Normally, I write about medicine. Medicine is my life, my love, my passion, my career. There are other aspects of my life. I am a musician, an animal lover, a best friend, a drinking buddy, a trivia enthusiast, and a girlfriend. Most importantly I am part of a family.

I’m from the South- and we are that typical close knit family. My parents and I have a great relationship and friendship, my sister is my best friend, her brother and I are close, and of course more cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews than I can count! Every holiday that I am not working is spent with them, every birthday is still celebrated with a cake and presents, whether you are 99 or newborn. We laugh, we have big game nights, we barbeque, we bicker, we get over the bickering, we pray, we sing, and sometimes we cry. One day that we all cried together still haunts my very vivid memory.

Today, you get to see MsP… really, you get to see me. I don’t like showing my emotions. Call it a side effect of the job- but I tend to be “hard to read.” I have been an actress long enough to put on a great front at times. If you ever truly get to know me- you’ll see that I am full of emotion, but I am reluctant to let many people in. Today, I am letting you all in.

On January 8th, 2008 I awoke with a start. Panicking, I reached across the bed to where my boyfriend had been not too long before. He had left already for work. The sun was peeking past his curtains lazily, protesting the wintry clouds that hung in the sky. I had a dream again. One of those dreams. The kind that scare everyone. I had dreamed that my sister had called my, crying for help and grabbing her stomach. I looked at my phone’s log and determined that she had not called me all day yesterday or this morning. Feeling better, I closed my eyes and flipped the pillow to the cool underside. Then, I head the ringtone.

My heart started beating in my chest as I recognized it as my sister’s. I picked up the phone and my voice shook as I asked, “SisP?”

I heard her clear her throat and say, “MsP, how fast can you get to my house?”

“Sis, I can be there as fast as I can. What’s wrong?” my mind raced. She was 9 months pregnant, Type I diabetic, and had been very ill the past few weeks with migraines.

“I just need your help.” she said.

Numbly, I threw on my jeans and my pink flamingo Vans and ran out of the door of the apartment, forgetting to lock it. The 30 mile trip to my family farm took a mere 18 minutes. I ran up her stairs and walked in, seeing 3 sleepy faces. Her kids were all tired, but happy to see me as usual. I hadn’t visited them in a week. Her oldest son, who was 6 at the time, told me that his mom was feeling really bad and had been since early in the morning. My aunt had walked over and agreed to watch the kids while I took her to her doctor.

As I walked into the back room, I heard her throwing up. I walked in and panicked. She was pale and diaphoretic and smelled sickly sweet. My best guess was the if she wasn’t already, she was close to going into diabetic ketoacidosis. She was diagnosed with Type I Diabetes when I was only 10 and my parents taught me how to recognize various signs and symptoms. I was also nearly finished with Paramedic school. She got into my car and I noticed her guarding her abdomen after every bump that we hit. (We live in the country- on a gravel road. Our roads are not so great until we hit the interstate, which is 12 miles away).

I looked at her huge bulging stomach that had been harboring my niece for the last 9 months. Rachel Maryn was joining Job Alexander (6) , Madalene Isabella (4), and Emily Margaret (2) and my brother’s children Bailey Delane (13), Casey Ailine (10), and Briley David (7). I prayed silently that Rachel was O.K. With my sister being so sick the last few weeks, she had been in and out of her Ob-Gyn’s office. In fact, the day before she had been for a visit and we rejoiced in hearing Rachel’s strong heartbeat. They had contemplated inducing her that day, but the doctor had said that my sister should wait the 9 days until her induction date which was on the 17th, her daddy’s birthday.

My sister’s Ob-Gyn’s office was attached to one of the best hospitals in our region. My sister thought it would be best to check out Rachel before we went to the ER. I was a little reluctant since I valued my sister’s health above all, but I respected her wishes. If she looked bad, I knew her doctor would look at her with his piercing blue eyes and tell her to get her bum across the breezeway and into the hospital.

