R.I.P. My Son
Recently I had to experience the most traumatizing thing in my entire life. The emergency birth of my son at San Bortolo Hospital, Vicenza, Italy: Gunner Bishop Wolfe 27 July 2009 at 0730 hrs. It all started the week prior when my wife Jennifer was feeling contractions while at our residence in Camisano Vicentino, Italy. We went to the on base clinic to have her checked out, they gave her a clean bill of health and we went home. The contractions (called Braxton-Hicks) by the clinic continued on for 4 more days, each day the clinic said everything was fine and that there was nothing to worry about. On day 5, my wife doubles over in pain, I scoop her up and rush to the clinic where I’m met by multiple useless people who just stumble over themselves for a while the ambulance rushes onto post from the Italian Hospital.
I follow the ambulance (Delta 5) to the hospital, losing my mind the entire trip. When we get there, I park across the entire handicap section and rush inside where we get the bad news. My wife is in labor and has been for the last 5 days! Normally this would be acceptable if it wasn’t for the fact that she was only 5 months pregnant. The failure of the U.S. Army Clinic has put my family through more pain and heartache than I should have, or anyone should ever have to go through. For this reason, I am leaving the Military once I reach the end of my contract, period…
The Italian hospital staff did what they could to postpone the birth as long as they could with drugs and such, they did so for approximately 5 hours. When the medications wore off, they did one final check and said that the birthing process has begun and rushed Jen and I upstairs to the birthing room. They prep her, violently pull her clothes off, throw her onto the table, drive a wedge under her one side, strap her to the table and begin cutting. All of this while I’m still in the room, the interpreter grabs me and ushers me out of the room and all I hear is Jen calling out for me. I am placed in the waiting room for about 3 hours without any word from anyone, no courtesy checkups, updates or anything.
When I finally get to see her she is really drowsy and in pain, I’m crushed, she’s hurt but we’re ok…
A couple of hours go by (seems like a decade) and we get to visit the NICU (Neo-Natal Intensive Care Unit) and see my 1.3 lbs son. He looks so awesome, so active, so tiny, so scared… We get to hold his hands, touch his chest and he gets to hear us and know we are there.
Jen is admitted to the hospital for a few days while she recovers, Italian rules state, no visitors so I sit at home and worry until I get to see her and my son again. When we get to see each other again and visit Gunner, we are told his lungs are not at 100% and he will need some medication to increase his chances, we agree…
The medication seemed to work because he increased in size in every way possible and seemed to be doing great for about a month, until the downhill slope came along. Gunner started to slip, his breathing wasn’t where it should be, his kidneys were failing as well, and we agreed to do whatever it took to get him better. The staff in the NICU was wonderful and did what they could but in the end Gunner just couldn’t pull through the overwhelming odds of being born 4 months too early.
He succumbed to his tiny lungs failing as we held him in the NICU for his final moments. It was the worst day of my life and one I will never forget (01 SEP 09). As Gunner laid there in his mother’s arms while I held his arms and legs and kissed his head he drifted off to sleep. The staff came in, carefully grabbed Gunner out of our hands and gave us a minute to attempt to compose ourselves.
We attempt to slow down our crying and begin the walk to our vehicle; it is the worst feeling in the world. Checking into the hospital one month earlier with no child, living in the hospital for a month with a child and being discharged without one… We cleared the front doors of the hospital and have not been back. That place has so many negative memories tied to it; I cannot bring myself to even look at it when we drive by anymore.
I cannot forget or forgive what the U.S. Clinic staff has done to me and my family. I cannot be a part of a military that allows this kind of action to classified as (acceptable actions) or that doesn’t take any responsibility for the problems they ignored.
Here in about a week, Jennifer and I are going to celebrate Christmas in our son’s nursery, where we have our tree set up. We are going to have to open each other’s presents, pretend to be happy, pretend it will all be ok as we place Gunners 1st Christmas presents off to the side for safekeeping.
In closing I would like to say, I hate you U.S. Clinic and staff, I appreciate you Italian Hospital, I am so sorry Jen I love you and I love you Gunner, I miss you so very much…
-Daddy
I follow the ambulance (Delta 5) to the hospital, losing my mind the entire trip. When we get there, I park across the entire handicap section and rush inside where we get the bad news. My wife is in labor and has been for the last 5 days! Normally this would be acceptable if it wasn’t for the fact that she was only 5 months pregnant. The failure of the U.S. Army Clinic has put my family through more pain and heartache than I should have, or anyone should ever have to go through. For this reason, I am leaving the Military once I reach the end of my contract, period…
The Italian hospital staff did what they could to postpone the birth as long as they could with drugs and such, they did so for approximately 5 hours. When the medications wore off, they did one final check and said that the birthing process has begun and rushed Jen and I upstairs to the birthing room. They prep her, violently pull her clothes off, throw her onto the table, drive a wedge under her one side, strap her to the table and begin cutting. All of this while I’m still in the room, the interpreter grabs me and ushers me out of the room and all I hear is Jen calling out for me. I am placed in the waiting room for about 3 hours without any word from anyone, no courtesy checkups, updates or anything.
When I finally get to see her she is really drowsy and in pain, I’m crushed, she’s hurt but we’re ok…
A couple of hours go by (seems like a decade) and we get to visit the NICU (Neo-Natal Intensive Care Unit) and see my 1.3 lbs son. He looks so awesome, so active, so tiny, so scared… We get to hold his hands, touch his chest and he gets to hear us and know we are there.
Jen is admitted to the hospital for a few days while she recovers, Italian rules state, no visitors so I sit at home and worry until I get to see her and my son again. When we get to see each other again and visit Gunner, we are told his lungs are not at 100% and he will need some medication to increase his chances, we agree…
The medication seemed to work because he increased in size in every way possible and seemed to be doing great for about a month, until the downhill slope came along. Gunner started to slip, his breathing wasn’t where it should be, his kidneys were failing as well, and we agreed to do whatever it took to get him better. The staff in the NICU was wonderful and did what they could but in the end Gunner just couldn’t pull through the overwhelming odds of being born 4 months too early.
He succumbed to his tiny lungs failing as we held him in the NICU for his final moments. It was the worst day of my life and one I will never forget (01 SEP 09). As Gunner laid there in his mother’s arms while I held his arms and legs and kissed his head he drifted off to sleep. The staff came in, carefully grabbed Gunner out of our hands and gave us a minute to attempt to compose ourselves.
We attempt to slow down our crying and begin the walk to our vehicle; it is the worst feeling in the world. Checking into the hospital one month earlier with no child, living in the hospital for a month with a child and being discharged without one… We cleared the front doors of the hospital and have not been back. That place has so many negative memories tied to it; I cannot bring myself to even look at it when we drive by anymore.
I cannot forget or forgive what the U.S. Clinic staff has done to me and my family. I cannot be a part of a military that allows this kind of action to classified as (acceptable actions) or that doesn’t take any responsibility for the problems they ignored.
Here in about a week, Jennifer and I are going to celebrate Christmas in our son’s nursery, where we have our tree set up. We are going to have to open each other’s presents, pretend to be happy, pretend it will all be ok as we place Gunners 1st Christmas presents off to the side for safekeeping.
In closing I would like to say, I hate you U.S. Clinic and staff, I appreciate you Italian Hospital, I am so sorry Jen I love you and I love you Gunner, I miss you so very much…
-Daddy
posted by EFLOW at 12/18/2009
1 Comments:
Hang in there you guys....my prayers go out to you and Jen, to heal your souls, and bind you together through a loss that will only make your link to eachother stronger. hugs. truly.
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