest. I was taken off the breathing machine when they were able to control my brain swelling.

My husband was informed that I probably would be in Mass General for two weeks and then a rehabilitation facility indefinitely so I could relearn how to do everything and he would need to make long-term arrangements for the care of my children when Sarah would be released from Brockton Hospital. He refused to believe that I wouldn't be able to care for my children, the grandmothers had already thought of this possibility and each was trying in their own way to tell David what might need to be done and what they could do to help. No one told me of these conversations so each day I asked when would I be released, always receiving the "We'll see" answer.

I remember waking up late at night, looking out the window at the dark city, wondering if Sarah was crying in that darkness, if someone would pick her up and soothe her with the tenderness and love that I would. Panic would start to wash over me, knowing that my situation was controlled by these doctors. Were they aware of how badly I needed to be with my children? What was my son thinking? What had they told him? How could I make them understand how much it hurts not to hold your children, to be afraid one of them doesn't know you at all and the other might be thinking I just abandoned him. To be forced to listen as others tell you about you own children, as these well meaning family members tell you they had made the decision to keep your daughter in the other hospital and not to allow your son in to see you "like this". Not having a mirror handy, assuming they meant the numerous monitor wires and IV lines, not knowing the fact that your whole body had swelled and you looked (as they would tell you later) terrible, horrible, unrecognisable, the worst thing they had ever seen. These thoughts and questions echoing in your mind as you stare at the night reflections in the polarised window of the building across the way. The silence of the unit broken by the quiet hum as the "balloons" on your legs inflated, giving you a physical reminder of how far you have to go. Maura entered with my medication and was surprised when I turned my head toward her as she injected it into my IV's, I was grateful for the human company to distract me from my terrified thoughts. We had a small conversation before she had to attend her other patients, but it would relieve the desperate isolation I felt and I would be able to sleep again.

These late night thoughts solidified my resolve to get out of there to my daughter and son, each small step they had me take, such as sitting up in a chair for the first time, I took on with determination to the point they had to constantly tell me to slow down and not to rush things. I didn't wait for them to suggest eating, I asked when could I try. The nurses were happy at this question from me (the last time they had put my "food" in the N.G. tube I could feel the coolness inside the tube going down and I said "Umm yummy" as a joke) and once my gag reflex was checked I was allowed to try fluids, then applesauce, when I was able to hold this down they brought me other "easy" foods. I remember how slow my hands moved, that it was difficult trying to get food on the spoon, bring it to my mouth and feed myself, part of me wanted to cry but I told myself that it was OK to take it one step at a time, don't cry because that wouldn't get me out any sooner. I had no appetite but I knew if I wanted to get my strength back I had to eat, besides the nurses were watching my appetite and when one morning I only pecked at my tray they noticed and asked why? I thought up some answer for them not wanting to set myself back in the psychological department when I was making progress in the physical area. Being allowed to brush my own teeth was a happy morning for me, these things seem small to healthy people but when you've haven't been able to do any of your own hygiene and had to submit to someone else doing all of it for you, these small markers on the road of recovery become bill boards. But I must stress the truly caring attitudes of these care givers, I will always remember how gently a nurse held my head so she could comb my hair and pull it back into a pretty ponytail. Like a sick child my head was so weak I could barely hold it steady against her chest as she combed.

My Mom brought in pictures taken the day before of everyone holding Sarah, and she had accidentally double exposed the Easter Sunday roll of film so Davey's picture was in the background of most of the photos like someone had done it on purpose. My desire to get out was worsened by those pictures, my daughter wouldn't know me when I finally got to hold her. She was so extremely small and as her mother I should be there to tell her I love her, to comfort her when she cried, to feed her, to love her. My mother gently pointed out that even if we were in the same hospital the multiple IV's and Central Line would have prevented me from holding her (it was this reason they still decided against bringing Davey in to see me, there were too many lines he could have unknowingly pulled out).

