I will warn you....this post is long. I intended to make a part 3 and maybe even a part 4, but when I realized it was going take me a month between each post, I decided to go ahead and just write it all. So....sorry for my longwindedness! :) . If you want to, you can read Part 1 here.
After pacing around in the waiting room for what seemed like forever, waiting to find out what the heck was going on inside me, the nurse took me to a room with
several other women and their babies and did a cervical check. I was only
1-2 cm. As soon as the nurse told me this, I immediately felt two
things. The first was relief. Baby probably wasn't struggling while trying to come out sideways, and my water probably wasn't about to break any second. The
second thing I felt was annoyance. Lots of annoyance! What the heck!?!?! I'd been
in pain for HOURS and....nothing. Women walk around 1-2cm dilated for
WEEKS before giving birth and some women are that way all the time just from having previous
children. Again....What the heck?!??!
The nurse left the room to go
call the doctor to let her know what was going on. From my bed I could hear the two nurses call
one doctor who said he wasn’t on call. Then the next doctor they called said it should be the previous doctor on call. Playing the game "Who's On Call"......some things are the same in every country. :)
They must have figured it out
because a few minutes later one of the nurses came in and said they were going
to give me a shot for my pain and wait for the doctor to come in a few
hours. Now that I knew I wasn’t in danger
of delivering soon, I was ok with that, although I really would have preferred
to get an ultrasound to make sure I wasn’t bleeding. But I knew that would never happen at this
time of night.
There wasn’t anywhere in the room for Peter to
hang out so after they gave me the shot, he went out to the car to sleep for a
little bit. I put my mosquito net down
and after the medication took the edge off my pain, slept off and on for the
next couple hours. At one point, I looked up and the bed next to me was
occupied by a woman in scrubs (presumably an employee) snoring away.
At six o’clock, a doctor came
in to check me. By this time, my pain
was improved and my contractions had all but stopped. She did another cervical check and said that
I was 3cm and things were progressing. I was skeptical though, since my contractions had all but stopped. I suspected that my “progression” from a 2 to a 3 was more
likely just a subjective difference in the measuring of the doctor and
nurse.
An hour later another doctor came to talk to me. This was the doctor that I’d been seeing for
my prenatal care. She also asked how I was doing and I explained that my
contractions were pretty much gone but that I was still having this weird pain.
It was better after the medicine but I was still concerned as to what was
causing it. After chatting for a little bit,
she decided that I could be discharged and come back if the pain got worse or
my contractions returned. Peter and I
decided that instead of going back home, we’d get a hotel room by the hospital,
just so we’d be closer in case something happened.
I started getting ready to
leave when the doctor came back and said that she’d talked to her supervisor
(the head of the department) and he wanted to admit me for observation. To be honest, the idea of an air-conditioned
hotel room sounded MUCH better than hanging out in the hospital but I was still
worried about this pain I was having so I agreed to do whatever they wanted! I asked her about the possibility of an
ultrasound because I was worried about this pain that was improved, but not
gone. The doctor told me because it was
a holiday (International Women’s Day) and the ultrasound tech was a woman, the
ultrasound machine wouldn’t be available that day. Ummmmm....Bummer.
After a few hours, they told
me that they had had a discharge and had an open private room. Thank you Jesus! One of the best things about
the Sierra Leonean culture is their hospitality! However, despite pulling the curtain around
my bed to have some privacy, for the past several hours I had had nurses,
other staff members and family members of other patients open the curtain to
see and greet me. In my present state, I
was not really in the mood for greeting a lot of strangers. Ugly American. J
We moved into the private
room that had AC (most of the time) and a chair that Peter could sit in! As we sat there, watching the election
coverage on tv, I noticed that the pain medication seemed to be wearing off and
I was starting to hurt again. As the
pain continued to worsen, I started getting really worried again. What the heck was going on?!?!? I was annoyed at being in pain, but I was really scared that something was going
that we were missing. Peter and I talked
about going to another facility to get an ultrasound. I didn’t want to offend the doctors at this
place, but something seemed to be going on and I felt like I wasn’t getting answers
that I needed. We decided to risk
offending the doctor and went in search of her.
I was having trouble walking
at this point because every step was so painful. The doctor was in her office seeing patients
so we waited outside until she waved us in.