We were ushered into the triage room at Dr H’s and I watched as the nurse strap on the fetal heart monitor to my sister’s huge belly. I smiled at her. This was always a special treat for both of us- we had shared these moments so often with each other over the last 6 years. But, we didn’t hear anything. The nurse was convinced that Rachel was just in an awkward position and that we’d go into the ultrasound room to check her out. As the nurse was leaving, she caught my eye and I knew that she was just trying to keep my sister calm. My eyes filled with tears as I walked into the ultrasound room, staring at the pink flamingoes on my shoes. Something was wrong. Something was wrong with Rachel.

As Dr. H smeared the jelly on my sister’s stomach, I clutched my phone with sweaty palms. I didn’t look away from my sister’s gaze. She was so brave. Braver than I was at that moment. Finally, she looked at the screen and so did I. No movement. No heartbeat.

……….My heart stopped………

Dr. H started talking to my sister but I felt like I was in a tunnel. The conversation that was taking place just 2 feet from me was muffled and all of the colors in the room started swirling dramatically. I couldn’t let myself cry in front of my sister. What were we going to do? Emergency C-Section?

The tunnel faded and the first words I heard were. “I’m sorry. She’s gone. Even an emergency C-Section wouldn’t help her now. We’re going to have to deliver,” Dr. H said sadly. His ocean blue eyes met mine and I took a deep breath. He nodded at my gesture. I had to be strong.

I looked at my sister, expecting to see tears and a melt down, as I was on the verge on. Instead, she smiled at me and said, “Ok, MsP. We have to do this. Can you text my husband and tell him 911 and to get here?” I nodded and blinked back my tears. Her husband was in CRNA clinicals and was at another hospital in surgery just 3 miles from ours. He kept asking me, “What’s wrong?” over and over again. All I could respond was, “Just get here, B. Just get here.” Finally, he asked, “Is Rachel coming?” I looked at my sister and she said, “Tell him yes, she is.”

I helped her get on her hospital gown in somber silence, so unlike us. My sister and I are only half sisters, but were raised as sisters. My dad had married our mom when she was only 2, so in all reality that is all we ever knew. She and I were so different, yet the same. Outwardly, she is tall and built like a model to my short and Cajun frame. Her skin is fair and her eyes blue, next to my olive complexion and yellow brown eyes. But we have the same smile. Put a picture of us smiling next to each other and you know instantly that we’re sisters. We are both spiritual, she is more religious and strict compared to my controversial beliefs and rebellious nature. We share a connection on a soul level, if you believe that can exist. Even when I was in another country, I could feel her as if she were next to me. We’ve had that connection since we were kids. In that moment, I knew everything that she was feeling and it was killing me. Outwardly, she was so brave… and so I was trying to be brave with her as well. Then, B walked in and asked if Rachel was coming.

Her big blue eyes met his green ones and said, “Yes, baby. But she’s gone. We lost her.” Then she started violently throwing up again. Her Blood Glucose was in the 500′s and she was, indeed, about to hit DKA. B grabbed my shoulder from behind, because I had turned around to face the wall as tears slid down my face. He hit his knees and started sobbing and no longer could I stop my tears. B and I cried together until we stopped and looked up and my sister. She smiled our smile through her tears and said, “I know, I know. But I have to be strong, and you have to be strong with me so I can deliver Rachel. We have to get through this so we can hold our little girl.”

I wiped my tears and walked outside to call our mother. Choking through tears, I told her what was going on. She called my dad in Africa and he booked a plane home. When she got to the hospital, we looked at each other in the elevator and cried. My mother never cries. She is as tough as nails. My dad is the more emotional of the two (which is where I get it from) and I couldn’t recall a time that I had ever seen her cry. Yet there I was, 21 years old and sobbing like a child into my mother’s shoulder and she crying into my hair.