The days after that brought different therapists and tests and soon they had moved me to one of the Intermediate ICU rooms (I was happy to see this one had a bathroom even if I did have to call a nurse everytime I wanted to use it and a telephone, most people in NICU are unable to use either), still not receiving an answer about when I would be released I made my own goal, by that coming Monday - Marathon Monday (the Boston Marathon) I would be out of there and home I told myself. My progress surprised them, and while I was still quite slow on the physical level, I was walking, and when they gave me the opportunity to take care of my own hygiene I was overjoyed, that morning I discovered what a wonderful feeling it is just to be able to wash yourself. I was in there so long the nurse asked if I was all right, I told her yes I'm just enjoying doing this for myself. When I did the cognitive testing I knew I blew it on a few of the tests, and when Johnny came to visit me I told him I knew I hadn't done too well and the tester talking to me like I was a 5 year old got me angry. I talked about how my dart shooting skill was gone, I had tried to bring my hand up with an imaginary dart and I couldn't even remember how to hold it. He gave me a matter-of-fact look and told me "You'll get out of here, you'll practice, you'll get it back, you're still an Assassin (the dart team we're on)". I loved him for that statement, there was no pity or sympathy in it, he was speaking to me as he always had. My brother John came to visit me everyday after work, he said it was because he worked out of South Boston, but I think he would have been there everyday no matter where he worked. When I said as much to him he just smiled and looked away.

My speech, memory, balance and co-ordination had been affected by the illness, I used to be called dictionary by friends because of all the large words I knew and used, now my speech was slow and simple, I would frequently stop mid-sentence and forget what I was saying. I used to be the one to remember everything that had been said and done, now I was hard pressed to remember what day it was. But if I had stopped to dwell on these shortcomings I wouldn't have been able to concentrate on getting out of there, I just told myself it's the way it is for now but I'll get better each day. Cindy & Mom came everyday, and each day I saw a little less worry in their eyes, I didn't have a going home outfit for Sarah and my Mom went out and bought a beautiful pink outfit with a matching bonnet, it was left with me in the hospital hung on the rail next to her picture. I'd lay there at night stroking the picture and outfit mentally telling my kids that I loved them and I was doing everything I could to get home.

When they moved me to the main neurology floor I was allowed to be taken outside for some air by Cindy and Mom. The April air was a little brisk and my Mom gave me her jacket to put over my Johnny. I remember how incredible it felt to feel fresh air run over my face, like a gently caress and I closed my eyes as they pushed my wheelchair and I savoured the moment. As we talked they looked uncomfortable about something and I asked what it was. They replied that they had found a medical definition of Pre-eclampsia but were unsure whether or not to show it to me at that point. I told them I wanted to see it, it was only a few column inches in length and told only the basic facts about it but it caught my attention when it mentioned "in rare cases coma or death", well I had had the coma, how close had I come to dying? I then seriously considered asking them to help me sneak to their car in the garage and take me to see Sarah right there and now, no one was watching me and I would come back right after. I knew this was just a fantasy, and it would only prolong my stay if I did (not to mention put my delicate balance of blood pressure medications so out of whack I'd have been in big trouble), but I had to indulge the thought, knowing full well they'd never agree to it. Then they started to tell me about friends reactions, how my oldest brothers best friend, George, was in tears in the street when Jimmy told him the original news and that his Mom, Mrs. Davis, had called Mom with what I now held in my hand and that she too would be praying for my recovery.

Because I worked so diligently at coming back to health they released me on April 17, the Thursday before Marathon Monday to home (no Rehab!!!!). I had to have my blood pressure checked by a visiting nurse and an occupational therapist came in to help me learn how to navigate my home and I had to sleep on the couch downstairs because my lack of balance made our upstairs a very dangerous journey for me. I readily agreed to these conditions and grew impatient waiting for my orders to come down to the floor. My husband and I were allowed to go outside as we waited, and I think we made about five trips up and down. As we would sit under the budding trees I asked how his Dad was holding up, feeling terrible for having caused him so much worry. David gave me a sugar coated version, minimising his description of their reactions.

We drove straight to Brockton Hospital so I could hold and see Sarah for the first time. In the car I told my husband, I feel like I just broke out of jail, I'm Free!!! I looked at Brockton Hospital as we walked up to the doors, fear hit me but my desire to see Sarah was much stronger and we went up to the Maternity floor, my husband holding my arm and hand in his because I was very slow and unsteady on my feet (he offered to get me a wheelchair, I declined).

