Chai Tea Sunday by Heather A. Clark Read Free Book Online

doctors and nurses, who are taking great care of her.”
    She let go of her hug, and took my right hand in her own. On the other side of my bed, Eric took my left hand and the three of us waited together, linked by hands, until the doctors came to give us more information.
    The doctor who had been watching over our baby girl was a man about my mother’s age. He had a thick neck and green eyes. He walked through the recovery room door and frankly handed us our fate, albeit gently.
    â€œYour baby is struggling. We’ve intubated her, but she isn’t responding in the way that we’d like. She’s going through some cyanosis, which means she has some blue colouration in her skin and mucous membranes, caused from the higher counts of deoxygenated hemoglobin in her blood vessels.” The doctor cleared his throat, and continued, “I ordered blood work, and we learned that the albumin levels in her blood serum are abnormally low, which is something called hypoalbuminemia. I say that word in case you hear other doctors speak about it. Your baby is also severely hypoglycemic, meaning that she has drastically lower than normal levels of blood glucose. And she has coagulopathy, meaning that something is going on in her body to prevent proper blood clotting. We’re concerned given that the coagulopathy has increased her susceptibility to bleeding. We need to carefully monitor that.”
    Eric dropped my hand. My mother held on. The doctor continued, “To be honest, we don’t know what is going on right now. We’d like to transfer her to Mount Sinai and admit her into the NICU for continuing intensive care and more tests. They are better equipped to handle her medical condition, and she’ll be transferred by a specialized neonatal ambulance that is already en route from Mount Sinai to pick her up. You are more than welcome to go with her, or you may stay here to recover. If you go, you will need to be transferred by a second ambulance at a later time. But, please, know that wherever you are and whatever you decide, your baby will be getting the best possible care with the physicians at Mount Sinai. They are some of the top doctors in the country.”
    In a foggy blur, semi-induced by morphine, I somehow managed to communicate to Dr. Lorel that, yes, I would be going with her to Mount Sinai. Of course I would be going.
    The nurses, who had been hovering outside the door while we spoke to Dr. Lorel, quickly entered the recovery room to start preparing me for transfer and then wheeled me to the Labour and Delivery entrance doors. Both ambulances were already there, one in front of the other.
    The nurses stopped my rolling bed to let Ella pass. Warmed and protected by a small transport incubator, our precious angel and her entourage of transfer team specialists flew by us at a frightening speed. My heart collapsed as I took in Ella’s transfer device and all of its complicated gadgets, including a ventilator, various beeping monitors and a bunch of attachments that looked like itty-bitty baby pumps. The hurricane of activity — with our daughter in the middle like the eye of the storm — disappeared into the first ambulance.
    I was next.
    My own team of nurses and the paramedics who had been standing by transferred me onto the waiting ambulance gurney and, within moments, I had also been swallowed up. I watched from the inside as my tear-streaked mother pulled at her neck. My panic-stricken husband looked blank and absent.
    â€œAre you coming?” I asked Eric who seemed to be frozen to the ground.
    â€œI . . . uh . . . I . . . I can’t. I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I can’t. I can’t.”
    I felt all the blood drain out of my already panicked body. This wasn’t happening. My mother stepped up. “I’ll go. Eric, you stay here with your parents. We’ll call as soon as we know anything.” Dumbfounded, I watched as my