Reunited After 25 Years 57: To Save Two Lives

"Your wife has eclampsia," the emergency room physician told Anton. "Her blood pressure is out of control, and she's also in danger of renal failure. If we don't do an emergency Caesarian right away, we could lose them both."

"But the baby is not due for another three months!" Anton exclaimed.

"I know that," the physician replied. "But in this case, we don't have any other option. We'll just have to hope for the best."

Anton watched as Andrea was prepped for surgery. He cringed inside as a small horizontal incision was made in her lower abdomen, but his trepidation quickly changed to wonder as the physician reached into Andrea's body and pulled out the tiniest infant Anton had ever seen. She was limp and completely blue, and he feared that they'd been too late to save her.

"Would you like to cut the cord?" the physician asked Anton.

With trembling hands, Anton took the proffered scissors and cut the umbilical cord. The physician gently stroked the bottom of one of the baby's feet, and she let out a tiny mew like that of a kitten.

Her color changed to a healthier deep pink as she feebly moved her tiny arms and legs. To Anton, they looked as fragile as sticks, and he was sure that if he touched one, it would break.

Right away the physician placed her onto the scales. "One pound, six ounces," he announced. "She does have a good Apgar score, which is encouraging."

Next she was moved to an incubator and quickly taken to the NICU.

"I'll be honest," the physician told Anton. "Your daughter has a long, hard road ahead, and she faces many dangers. The good news is that there have been major strides in the treatment of preterm infants within the past few years, so her chance of survival with no serious impairment is much better now than it would have been, say, ten years ago."

Anton felt as if his heart had just been ripped out. How could an infant that tiny possibly survive? Even if she did survive, what would her life be like? He'd seen photographs of severely disabled children, their atrophied bodies sitting limply in wheelchairs or encased in heavy braces, their eyes staring blankly into space. With a pang he remembered Darya's birth. He'd been at Nadya's side during her entire labor and delivery, and their daughter had let out a lusty, healthy wail at birth. At nearly eight pounds, Darya had been plump, active, and noisy. As different from the child he and Andrea had produced together as night was from day.

Big tears rolled down Anton's cheeks as he gazed into the incubator at the little body, the tubing coming out of her nose and taped to the sides of her face, its glaring white a sharp contrast against her almost translucent skin.

"You are a very little one." His soft voice had a slight tremor. "You must grow to be a strong, healthy girl like your big sister Dasha."

"There are still serious concerns about your wife," the physician told Anton. "There's protein in her urine, but more importantly, the bleeding's out of control. We may have to do an emergency hysterectomy to stop it."

"Do whatever you must," Anton told him. "Just please, please do not let my Andrea die."

His chest heaved with sobs as he sat in the waiting room. "Please, Andrea, do not leave me!" he begged. "I love you so much! I cannot live without you! The baby needs you, and I need you too!"

The ticking of the clock seemed entirely too loud, and minutes seemed to drag by like hours as he sat there helplessly awaiting news of his wife's condition. At last the physician reappeared.

"The hysterectomy has been performed, and the bleeding is under control," he told Anton. "She's still in the recovery room, as she hasn't come out of the anesthesia yet."

"Can I see her?" Anton asked eagerly.

"Of course!"

The first thing she was aware of was the pain. It was in her lower abdomen, and although it was at present merely a dull ache, there was also the strange sensation of having been eviscerated.

The next thing she was aware of was how dry her mouth felt, and also how queasy she was. She opened her eyes to, not the soft lighting of her own living room, but the glare of the rectangular light fixture on the ceiling of the hospital room. The next thing she saw was Anton's blue eyes gazing into her own.

"Andrea." His voice was almost a whisper as she felt him tenderly brush the hair back from her eyes. His hand covering hers felt comfortingly warm.

Her free hand wandered to her belly, and she realized that, to her horror, it was flat. "My baby..."

"The baby is all right," Anton said soothingly. "You are going to be all right too, Andrea."

Suddenly fully awake, her eyes widened in fright. "What happened?"

"You became sick, Andrea. I came home and found you lying on the floor. I could not awaken you, so I called an ambulance. The doctor said that you were sick, that he had to take the baby right away. Oh, Andrea, you should see her! She is oh so tiny, the tiniest little one you ever saw. She is in an incubator in the intensive care nursery. The doctor said that her chances are good."

Andrea began to cry softly. Careful not to dislodge the IV, Anton gathered her tenderly into his arms and held her, gently stroking her hair and back. "It is all right, Andrea. Everything is going to be all right."