Passing the nurses station they all looked at us curious and one of them asked how "Mrs. West" was doing, I looked at him wondering who else's hand he held walking past them. He told them to "ask her she's right here." For a moment there was stunned silence, then they made happy sounds came out with huge smiles and hugs for me and wonderful words about Sarah. One of them held my hands in hers telling me how she was one of the nurses working on me the night Sarah was born and how worried they had all been for me and then she saw the inside of my arms (my husband brought me a short sleeve shirt to wear home) which were black from my hands up to biceps with bruises from the IV's and she told me how sorry she was for all I had been through, tears welling up in her eyes. I thanked her, my mind being unable to process all the emotion and activity around me, it's all I could manage. Then we moved towards the nursery my fears of Sarah not knowing me resurfacing, again the reception I received by the nurses was overwhelming (in the good caring sense). My brain felt like a circuit breaker had been tripped and it wasn't completing the circuit. I could only manage one or two word answers besides thanking them, I had always been verbally eloquent, now I was unable to express how truly thankful I was to these wonderful people for caring so much about me and taking loving care of my daughter. I didn't want them to think I didn't appreciate all that they had done for her and tried to do for me but my words failed me.

They helped me wash my hands before holding Sarah, they sat me in one of rocking chairs and explained the lines coming out of the baby's blanket were for monitoring her heartbeat only, that she was doing great. That she had eaten a little while ago but she might want more. As they placed her in my arms they talked about her progress but I didn't hear them I was mesmerised by the beautiful angel I held, a bit of blond fuzz peeking out from under the cap she wore. She stirred, opened her eyes, looked at me, content by what she saw closed them again for a bit then she decided she wanted more formula. My heart sank as the nurses had to tell me what my own child wanted, I was her mother I should know. As I fed her I whispered all the promises I had told her picture to her, I apologised for not being there for her and promised not to leave her like that again, to try to be a good mother to her. She was unimpressed and after feeding and snuggling she went back to sleep allowing me to closely inspect her beautiful face and one hand that had broke free of the blanket, it was so thin - no pudginess and dimples - it reminded me of my mothers hands, long, thin and elegant. All too soon I had to leave her again in the care of the nursing staff, I wanted to see our pediatrician whose offices are next to the hospital to hear from his mouth the exact status of our Sarah.

The few steps up to his building took careful manoeuvring even with David's arm to steady me. Upon entering his office I saw a new receptionist and I walked up to her in the room full of parents and children. When she looked in my direction I managed to say my name, and somehow managed to convey that I wanted to see Dr. K- about my daughter who was in the hospital. She looked at me oddly (a look I would become quite familiar with from strangers) because what came out sounded like someone who barely knew how to speak coherently and it was obvious that my hair hadn't been washed in over a week, but she got up to go speak with the doctor. His wife, who runs the office, overheard me and immediately knew my name, came over to tell me how happy she was to see me out of the hospital, again all I could manage was a weak thank you. Dr. K- came out as soon as I had managed those words, his face was beaming with joy, he told me about Sarah, that she was well developed for her gestational age and didn't need some of the extensive care that other infants in her position might, and while her weight had dropped to 4lbs 6oz it was now climbing back up now, he then asked when would I like to bring her home? Tomorrow? All I could get out was "My brain don't work so good" I wanted to cry. Was this the best I could manage when I had so many things to ask about her, about the care entailed in a premature infant? Why couldn't I get the words from my head to my mouth? He spoke to save me further embarrassment and said "Saturday?" I smiled and nodded my heartbreaking at his intuitive kindness. He and his wife smiled back, he told me he would call tomorrow with Sarah's status. I thanked them, when I started to turn I could see my husband grinning from ear to ear at them just happy to have me alive and standing next to him. When I completed turning around I saw the stare some of the mothers were giving me before they quickly averted their eyes, it was the "I don't want the strange person to know I was staring" look and they were embarrassed that I had seen. I took my husband's arm again and tried to walk out with as much dignity as I could muster.

