FLIGHT TO SIGHT

Courtesy of Hamodia Magazine

(This is a true story—names have been changed to protect privacy)

     It was past midnight on a blustery, cold winter night when I stood on the runway at Teterborough Airport watching a team of medical professionals transfer my baby daughter from an ambulance onto the fixed wing jet that would transfer her to a hospital miles away.

     As I took in the situation, one thought occupied my mind. Would my baby ever be able to see?

     Rochella was born prematurely, at twenty eight weeks. She was immediately transferred to the NICU at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital in New York City, and put on a respirator. Due to her breathing difficulties, she was given much higher levels of oxygen than the average baby.

     Due to the increased oxygen that she was inhaling and the fact that she had been born prematurely, Rochella was at risk of developing retinopathy of prematurity (ROP), an eye disease that affects premature babies. The condition is caused by excessive growth of the blood vessels in the center of the eye, which leads to detachment of the retina and possible blindness, chas v’shalom. Because of this, when she was thirty two weeks old, the doctors began to do a series of weekly tests on her eyes.

     The tests were horrible. We stood beside our baby and helplessly watched her shriek in pain as the doctors held her eyelids open and evaluated her eyes. At first, her eyes were fine. Two weeks later, however, she began to develop a mild case of ROP. My husband, David, and I became frightened. WE had a relative whose premature baby had developed a severe case of ROP and was left blind for life.

     We began to research ROP and the treatments that were available. After consulting with various medical referral agencies, we were told about Dr. Jonathan Sears, a doctor at the Cleveland Clinic with vast expertise in treating this condition with a delicate procedure. We decided that due to the complicated nature of the procedure, we wanted Dr. Sears to perform it if and when it became necessary.

     Rochella remained in the NICU at Columbia. Her condition, although stable, was not good, and three weeks later she reached the final and most severe stage of ROP in her right eye, which meant she was in danger of losing her vision. Although the left eye was not as bad, it was deteriorating as well. The doctor at Columbia said that the procedure had to be done within seventy-two hours.

     “But,” he added grimly, “if it were my daughter, I would do it immediately. I wouldn’t wait that long.”

     Dr. Sears, who had been following the reports closely, was in agreement. The procedure had to be done immediately.

     Immediately. We had to make a decision right away. On one hand, Rochella’s condition was not good. She was in the NICU in New York. How would we get her to Cleveland immediately? Should we just allow the procedure to be done by one of the doctors at Columbia?

     On the other hand, the procedure was a very complicated and risky one, in which the doctor would use a laser to burn out the blood vessels that were causing the retina to detach. If not done precisely, it would fail. In the best case scenario, the baby would lose her side vision; exactly how much of it would depend on the precision with which the procedure was performed.

     We made our decision; we were going to use Dr. Sears. We were immediately put in touch with Rabbi Issac Lieder, who deals with the medical transfer of premature babies. At this point it was four o’clock on Wednesday afternoon. He arranged for the transfer to Cleveland to take place eight hours later, at midnight. David and I ran home quickly to pack a few items for the trip. We grabbed clothing and some food, not knowing what lay ahead.

     While we were home, we found out that he fixed wing jet that would transport Rachelle was a tiny plane with little space; it could not carry excess weight and there was room for only one parent on board. We decided that I would go with Rachelle, and David would take the next available flight to Cleveland.

     David stayed home to make his own arrangements to get to Cleveland, and I got a ride back to Columbia. Sitting in the dark car on the way to the hospital, I felt alone and frightened. It was just me, on the way to the hospital to take my tiny baby to a hospital miles away… I wiped away a tear and pulled out my Tehillim.

   Shortly after, my cell phone rang. It was a kind woman from Cleveland who had heard that we were coming. She briefly told me where the bikur cholim room in the hospital was and where I would be able to get kosher food and other necessities.

     Huh? I thought. Food, beds, and arrangements for David and me? I couldn’t think past Rachella. But I jotted down all the information nonetheless, no longer feeling quite so alone.

     I arrived at the hospital at 11:30 pm. I felt slightly lost; I didn’t know where to go or what to do. Then it hit me—Rochella would be leaving Columbia Presbyterian Hospital for good. We had been there for eleven weeks. We were leaving in a rush, and I hadn’t even said goodbye or thanked Rochella’s many doctors and nurses. I quickly got hold of some papers and left some notes for them.

