When I finally called and told my in-laws that I was six-and-a-half months pregnant with a baby boy, they were over the moon! I had lost two babies as miscarriages before my son and daughter were born, so I was wary of breaking the news early. We decided to name him after my dad Joseph, as my oldest was named after my father-in-law!
A few days later, working as a nurse in a local hospital, I went in to help one of the nursing attendants put a patient on a stretcher. It was a busy shift: I was covering for two nurses and had my own patient load and was rounding on all their patients. The patient, Ms. Smith, was being hospitalized for pneumonia and we needed a chest x-ray.
In addition to the pneumonia, Ms. Smith had schizophrenia, and she had not taken her medicine for the past two weeks. When I started to lift her to the stretcher, she lashed out at me.
“Hey! Ms. Smith, I have a little one here,” I said patting my belly as I stepped away from her to avoid her hitting me. “Let me help you to the stretcher from the bed.”
She agreed and I got the feet while Liz (the NA) got her shoulders. As soon as we put her on the stretcher, she kicked me in the belly saying, “You ************! Take that!”
I jumped back, shaken. Liz took her to Xray.
It was a glancing blow, I told myself, and never got checked out. The day took a turn for the worse as one of the other nurses left on a family emergency and her patients got reassigned, four of them to me on top of my 9 patients! One of them was actively bleeding and I had to give him blood transfusion. Another kept wandering out into the hallway and was a high fall risk patient in her 80's. One of my patient's had to be rushed to the OR for a surgical emergency and yet another was DNR/DNI but actively dying with distraught family members milling around. In my taking care of others, I ignored myself and did not bother to go to the ED to get checked out. After all, I did not feel any pain and there was no bleeding. Moreover I had quick reflexes and jumped back, although her foot connected with my abdomen. I never filled an incident report or informed the nursing supervisor or the unit manager. As a Perdiem nurse working for my green card through an agency in this hospital, I aimed to do my work quietly and efficiently and did not want to rock the boat.
When I went home, I told my husband about what happened and he wanted me to get checked out but I told him that I felt fine and would get checked out in the ED at my regular job if anything changed. He was not reassured but went along with my plan as he knew I was careful and would not take chances.
A week later, when I went back to get the official ultrasound result from my doctor, she could not find a heartbeat. She wanted me to go back to the same ultrasound technician who had taken my ultrasound two weeks ago. She called the technician Gloria and told her that I was coming. I went into my car and burst out crying. I was shaking, cold and afraid. My mind went blank and I could not remember my home number or my husband's number. I had never stored it as I knew it by heart! After a half an hour, I remembered and called him from my car and told him. He was shocked. He was waiting to pick up the kids from two different schools and tried to explain to me how to get to the ultrasound place which was 20 minutes away.
I finally made it there and Gloria the tech was waiting for me. As she took me into the room I told her
"Ms. Gloria, I am an RN and can understand what no heartbeat means. I know you are not allowed to give out results but can you tell me if you can find a heartbeat or not. I can guess the rest!"
She silently nodded and for the next half hour tried to find a heartbeat. The repeat ultrasound showed that the baby had grown one more week from the last one. However, there was no heartbeat. My baby had died from the kick. She finally whispered, "I can't find a heartbeat miss!" My heart crumbled inside as the pain intensified. I had carried my dead son for a week unaware that he had died. I had to go back the next day to the doctor and called out sick. When I went back, I got the official news that my son was dead. She suggested I get a dilatation and evacuation under General Anesthesia. I had to wait another four days for an appointment. I ended up getting the baby out under general anesthesia and was filled with rage and anger towards Ms. Smith.
That night, as I lay crying and weak in my bed, my uncle came visiting and invited me for a night mass of Eucharistic adoration, not knowing that I had just come from the hospital. My husband told me to go; he would take care of our two children. I went and wept all night asking for strength to forgive and the grace of healing. After morning Mass I was at peace and was able to forgive her. I still burst out crying months later when I saw a picture of many babies on the side of a bus at it pulled next to me at a traffic stop. The pain took years to heal. The next year I was blessed with a daughter who helped with the healing process. I never sued the hospital or the patient as no amount of money would give me back my son.
I have used this experience to help women who have gone through trauma, abortions and miscarriages to give them strength. Who thought that a kick of hatred would turn into an experience where others found comfort and healing by discussing their loss with me? So, I kick back in gratitude, for every pain one goes through can be turned around to help another person who may be silently suffering.
I am sure, somewhere in heaven, my son Joseph approves and waits patiently for our reunion.
