Rebirth

Last night, the Bride delivered a baby. I found out on Facebook this morning and felt my throat tighten. Birth elicits such visceral responses, even the birth of a total stranger. But to somehow know that my daughter was there - as a guide, a facilitator, a supremely well educated ER baby catcher - had me near tears. You see, last night when I curled up next to my husband in bed and he asked if I wanted to hear about his day, I didn't know what his bedtime story would be; I didn't know it would be a nightmare before sleep.

Last night, he presided over the failed resuscitation of a home birth gone horribly wrong. He would never tell me names, or in any way breach doctor/patient privacy, but I sensed he had to rid his mind of this image before sleep. And so he talked. The baby was over eleven pounds and was stuck in the birth canal. The midwife had tried but failed to deliver, and the baby's heart rate was weak. It seems midwives can monitor a baby's heartbeat at home now. The mother arrived by ambulance and went straight to the OR. The Pediatrician and the OB were there, waiting, but to no avail. An emergency C-section delivered a stillborn, but the Emergency PA was running a code on the baby. By the time my husband arrived from the very busy ER, there was not much left to do but check that all measures had been tried, and of course lend his gentle words to all those professionals involved. There was nothing more to do. This is never an answer an Emergency Physician is easy with, as they will do just about everything to save a life.

It is strange how my daughter's work life is now mirroring my husband's. She is, of course, in a very busy trauma center, and he is in a somewhat sleepy community hospital. But they have recently submitted a paper together, about palliative care. About how to speak and deal with those hard cases that show up, much more frequently than newborns in distress, in a very busy ER. The way to navigate the best treatment protocol for a terminal patient. This requires a doctor who has time to listen to family members, and maybe even more importantly, one who is not afraid to broach the subject of death. Too often, endo-tubes are shoved down someone's neck only to prolong the pain and agony of everyone, including the patient. I read about hospitals now adding adjoining buildings purely to house these semi- comatose, dying patients for the last 6 months of their lives. The cynic in me sees this as a way to bill medicare until the last possible moment. And I so want to stop being cynical.

And so, my husband slept peacefully, while I lay awake. My old dog has become a heavy breather, and the small mechanical sounds of the house lulled me into some pitiful sleep before dawn. Next month we'll be traveling to the dreaded Seder, my people will be coloring eggs while his will be hiding egg matzoh; everyone celebrating renewed birth. The universe is unfolding as it should, and some things are in God's hands.