As soon as I walked in her office, she said, “You don’t look good. What
happened?” I explained that this pain
that had initially brought me in had returned and I was worried. Peter and I wanted to go to another facility
to get an ultrasound. She told me that
the way I was looking, she was worried as well and that she would send me to
get an ultrasound here. I didn’t mention
that I thought there wasn’t any ultrasound and just thanked Jesus that I wouldn’t
have to get in the car to go track one down somewhere else in the city.
I was informed that I was
really lucky because the man doing my ultrasound was the head of the department
and very knowledgeable. Thank you
Jesus! The first thing that he noted on
the ultrasound was that baby was head down.
Woo hoo!!! I was so excited about
that! He looked around and said that
everything looked ok with baby. I clarified that he didn’t see any bleeding
anywhere because I was worried about an abruption. When he asked if I had any vaginal bleeding I
replied that I hadn’t, but thanks to Dr. Google, I knew that 20% of the time,
there is none. He looked around again
and didn’t see anything.
The only other comment he had
was that the baby was really big. My
doctor was in there at the time and they both mentioned that maybe the pain I
was having was the baby stretching and moving around because she was so
big. In fact, my joy over avoiding a
c-section because baby had turned was cut short when the doctor said that I
would still need one because the baby was so big, there was no way I could
deliver myself.
Peter and I went back to the
room to talk about this new information. To be honest, I wasn’t really sure that
my pain could be explained by a really big baby. Ben was only 4 pounds 14 ounces (granted he
was a preemie) and Haddie was about 7 pounds. So,
it wasn’t like I had a history of giant babies. And the two I’d had, had
basically slid out.
The doctor came in while
Peter and I were discussing what to do.
I asked the doctor when she’d want to do the c-section and she said she
wanted to do it today. Woah! Wait a minute! I asked if I could just wait to go into labor for myself and then if it looked like baby was too big to come,
we could move to a C-section. That’s
when she started mentioning all my worst fears.
She said that if I started delivering vaginally and got into trouble,
she would "not guarantee" that everything would turn out alright. The doctors who needed to do the surgery
might not answer their phones, their phones might be off, they might get stuck
in traffic. Right now, she could
guarantee that the surgeon doing the surgery was very good, but if it was
emergent, it would just be whoever, and they might not be as good.
These were all things that SHE mentioned, but that had been running through my mind for 9 months. They were all of my worst
fears about delivering a baby in Sierra Leone.
My biggest fear had been to go into labor during the election and not
being able to get ahold of anyone to come in. After that it was a fear of going
into labor at night, a weekend, a holiday, etc.
Anything that would make it more difficult for the needed personnel to
get to the hospital, making it more dangerous for Baby and for me.
I know that if I'd been in the States, a C-section
would probably not have been on the table at this point.
I was only 38 weeks, had no history of really large babies, and now baby's was head down! But I wasn’t in the
US. And in staying in Sierra Leone to
have my baby, I’d gone against what probably 99% of the medical people in the
States would have counseled me to do. (Heck, if someone had asked me, I would have encouraged them to go home.) I was hesitant to continue to defy the medical experts. I did not have a history of big babies, but
my sister gave birth to a 10 pounder, and I was there. I remember watching the doctor struggle to get her
shoulder out. And I felt the same fear now, that I felt then as I prayed for that doctor to be successful.
And with that, my decision was
made. I know that C-sections are riskier than vaginal deliveries, but I also know that a planned, scheduled C-section would be a lot safer than an emergency one. There were still so many unknowns. We’d had
the best anomaly scan that could be done in Sierra Leone, but it wasn’t the
same as having one in the States and one of my other big fears was that there was a congenital abnormality that would be an emergency after delivery. This weird pain was, in my opinion, also still an unknown. With this new, concerning unknown of a large baby, Peter and I decided to go ahead and do the C-section. We signed the consent. Incidentally, I also asked to please sign a consent for a tubal ligation (tying the tubes). As much as we already loved this little bundle of joy, since you're going to be in there anyway......
I don’t know if it worked in
my favor or not, but I’ve seen countless C-sections done in Sierra Leone, while I worked in a hospital here. So I knew generally, what to expect. They came in to start my
IV and I received my very first foley catheter.
The nurse and I walked down to the OR with my bag of IV fluids in one
hand and the bag of my own urine in the other.
