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those annoying parents
who focus on their children's silly accomplishments —- well that's
my problem too. I wanted everyone to hear how Tyler had hit the ball out
of the infield. My sunglasses brought out a few chuckles so I offered
an embarrassed explanation. But I have to say the shades also made me
feel like a cool cat.
Dr. Cross was ready to begin the surgery.
He assured me the baby was OK, but for some reason he looked upset. So
I shut up about the trophy and assisted him with the surgery.
As the operation progressed, the story came
out. The mother was a Hispanic woman who had just arrived to the United
States. She had had an emergency cesarean in Mexico years ago. Her baby
had died at birth for some unknown reason. Because of her prior surgery,
when she arrived unexpectedly in labor with her second pregnancy, it was
clear she needed another cesarean section. But she had steadfastly refused.
No one could understand why. The translator repeatedly explained Dr. Cross's
concerns to the mother-to-be. This baby could die as well.
It had taken over an hour to convince the
young woman to allow the surgery, the heartbeat of her unborn child falling
all the while. This explained Dr. Cross being upset. It's hard to stand
by doing nothing when a baby's life is in the balance.
Finally the operation could begin. The mother
was amazed when we made our incision. "It doesn't hurt, it doesn't hurt,"
she said in Spanish with surprise in her voice. It dawned on me she must
have had her first c-section with poor anesthesia.
As we proceeded, we found that the prior
incision on the woman's uterus had indeed opened up. A little while longer,
and it might have ruptured entirely, killing the baby almost instantly.
But that was old news. The baby's warm cry soon filled the chill of the
operating room.
The only task left to do was to stop the
bleeding. This was turning out to be difficult. I struggled with my side
of the surgical field for several minutes, but I couldn't get the bleeding
under control. Dr. Cross finally took the needle driver from my hand and
completed the operation. "I hate to see a man suffer, Dr. Mike." I was
embarrassed. I'm a good surgeon, but I wasn't operating well. Dr. Cross
offered me a tip: "Next time, don't wear sunglasses to the operating room."
I had forgotten —- my problem was I couldn't see.
The sun had set. I couldn't see so well on
the way home, either. I thought about the Mexican mother and her robust
baby as I drove fifty-five in the right hand lane with my high beams on.
Before leaving I'd had a chance to talk with her. She held my hand, her
face alight with joy and gratitude, and with the beauty of all new mothers.
It seems that indeed, when she'd had her other cesarean in Mexico, she
had had no anesthesia. She'd been held down by force and had a dead baby
cut from her body. She was still amazed that this surgery had not hurt.
There are many pregnant Hispanics arriving
to the United States, searching for a better life for themselves and their
children. It can be difficult to care for these patients. Language barriers,
coupled with a lack of prior medical care and records, complicate the
decisions we make. But I agree with Dr. Cross that it's important to continue
our efforts. We may not always be paid for the care we provide, but this
patient's heartbreaking gratitude was just one instance of the intangible
rewards of caring for others. Our patient's long journey had ended in
a successful pregnancy, and a healthy child.
We Americans unthinkingly partake of many
privileges, and it is no longer possible for us to see our country with
the clear sight of an outsider. The accumulation of our blessings can
blind us sometimes to the very freedoms and opportunities that make those
blessings possible. It was dark when I got off Interstate 575 at exit
8. But as I turned on to Town Lake Parkway, even with my sunglasses on,
I realized I was seeing more clearly now.
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