Our next stop was David's parents house, Davey was there and I wanted Jack and Diane to be able to see I was "on the mend". His progression of cancer had made it impossible for them to visit me in the hospital. When we got out of the car I could see the guys at Uncle Chet's gas station working, it felt good to see something normal again and I returned their waves. As we entered their house I could hear my son playing, a more wonderful sound there never was, and he merely looked up at me smiled and went back to his play. I kissed Jack and Diane and she started filling me in on Davey's activities from when I was in the hospital and finished with how she was sure I was going to die. I went to pick up Davey and found I was too weak to lift my son even while seated, so I had to content myself with hugging and kissing Davey who was more interested in his toys on the floor. The seriousness became thick when I took off my jacket and they both spotted my bruised arms. Jack's face contorted when he saw them remembering his bruises from the IV's and Chemo he had had. Diane went on about how terrible the situation was initially (which it was) but I felt the need to break the mood so when she stated again that I should have died, I stayed silent for a moment, Jack was watching me intently for my reaction, afraid his wife had put her foot in her mouth and that I would be upset, I looked up at him and said with a smile "Naw, I'm too mean to die." and he got a belly laugh out of it, Diane was telling Jack to knock it off, stop laughing it wasn't funny (by this time David was laughing and making ad lib remarks about me dying) and the three of us were laughing and Diane was trying to keep a straight face saying the motherly things about respect and so on but I could tell she was a little more relaxed, that my wisecrack hit the mark it sought, I had showed them I was indeed going to get better.

There were prescriptions I needed for the blood pressure medications, so I started to write my address, it was slow and frustrating to have to consciously think about how to make each of the letters and numbers, the first took a long time, David offered to do it for me, I told him no - I have to do it for me, the next took a little less time and the third was even less. I realised OK I just have to refamiliarize myself with all this stuff, but I can still do it and each time it will take a little less time to do. He asked what I wanted to eat, knowing he wasn't a great cook I suggested frozen Chicken Kiev and frozen twice baked potatoes with canned peas. That night I took my first shower since I had gotten sick, it felt wonderful but about an hour after the shower I realised I hadn't washed the conditioner out of my hair. How could I forget something so basic? I was embarrassed and rinsed it in the sink without telling David (who was asleep in his recliner).

On Friday the VNA (Visiting Nurse Association) sent the nurse and occupational therapist to my home. They were friendly and kind, and the nurse told me that she would also be able to check Sarah when she came home. The types of questions they asked would of have seemed ridiculous two weeks earlier, "Who dressed me?" I looked at her, I had and told her so, could she see me walk across the floor, I obliged albeit slowly, she told me she would co-ordinate the speech/language therapist to come, I asked what that person would help me to do? She answered things like how to write checks, shopping lists etc., I told her I had already had to do that since I came home the night before (my husband didn't send out any of the bills while I had been in the hospital) and from where I was I didn't think it was necessary, but I told her if you think I should have it I'll do it. She agreed that it appeared I didn't really need it, that I only needed to get back up to speed on things. But it was understood that if I changed my mind later it would be available to me. Mom took me to see Sarah immediately after, walking into the nursery I saw a strange man holding and feeding Sarah, my heart jumped! Who was this person holding my baby? The nurse saw me and said "Here's Mom" and explained that he was a volunteer who help the premature babies by holding, feeding and giving a loving touch when they wake up and the parents aren't there to do it. I think Mom could sense I was afraid of Sarah's reaction to me and gently pushed me to be the first to hold her when I told her she could.

On Saturday I was up early, knowing today I would bring Sarah home. Dr. K- called and told me I sounded better (each day my speech improved), that my visiting nurse would also check Sarah and that her weight was now 4lbs 12 oz and she probably wouldn't have been released until she reached that weight. A nurse in the level II nursery asked if I had been given my post-partum instructions from Mass General, I said no (I had been in Neuro, not Maternity) so this wonderful nurse took the time to carefully go over the instructions for my care as well as the baby's. When I went to dress Sarah I went blank, I couldn't remember how to put her one piece tee shirt that snaps between the legs on. I quietly asked the nurse to please tell me how I should do it, without a moments hesitation she showed me how without embarrassing me.

We brought Sarah over to Jack and Diane's placed her on the kitchen table in the car seat and I looked at Jack and said "So what do you think of her?" his finger pulled down her blanket a bit and said "Well ... she's all right, I think we'll keep her." this comment from him spoke volumes. Coming from him it was a high compliment, and he dubbed her princess, her daintiness and blond fuzz and peaches and cream face making her look like a tiny princess in a fairy tale.