One of my big fears was the
spinal. Now I LOVED my epidural at home,
but was nervous about getting that one and even more nervous about this one. After poking me a few times but still unsuccessful, the anesthesiologist (I'm going to call him that, although I really have no idea what his actual credentials were) called his boss over to do it. In the end they were able
to get it in and much to my relief I began to feel my legs getting heavy a
little while later.
I recognized the surgeon as
one of the doctors that I’d seen earlier that morning. I watched as the rest of the OR staff bustled
around to get things ready and tried to catch what they were saying in
Krio. I laid down on the table and they stretched my arms out along the board they had laying under me for that
purpose. The anesthesiologist put up the drape and
they got started. Since I’ve watched
this surgery so many times, I laid there envisioning what they were doing based on
what I felt. I sighed a BIG sigh of
relief when I could feel what was most likely them cutting me open and it didn’t
hurt. Thank you Jesus!!
At this point, I don’t know
if it was the spinal, the adrenaline or some other medication they’d given me,
but the oxygen mask they’d put on me started to feel like it was suffocating me
and I called out that I was going to vomit.
Someone came right away with an emesis basin and I was able to turn my
head in time to vomit in it. I started
trembling, although I didn’t feel particularly cold. The anesthesiologist was very sweet and got a
machine that blows hot air from a tube. It
looked familiar and I recognized it as the tube that attaches to a warming
blanket (a “blanket” that is filled with hot air and designed to warm up or
keep patients warm). They didn’t have the actual
blanket but he put it under a towel that was laying over my chest and it still
felt nice.
A few minutes later I heard
the familiar cry of a baby and the nurse brought her over so I could see
her. I only got a cursory glance as I
was continuing to try not to vomit but when I asked the nurse if she was ok, I
sighed in relief when she enthusiastically said “yes!” Lord, thank You!
 |
| So little!!! |
The rest of what I’ll recount
will be snippets that I remember of the next hour and a half. Now that baby was out, they could safely give
me medications to knock me out. I don’t
think they were planning on knocking me out until I became a little too
vocal. At one point I heard the doctor
say, “See right there? See where the blood is pooling?” I’d been afraid I was
bleeding before I went into the OR so when I heard that blood was pooling
somewhere, I got scared. I called out
and asked if everything was ok. They
continued to talk to themselves and the tone of their voices, as well as their
movement seemed to be a little more amped up than it had been. I called out again to see if everything was
ok. It was the most helpless feeling. I could picture the scene that I’d seen so
many times before with the clamps holding my abdomen apart, and gloved hands
moving things aside to get the bleeding to stop. At that point I started praying for Peter and
my kids, should something happen to me.
I’m sure it was overly dramatic to fear that I’d die on that operating
table, but that’s how it felt in that moment.
The doctor must have sensed I was nervous because she bent around the
drape that was separating us and said something akin to “You want me to tell
you the truth, right? There is some bleeding but you’re going to be ok.” The next thing I remember were members of the
OR staff laughing and I immediately knew everything was better. I took this opportunity to call out again,
this time making sure that the doc was going to do the tubal ligation that I’d consented for. Three times. Three times during my periods of being awake, I verified that they were going to do it before they closed me up. :)
I have no idea how long I’d
been on the table at this point but the muscles in my arms and back were
aching terribly and I just wanted it to be over. It was also around this time that my legs
started tingling and I realized that I was feeling more than just the tugging
and pulling sensations. It appeared that
my spinal anesthesia was wearing off. (Unlike an
epidural which has the numbing medication running continuously, a spinal
injects the medication once). I laid
there for what felt like a really long time and told them I was going to vomit
again. Then I called out that I needed something
else for the pain. I couldn’t take it
anymore. The doctor said something unintelligible and someone came over and put something in my IV. A few minutes later, night, night Emily.
I woke up and saw that
someone was standing next to a whiteboard that had numbers written on them. He
was talking to someone else and they seemed to be in somewhat of a debate. I
assumed it was the count (sponges, clamps, etc) that they do before they close
someone up and I prayed that nothing would get left inside!
The next thing I remember was
noticing that the primary surgeon who had been on my right side was gone. The one on my left was sewing away which
meant that they must be closing me up.
It was confirmed a few minutes later when someone said “we’re almost
done!” I was so relieved. I was so sore
from my arms being stretched out and the shaking that wouldn’t seem to stop no
matter how much warm air was blowing onto me that all I wanted to do was lift
my arms up and bring them to my chest. I must have tried to do just that while
I was out because when they were getting ready to move me to the stretcher I
noticed that they had to untie my hands from the board and I had no memory of
them being tied in the first place.