Walking back into the room, I saw my sister looking so tired and beat down and she smiled weakly at us. B was complaining because the RN’s couldn’t get a line on her after 5 attempts. She was just so dehydrated. He knew that, especially as a former Medic and RN, but he was just so frustrated. She looked at me again and said, “MsP, can you watch the kids tonight? Don’t tell them what is happening, just that me and Rachel are sick and that we’re in the hospital for the night.”

Driving home, I cried so hard that I had to pull over several times because I could no longer see through the tears. Driving up to my sister’s house, I put on a smile and carried bags of McDonald’s into their kitchen. They jumped and cheered, they rarely were allowed fast food, especially soda pop and fries. That night, I laid down with all three little angels and watched a movie. My phone rang and once again I was choked up as I heard my mom say, “Baby, Rachel is here.” I’m sure she could hear the question in the silence and added, “she really is gone.” I had held onto the hope that maybe her heartbeat was just faint or that they could revive her. Tears slid onto Emily’s hair as she said, “Oh, she is beautiful. She looks just like Job did when he was born. Madi and Emmy looked so much like each other and their mom, Rachel was truly B and Job’s little clone.” I cried again as I kissed the three sleeping kids lying next to me. They had no idea that their lives would change on this night.

The next few days were hard. My sister was in ICU for a while to control her sugar level. My sister had suffered a viral infection to her nervous system, which had attacked the placenta, causing Rachel to pass. Her body rejected Rachel and sent her into DKA. As the days passed, my sister only grew stronger and braver than before. She talked of God’s plan. I know inside she was devastated, but she kept us all afloat when it was us that were supposed to rescue her.

…..I was supposed to rescue her……

My sister and her family, along with my parents and I were able to view Rachel’s body before the funeral. I got to hold her and kiss her little head before we sent her back home to God. I can’t even write about that experience without bawling, so I will say it simply: I am still heart broken.

The funeral came and went. B and Job carried Rachel’s little casket to the front of the church that we had grown up in and I carried Emily while Sis carried Madi. I sat next to them and my parents and my boyfriend sat behind us. Several times during the service, B reached over and held my hand as we silently wept. My sister looked upwards in prayer and sang along with the service. Then, came the slideshow of the family. Our good friends had sent in pictures of the kids and sis and B and it played while the musicians sang “Homesick” by Mercy Me. The picture of the yongest, Emily (my godchild) hugging my sister’s bare stomach sent chills down my spine. Emily and I loved to talk to Rachel that way. Emily walked over to me and sat on my lap as I wept. At 2 years old, she understood our pain. She kissed me and said, “Love you, Nanny. Me and baby Rachel.” From the mouths of babes.

The coming weeks and months were hard. Many a night I found myself sleeping at Rachel’s grave or talking late into the night with only a candle and my guitar. Now and again, I would cross paths with my sister and we’d nod at each other through red eyes.

Losing Rachel changed my career. Suddenly, I was caring again. I lost my hard shell and was beginning to reach out to others more openly. When I must, I retreat into my shell again and toughen up. But now, as a Medic… I’m a hand holder, a comforter, a friend to all that enter my rig. I believe it is because Rachel is there with me, guiding my heart.

A year after we lost Rachel, I tattooed angel wings onto my shoulders to always remind me that she was my guide. I may walk my own path, but Rachel guides my heart and soul every waking moment. I got them large enough so that on my wedding day, when the photographer takes my picture standing at the altar with my new husband from the back- Rachel will be a part of the ceremony as well.

I apologize that it is so long, but Rachel’s story is not a short tale. How does one shorten the most defining, eye opening, and sad moment of their life?

So now you have seen into my heart, into my life. I hope you enjoyed. I suggest that you listen to the words of “Homesick” by Mercy Me while you read this.

With love,

MsP

In loving memory of Rachel Maryn

01- 08- 2008

January 3, 2010
Categories: Uncategorized . . Author: msparamedic

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