Gwen's fourth pregnancy was progressing normally when she began experiencing headaches. We saw her ob/gyn doctor and he thought that perhaps there was too much stress with three children at home and being pregnant. He sent us home with a prescription for Valium. Later that evening Gwen became sick to her stomach and began to vomit. She was also very thirsty, and when I called the doctor he said to give her juice to drink. All we had was Hi-C fruit punch in the refrigerator and I gave that to Gwen. She promptly threw it up, and was becoming unconscious. At this point I found someone to stay with the kids and took Gwen to the E. R. A short time after she was admitted to the hospital I was told that she had been diagnosed with Type I diabetes. What a shock that was! She was given insulin, and soon recovered. She went off to sleep and I went home to be with the kids and arrange for a babysitter for the next day.
When I returned to the hospital the next morning I was happy to see Gwen awake and alert; enjoying her breakfast. Then the doctors came in with more bad news. The baby she was carrying hadn't survived the diabetic coma she had gone into the night before. Gwen would have to go through an induced labor. I sat with her as she received the medicine that would cause labor to begin. I don't remember the details of that, but am sure we consoled each other about the double dose of bad news we had received. Then Gwen was taken to the delivery room, and I took a seat in the waiting room. Her doctor came in and asked whether I wanted to be in the delivery room with her. In a decision I have always regretted, I tearfully responded that I didn't think I would be able to witness the delivery of a baby that I knew was dead. This was forty years ago when it was quite uncommon for a father to be in the delivery room. I saw no point in doing it.
After Gwen came back to her room I was told that she would need to rest, and I left for home. I called Gwen's mom and told her what had happened, and she promised to come stay with us until Gwen got back on her feet.
The next morning I was at the hospital bright and early. Gwen was alone in her room, wearing her pink negligee and duster that she always insisted on having "just in case I go to the hospital." She was sitting in a chair, hair done up, and looking more beautiful that I had ever seen her. She stood up and opened her arms to me. I went to her and we embraced and wept without saying a word. I'll never forget the feel of her warm, soft body as we clung to each other. It's again hard for me to find the right words to describe this moment. It was another of those moments when we were united in every sense of the word. We mourned the loss of our child, while celebrating the fact that although Gwen would have to take insulin the rest of her life we were still two people in love who would live a long and full life together.
A few months after this, Dear, you came upstairs from doing the laundry and said: "You know, John, we don't have a lot of money, but we do have a lot of love and three healthy children.. Let's adopt a child." We did, and, our family was strengthened and blessed by the addition of Annie B.
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