They wheeled me into my room
and I saw Peter’s face. Phew! I assured him that I was ok. They got me moved over to my bed and the
nurse told me that I was going to need to lay flat for 24 hours. Say what now!??! I’d worked in a surgical ICU for years and
had never heard post-op instructions for a patient requiring them to lay flat
for 24 hours after surgery. I knew that
they were trying to prevent a spinal headache (which can happen after spinals
and epidurals if the fluid leaks out), but I’d still never heard those
instructions before! I was already
grumpy about what I’d been through with the surgery and was NOT happy to hear
that I’d have to lay on my back for 24 hours. No pillow, nothing.
 |
| The beginning of my 24 hours. I don't know when they put the paper on my gown, but I guess it's safety first to make sure they took the baby out instead of chopped off my leg or something! |
A little while later they
brought little baby yet-to-be named in.
She was in a little bassinet covered with a mosquito net, and she looked
perfect. And she didn’t really look big……Out
of curiosity I asked the nurse how much she weighed and they told me she was
3.4kgs (about 7 pounds 8 ounces). Not a
big baby, and incidentally about half a pound smaller than Haddie had
been. No. Comment. I had just been through what I would probably
describe as one of my top five worst experiences in my life, but I was
alive. My baby was alive. The answer to the question that had been
occupying a large amount of my thoughts over the last 9 months…..”how was this
going to end?” was here. We were
ok. We were all ok. Thank you, thank you Jesus.
I mentioned before that my
spinal started wearing off during surgery. Well now whatever “knock me out”
medicine had worn off as well and I was feeling the fact that they’d just sliced
and diced my abdomen. As soon as I was
settled I asked the nurse if I could have some pain medicine. She brought me some right away and gave me a
shot in my bum. About 30 minutes later
the edge of the pain was gone and I could focus on something else. I asked the nurse how often I could have it
and she told me I could have it every four to six hours. Thank you. I’ll remember that. Sure enough, four hours later the pain was
back in full force and I asked for another shot of the good stuff. The good stuff wasn’t the REALLY good stuff
because it wasn’t a narcotic. It was basically injectable ibuprofen (we don’t
have it in the States) but it worked really well!!
We found out when I was
admitted, that Peter would not be able to spend the night with me in the
hospital. We thought that even though
they didn’t provide a bed, they wouldn’t mind him bringing his own mattress to
lay on the floor, but that was quickly vetoed.
It was probably for the best since he’d spent the evening killing
mosquitoes in our room and lost count after 40.
Baby and I had a net but he wouldn’t have had one and that would have
been a miserable night. He decided to
get a hotel room near the hospital because he didn’t want to drive back and
forth from our house every day (an hour and a half one way) and I felt better
knowing that he was at least nearby.
 |
Peter smacking mosquitoes all evening. He tries to catch them in his hand. Unfortunately for us, mosquitoes are not only annoying, but also dangerous as they give us malaria.
|
 |
| They had these really cool mosquito nets for Lettie's "crib." I was so thankful that she was protected! |
He was supposed to leave by
7:30 that evening but ended up staying until 11:30 and I was really thankful
for the grace that the nurses gave us in not making him leave earlier. I
kissed him goodbye and it was me and baby on our own for the night. I drifted off to sleep and woke up at about
2:30am in quite a bit of pain. It had been 5 hours since my last shot of pain
medicine so I called the nurse in to ask for some more. She told me that I couldn’t have it. Wait,
what? I verified that the doctor said I could have it every 4 hours and she
agreed, but said that I was asking for it too much and needed to wait. I
disagreed. Strongly. I’ll admit that I felt a bit like a drug seeker because I was asking
for it about as frequently as I could have it, but I also saw no reason for me
to lie awake in pain for several more hours.
I mean, it wasn’t even a narcotic for goodness sake! I told her that if the doctor said I could have
it, that I really needed her to give it to me.
She told me that she wouldn’t give me the shot, but that I could have it
rectally. Whatever floats your boat,
sister! A little while later I felt
sweet relief. I thought about sharing
with her the fact that studies have shown that surgical patients recover
quicker when their pain is controlled…yada, yada, yada, but didn’t think she
would appreciate that.