     At midnight, an ambulance came to take us to Teterboro Airport, where the private jet would be waiting for us. Due to her condition, Rochella was taken on a respirator. Upon arriving at Teterboro, we were greeted by the rest of the teamt hat would be accompanying us—the pilot, copilot, two paramedics, and a nurse.

     Watching them transfer Rochella to the jet, I felt a sudden urge to snap a picture. But I can’t, I thought. Everyone will think I’m nuts. But then I saw one of the ambulance members snapping a picture on his phone. If he can, so can I! I thought. I timidly pulled out my camera, which I always keep in my purse, and took a quick picture.

     “Hey,” said one of the men. “Mom wants some pictures.” The entire medical team paused momentarily and posed for some shots.

     After the final preparations, the plane took off; we were on our way to Cleveland. The hour long flight passed in a blur of nervous anticipation. The nurse hovered over Rochella, and I pulled out my Tehillim. Please, Hashem, I prayed. I am doing all that I can for my baby. I am leaving the rest up to you.

     When we landed at the airport in Cleveland, an ambulance was waiting for us. At the hospital, Rochella was immediately transferred to the NICU. The hospital was dark and still, with only the faint buzzing of machines breaking the silence. I felt so alone in a strange city; my husband would not be arriving until the morning. Fighting tears, I fished out the directions to the bikur cholim room, and wearily made my way there to try to take a nap before our scheduled appointment with the doctor at seven a. m.

     After a short nap, I jolted awake. It was six thirty, half an hour before the appointment. As I anxiously navigated my way to the NICU, I glanced at my watch. Would David make it on time for the procedure? Or would I have to take my baby into the operating room by myself?

     Dr. Sear arrived and carefully examined Rochella’s eyes. The right eye had deteriorated badly, much more than the left. It was definitely serious, but could wait a bit more. He scheduled the procedure for seven p. m. , for both eyes. A sudden rush of relief swept through me when I realized that David would be with me for our baby’s operation.

     When the afternoon approached, they began to prepare Rochella, and at seven Dr. Sears sent David and me out of the room to wait. We were told that the entire procedure would take thirty minutes. It is difficult, even today, to forget those minutes. We sat there—waiting, hoping, and praying.

     Thirty minutes passed; no news. Thirty five minutes, forty, fifty… still no news. Finally, unable to sit any longer, we went to the nurse’s station.

     “It’s been fifty minutes already! The procedure was only supposed to take thirty minutes.” My tone of voice and tear filled eyes conveyed my utter desperation.

     “Hon,” answered the nurse patiently, “there’s no news yet. Just keep waiting. We’ll let you know as soon as we hear anything.”

     So we continued to wait. The minutes crawled by at a snail’s pace. I could hardly sit any longer. Was Rochella okay? Finally the doctor made his way briskly out of the operating room and happily proclaimed “The procedure was a success!”

     Not only was it a success, he informed us, but while performing the procedure he had discovered that Rochella’s left eye was deteriorating as well. Had he not performed the double procedure and let it go for even one more week, her vision would have been in serious danger.

     Our relief and gratitude knew no bounds; our baby was healthy, her vision unharmed. We remained at he Cleveland Clinic for another two weeks, until Rochella recovered completely. When the time came for her to be discharged, we were slightly hesitant to leave the hospital; Rochella had not opened her eyes since the procedure. Although the doctors reassured us that everything was okay, we felt very uneasy about leaving.

     But we couldn’t stay there forever; we had to get back to New York. So after signing the discharge papers and saying goodbye to the entire staff, we made our way to the elevator with heavy hearts. After thirteen weeks in the hospital, we were finally taking our baby home—Tatty, Mommy, and baby, leaving the hospital together as a family. As we walked out of the elevator, David, who was holding Rochella, suddenly cried out, “Look! Her eyes are open!”

     We couldn’t believe it. We looked into our daughter’s eyes for the first time in weeks, and our anxiety completely subsided; we were overcome with gratitude for Hashem’s direct act of Providence.

     Sitting in the car on our way to the airport for the return flight home, I opened my siddur to say the morning brachos. “Blessed are you, Hashem…who gives sight to the blind.” My voice chocked up as I glanced at my daughter. How many times had I recited those words before? But now they had taken on a life of their own.