Evan Javier Gallew

We had a great appointment today. It was this time two years ago that my blood pressure took a nose dive and I developed pre-eclampsia. This appointment was very different. My blood pressure has been a constant low--nothing to worry about. Evan is in the 75th percentile. Things are looking so good, the doctor has tentatively set the date for our c-section as 13 May 2010. We're elated!

Today is Keith’s Birthday and we had an ultra sound appointment to check and make sure everything was going well with the pregnancy.  We were happy to hear that all was going well, Evan was four pounds, twelve ounces growing nicely in plenty of fluid, with no worries.  We have our c-section scheduled for 13 May and were counting down the days.

We received a phone call from a close friend that she had delivered her healthy baby girl and all was going well with their family.  Keith and I knew that they were in the process of moving, so he volunteered to go assist with the move on Saturday and that would also allow me to visit with our friend and their new family member.

Keith and I met a group of friends at the bowling alley where we hung out for the morning.  Sometime while we were at the bowling alley, I felt as if Evan was sitting in a very uncomfortable position but could not prod him to move.  As we got closer to noon, it became more and more uncomfortable, not painful, just uncomfortable.  By the time we stopped for lunch, I told Keith I should probably go back home and rest because I wasn’t really feeling up to socializing, so Keith called our friend to let her know that we were going to head home rather than to their house.  She was fine with it and suggested we talk to her sister-in-law (a nurse who was with her at the time).  She started asking me some questions and based on the answers she suggested Keith take me straight to the hospital just to make sure everything was okay.  Keith agreed and that’s where everything started happening so fast.

While driving home, Keith called the hospital to let them know we were coming in.   When we got to the clinic, they told us we had just made it, they were closing in two minutes (we both thought that was weird, but on the drive down I went from uncomfortable to pre-term labor, so we both ignored the comment).  We rushed back to my doctor’s office and no one was there.  We finally found someone who told us that they were closed on weekends and they called 911 and had an ambulance rush me to the nearest hospital (less than 10 minutes away).  Once there, we were put on the monitors to find Evan’s heartbeat……nothing……they wheeled in an ultrasound machine and hooked us up and again……nothing…..  Having been through enough ultrasounds, I knew without anyone saying anything, my baby was gone.  I closed my eyes and immediately I saw the hand of a little two year old girl grasp the hand of a baby boy and for some odd reason there was a peace that came over me.  I never saw the girls face, I could only see part of her dress blowing when she grabbed his hand, it was like she was telling me, “don’t worry mommy, he’s okay now”.

Of course the technician cannot say anything, so he wheeled his machine out and had to have the doctor come in and deliver the bad news.  Keith and I, of course, were overcome with grief and just held each other and cried. 

The doctor gave us some time together then came back and explained that now that Evan had passed, he still had to be delivered but it was up to us if we wanted her to deliver him or if we wanted our doctor to do it.  We preferred our doctor (whom she knew), so she contacted our doctor who dropped everything and headed straight to the hospital at Fort Belvoir.  What Keith and I hadn’t realized was that when we originally called the hospital to tell them we were coming, we dialed the main hospital at Fort Belvoir (which is where our doctor works), but she spends several days a week at the Woodbridge Clinic, which is where we usually have our appointments and where we had rushed to earlier that day.  It turns out when we said we were on our way to the hospital, they were prepped and ready for us at Fort Belvoir, not Woodbridge.

Anyhow, we headed on over to Fort Belvoir and met with Dr. Fugate and her team and we got all prepped and ready for Evan’s delivery.  We had the c-section and delivered (under normal circumstances) a healthy baby boy.  Four pounds, twelve ounces, eighteen inches long.  He had his mom’s nose and his dad’s physique.  He was beautiful.  After delivery they let us hold him and take pictures with him.  They made little feet and hand prints for us and cut a lock of his curly black mane to hold onto for memories.

After the surgery Dr. Fugate explained that I had suffered from a placental abruption.  She explained that Placental abruption is the separation of the placenta from the uterine lining.  It had probably happened in the last twenty-four hours, but there is never any way of knowing when it happens unless you just happened to be hooked up to a monitor at the time it occurs.  Only about 1% of all pregnant women will experience placental abruption, and most can be successfully treated depending on what type of separation occurs, but treatment depends on the severity of the separation, location of the separation and the age of the pregnancy.  I had suffered a complete separation, so all of the blood and nutrients stopped going to Evan and unfortunately started to pool in my system.  The causes of placental abruption are not completely known. Unfortunately, there is no treatment that can stop the placenta from detaching and there is no way to reattach it.

Keith and I were relieved to hear that it was nothing we had done and no way we could have known or prevented it.  When Keith and I went back to the recovery room, we spent all the time we could with Evan.  Holding him, loving him, talking to him, taking pictures with him.  Evan was so precious.

Passed away on April 24, 2010.