It was clear
that I needed to take my pain control into my own hands. Fortunately, I’d suspected this would be a
problem and brought my own ibuprofen and the Tylenol with codeine that was left
over from my last delivery. (One of the benefits of having two babies in less
than a year is that your pain medication isn’t even expired yet!) And thus, my breaking of hospital rules
began.
It was a long sleepless
night, so Google became my friend. I am
a RULE FOLLOWER so even though I felt pretty confident that I wasn’t doing
anything wrong, I still needed the verification. Sure enough, nothing that I read about post
C-section rules said anything about laying on your back for 24 hours after
surgery. In fact, almost everything said
that you should get up and walk as soon as you were able. I knew it!!
I also googled eating and drinking after C-sections because by this
point I was hungry! I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch two days ago. Sure enough, most of what I read regarding eating
and drinking after a C-section said that you should take it slow, but at least
start drinking fluids as soon as you were able.
That settled it. When I started to feel the pain coming back a
couple hours later, I broke the first rule by getting off my back and out of bed to get the
meds out of my bag. I got the bottle of water that Peter had left and quickly
downed one of the pills. Naughty Emily! But sweet, sweet pain relief.
The next morning Peter called
me to see how my night had gone and I told him it was fine, but that I needed
him to do me a favor. Now that I’d started breaking rules, I was on a roll. I told him I needed him to stop at the
grocery store and get me some cereal that I could munch on….oh! And some
apples, get some apples too! Oh, and
water! Get some water to put in the little mini fridge so that when I’m allowed
to drink, I’ll have some nice cold water.
It was 8am in the morning. I wasn’t
SUPPOSED to drink anything until 5pm that evening and I couldn’t eat anything
until 5pm the next day. Since I’d
already had my stomach grumbling (knew I had bowel sounds) and had no nausea, I put my covert ops into motion.
I had stashed the pain pills in the drawer next to my bed and tossed the
cereal in there as well. I started slow by
just drinking sips of water, but by that evening my rule breaking was in full
force. I was still staying on my back
for the most part though and I sure was relieved when 5 o’clock came around and
I was allowed to sit up!
 |
| Peter hadn't gotten much sleep the night before either, so he rested on the metal chair when he came back. |
I’ll be honest and say that it had been a
REALLY frustrating day. I was mad that I
had to follow all these rules that I knew were not “best practice.” Our room
was swarming with mosquitos and I’d woken up with over 30 bites on my legs that
morning….even WITH sleeping under a mosquito net. I was in pain, I was sweaty and gross but couldn’t shower, and I was really bummed that I was in all this
pain from a surgery that in hindsight, my small baby said I probably didn't need. What I really wanted,
was to be in a familiar hospital, in a familiar country with some of the best
medical care available. I just wanted to
be at home.
So 5pm rolled around and I
was legally allowed to get up! I was dizzy and almost fell over because it
turns out that staying on your back for 24 hours actually does make you a
little weak. They brought me in a big flask of hot water with some tea and told
me I should drink a cup of tea every half hour. I drank a cup and then went to
get the water out of the fridge.
Wonderful, wonderful cold water.
(The water I’d been smuggling was next to my bed so didn’t stay
cold). Unfortunately, when the nurse
came in, she saw me drinking the cold water and got really, really upset. She told me that I absolutely could not drink
cold water because it was very bad for me.
When I asked her why, she couldn’t really give me an answer, she just
knew that it was very bad for my abdomen.
I. Lost. It. Not to the
nurse. I kept my cool with her, but
Peter had to bear the full brunt of my frustration when I dissolved into
tears. I had been looking forward to
that cold water for hours and there was just no reason for me not to drink
it. It was the culmination of a lot of
frustration and I told Peter that I’m out. I wanted to go home, to my own bed,
with no (or at least way less) mosquitoes and drink water from the fridge with
ice added to it.
In the end, Peter talked me
down and when the nurse came back to make me pinky swear (I kid you not) that I
would drink lukewarm water (a compromise….instead of the hot tea) I
agreed. I promptly went to my room, took
a swig off the bottle of water I’d had by my bed (thus fulfilling the pinky
swear) and then drank my cold water. After all, I promised that I WOULD drink the lukewarm water, not that I WOULDN'T drink the cold stuff.