When we arrived home I saw Mr. Kerr (the gentleman who had dug out our cars after the storm) coming up our street in his backhoe, I proudly held up the removable car seat so he could see our beautiful daughter. He stopped and opened the door, he then said something which brought home how much peopled cared that I had been ill, he told me he was going to send me blessed roses while in the hospital but I was only in a room that could have flowers for 1 day before getting released. David told me later that it's a very high compliment as this is symbolic of the Holy Mother Mary's blessings.

The full attention of everyone was scary, I've always been a private person, and the thought of all these nice people taking time to care and follow my progress (from a respectful distance) was overwhelming (it restored my faith in humanity which had been damaged by hurtful actions to Jack). My mother was like a fretful mother hen, ready to take on anyone (including my husband) who tried to ask me to do anything for them, she wanted me to be able to focus on getting "myself" back. So when David didn't get up with Sarah when she would wake up at night (he slept in the recliner) inspite of my calling across the room to him he begged me not to tell anyone. My sister-in-law Cindy, brought over cooked roasts with fixing's so I wouldn't have to cook.

The visiting nurse and occupational therapist came to my home to check on Sarah and I. It felt odd to walk so slowly, to need to grab onto something to look in one of my cabinets, to look at the stairs that led up to the bedrooms and be told they were off limits for now

(I slept on the couch with Sarah's bassinet next to me). And even odder to have someone watching you do these things and recording your process. On my first night home I remember all I wanted to take was a shower. I took it but my husband was at the door calling to me every few minutes to make sure I was ok.. That evening I told him all I wanted was for everything to return to normal, to go back the way it was. That, however, was an impossible request, I was now looked at by family and friends as a patient, someone who had to be looked after and cared for. Being an independent person by nature, usually the one who took care of others I was now placed in a position where I still had to allow others to help me. Except my husband who would tell everyone I was now fine, I'd just look at him like "are we living in the same house?".

Over the next weeks I had to have my blood pressure checked and the medication adjusted accordingly as it slowly descended to it's proper level. Jack lost his battle with the cancer June 5th and I was still having the after bleeding from the birth, and when 11 weeks post partum I passed a mass of tissue after much blood I became hysterical (when was this nightmare going to be over?). I called my doctors office (Dr. B- was out of town but they had another Dr. covering they told me to go to the emergency room but not to drive myself), Cindy, David and my mother and all too soon I was on the way to the hospital again, they had me in the emergency room and when I overheard the nurse saying they were going to admit Mrs. West panic hit me and I said "The hell they are, I'm going home." David pleaded with me not to go and I told him it was just a knee jerk reaction that of course I would submit to whatever they felt was necessary. They brought me back up to Maternity and I thought "Oh God not here again!" and they put me into one of the birthing rooms and as one of the nurses was asking admission questions about what had been taking place (I told her of Jack's passing away and the post partum bleeding) and taking my vital signs when the television person came in, the nurse sharply told them that I had just arrived and was being prepped for surgery and that they could come back at a later time, again the kindness of this nurse was so apparent especially when they offered that I could have Sarah brought into the room with me from my home for my stay.

They had the head of Maternity come in to explain that I needed another D&C, that he would be performing the procedure, and he became angry when he learned how long I had been bleeding for, I told him that F- (one of the mid-wives) and my primary care physician had both told me that unless you're still bleeding 12 weeks postpartum they're not overly concerned. When I told F- that Dr. H- had also told me the same thing she told me it's what their taught. The Dr. told me that after the procedure I would have the option of staying until the afternoon or going home, I chose home. We left the hospital at about 2:30 in the morning but I was determined not to spend time away from my children.

I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason, you may not know what that reason is at the time but time will eventually reveal what the purpose was. One of the small comforts that came out of this was Jack and I could talk about how terrible it is to be forced into a position where someone else has to do the simple things for you, you had always been able to for yourself before. I understood exactly how he felt, but the large difference being I would live and he would not. God was kind, he kept his faculties almost to the end when he lost his battle. I was grateful God had let him see and hold our Sarah before taking him home. I tell my children about their two Grampies in Heaven, and I try to keep their stories and memories alive but my son still misses his "Poppy" and will stomp on your feet to let you know (it was one of the games Jack could play with him, Davey would stomp and Jack would throw his head back and howl, oh how Jack wished he could've gotten out of that chair to play). At Jack's wakes the line extended out of the funeral home to the sidewalk, a friend of the family even arranged for a gentleman that had worked for Jack to come up from Florida to attend, this man's appearance helped Diane a great deal as he was more like an adopted son to them both rather than employee. As for me, I kept introducing myself to people that I already knew (most didn't let on, some thought it was grief, others thought I was trying to break the tension with humour) when I realised I was doing this I wanted to crawl into the nearest hole and pull it in after me.