Later that evening, Peter and I went outside for a walk. We ended up chatting with a nurse and I mentioned my frustration with some of the outdated post-op practices. She actually understood and, having worked other places with more up to date practices, became frustrated as well at times. But what could she do? If she broke the doctors' rules and they found out she would get into trouble and could lose her job. I appreciated her perspective and was thankful for the insight that allowed me to be a little more patient with the people telling me what to do. Incidentally, during our walk I had several people remark how "strong" I was to be walking around. I wanted to tell them that it was amazing what could be done when someone wasn't in pain, but didn't want to blow my cover and make everyone mad at me. :)
I’d seemed to reach
the pinnacle of frustration the night before, but something happened two days later
that made me forever grateful for the hospital and their staff. One of
the surgeons came to check on me and happened to ask how the baby was eating. Little
Lettie (by this time we’d given her her name) was not eating well. I just couldn’t get her to wake up enough to
eat well! The nurses came to check on us
and would usually find her sleeping. When I voiced my concern that she seemed
to be sleeping TOO much, they assured me that newborns sleep and she would wake
up to eat. My other babies had been sleepy as well but they had both had a high
bilirubin (which can make babies sleepy).
I wondered if that’s what was going on with Lettie but I had no way to
check and even if I did, I had no bililights to put her under. At one point I undressed her to take her outside
to get some sunlight, because that can help lower bilirubin. I know people thought I was crazy but I was at a loss for what to do with so few diagnostic and treatment options.
So the doctor asked how she
was and I told him about our breastfeeding struggles. At that point she’d only
eaten two or three times for about 10 minutes in the last 24 hours. I know that newborns can go awhile without
getting milk, as it takes some time for mom’s milk to come in. But I didn’t know how long was too long.
When I told him how much she’d been eating, he said that was not nearly enough
and asked the nurse to check a blood sugar.
Blood sugar. Oh. My. Gosh. It hadn’t even occurred to me to check a
blood sugar. I’ve been a nurse for 14
years, taken care of countless cases of low blood sugar and it hadn’t even occurred
to me. I was so embarrassed. I should have KNOWN! Low blood sugar can also make you sleepy. I’d
been so focused on her bilirubin that I hadn’t even considered the simpler
possibility.
The nurses checked her blood
sugar and sure enough, it was 30. Low. I pulled out the tin of glucose
that had been on my list of things to bring to the hospital and the nurses mixed
it with water and fed it to her in a cup.
I stood by…..crying of course. I
was scared for Lettie and felt like a failure as a mom and as a nurse! The nurses were so sweet and encouraging. Little Lettie perked up and when they
rechecked her blood sugar again a little while later, it was better.
 |
| Little Lettie getting her glucose from one of the nurses |
Later that evening, she seemed to be pretty
sleepy again. I planned to ask them to
do another blood sugar, just to check but was so scared they wouldn’t want to
do it. Since the nurses hadn’t historically
been super excited about things I’d asked for (pain medicine, cold water, etc)
I was afraid they would tell me that Lettie was fine and didn’t need it. If they didn’t want to do it, I was at their
mercy. I prayed, prayed, prayed that
they would be willing to do it.
When I called the nurse in to
ask her to do it, after explaining what had happened earlier that day, she
easily agreed. Thank you Jesus! Peter went
and bought the testing strip at the pharmacy and when he brought the receipt
back, they checked her. Her blood sugar was fine. She was doing
fine. Phew.
I had Lettie on a Thursday and
by that Monday, it was time to go! This was confirmed that morning when I woke
up to use the restroom and there was no more toilet paper. When I asked the
nursing aide for another roll, she told me that they only give out one. Ok then.
Fortunately, I’ve lived here long enough to know never to travel without
some in my purse so I was ok, but I took that as a sign that it was time to
head out! I’d used up my toilet paper quota.
By the time the doctor came
to see us that morning, we were packed and ready to put our things in the car.
Peter went to pay the bill and we loaded our precious blessing into the car and
went home.
 |
| All ready to go home!! |
Compared to my last
experience giving birth (epidural, jetted tub, room service including
milkshakes and excluding fish heads), this one had been….tough. But after nine months of worrying and
wondering how it was going to turn out, I was so thankful that Peter was
leaving with a healthy wife and healthy daughter. That is not true for a LOT of people in this country. We are very, very blessed.
 |
| So, So Blessed. |