This has now become a regular part of my life, I'll run into people at the store who know me and I'll have no memory of them, I smile and hope they'll say something that can trigger a memory and if they don't, I'll describe them to David and if I'm lucky he'll know who they are. I, who had once taken for granted, my excellent memory and retention skills am at the mercy of a spotty memory and pray that I don't offend these people. My marriage is on rocky ground because I am no longer able to express myself verbally or physically and my husband had been in denial of how sick I was, and would yell at me for not being the way I had been before getting sick, to the point he thought my lack of sex drive was because I was having an affair.

I wish I could give you a happy ending, but I can only partially oblige you. I am alive, I am functional (unless I'm having a "bad brain day"), my love for my children is untouched by what has happened, I have managed to get my darting skill back but I will lose the ability of strategy in the middle of the game and have gotten many a look from an opponent when I shoot at something out of the ordinary. I will also lose my fine balance at times which throws them off target (at least I haven't hit a chalker yet). I can still find some hope in music, especially Michael Crawford, his voice has managed to move my heart and mind (a very difficult feat to accomplish), the first time I heard him post illness I cried, he was singing of all the emotions I had once felt so deeply, the good and bad. When I got to see him in concert this summer it was also on the day I was told Sarah was developmentally delayed and I went to the concert with a broken spirit, not knowing how I would now deal with this latest blow, when I had thought that she had escaped problems from this birth I was able to deal with my problems thinking better me than her. But somehow his expressive interpretation of the music and lyrics managed to convey enough strength to my battered spirit that, although I cried through most of the concert, I left feeling that I would be able to face that which now lay ahead of me.

That's about the extent of the happy stuff, the sad stuff is I am unable to remember certain things like medication dosage (even with a huge chart posted in the kitchen because then I'll wonder if I gave it and didn't write it down) for ear infections etc., I took my daughter for one of her check ups and another mother in the waiting room said quite loudly that my son had his shoes on the wrong feet, she said he must have put them on that way, I wouldn't let him take the responsibility for something which I did, I told her I had done it and couldn't help but cry as I put them on the correct feet, what kind of a mother can't remember to put the right shoe on the right foot? This has happened several times. I will also sometimes forget to buckle the kids in their carseats if I am distracted while putting them in now. I will, on occasion, stop speaking mid-sentence and can't remember what I was talking about. Someone will tell me something and I'll have no memory of it. I used to be able to empathise with everyone about their problems, now unless it's something big I feel nothing for them. I avoid social contact because people will talk to me about something and expect a response to their statement and I'll be damned if I know what it is, I just stand there looking at them ending up looking like an idiot. I can say to family members "brain fade" and they'll understand but others might not be so understanding. I put on a good act though, people don't usually realise I still have problems, now they just think I'm an airhead. I now doubt my mind on many levels and what I once knew for fact is now suspect. When speaking to my doctors I have to write down what I want to ask, because I can't spontaneously form complicated questions, it gets stuck about halfway through formation and I can't get it out, and because doctors time is so pressed they can't always accommodate my problem and I see them fidgeting as the silence stretches from my last word. I end up frustrated and upset which only makes the problem worse, many is the time I've cried in my car on the way home because I couldn't get the words out. It is at such times that I hate the way I now am with a fierce passion and wonder why God let me live if this is the way I'm now going to be, the cruellest part is I can't remember simple things but I am able to remember how I used to be.

That is where I am today, my doctors, after 5 1/2 hours of testing have determined that perhaps cognitive therapy in conjunction with intensive psychological therapy will help me further recover. The past year and a half I felt like I climbed Mount Everest and now they tell me here's another mountain you've got to climb one that's far more difficult than the physical, and I have to climb it no matter how tired I am because there's one thing up there that's not down here, hope that I might once again be close to what I used to be.

Ruth West