This month marks 5 years since the dreadful nightmare of May 2007.
5 years ago, our world turned upside down. As newlyweds in the midst of a blissful fairlytale, that all quickly changed into a dreaded nightmare.We were faced with difficulties and tragedies that we weren’t expecting.
Isn’t it interesting that most of the things that we worry about rarely ever happen and when tragedy strikes it’s something we never even considered?
So what exactly happened to my health? What is midgut volvulus? It’s also called malrotation of the bowel, by the way. That’s a very common question that people ask me.
I wanted to know that myself. After all the surgeries and being sedated with all the medication, I finally came to and had no idea what happened. My last memory was being rushed through the doors of the OR and then snatches of medical personnel all around me, my husband and parents in and out of the room, being wheeled around the hospital to the OR for numerous surgeries, etc. I knew something really serious had happened to me, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.
Midgut volvulus is when a part of the intestines twists abnormally on itselt, cutting off circulation to the part of the bowel that is below the twist. It’s kind of like a garden hose that you fold in half and the water supply is cut off, even though the water is still turned on. If it’s not discovered quickly enough, it causes the tissue to become necrotic (dead/black). If the bowel is necrotic it can cause sepsis (infection). That is what happened to me.
On Saturday morning, May 19, 2007, I started having abdominal pain. I wasn’t really concerned. After all, I thought of myself as a tough girl and I figured that this pain was just a few Braxton Hick’s contractions. Nothing I couldn’t handle. I took it easy that day, but the pain started to intensify as the day progressed. I had no apppetite and I remember that the only thing I could eat was a pear.
I was working that night, so I got dressed and went to work. By this time, my pain had gotten much worse. It was coming in spasms of intermittent pain, each one progressively worse than the last. It sounded just like contractions, or so I thought. I finished getting report on my patients, but the pain was starting to scare me, especially since it was closer and closer together. I called my mom, who was working that night, and who also happens to be Labor and Delivery nurse. I left work, picked up my husband and after calling the doctor, we drove to the hospital.
On the way to the hospital, I started feeling another bout of pain coming on, this time with such intensity, I thought I would lose consiousness. I had never felt such excuciating pain in my life. It was so sharp and stabbing, I could barely breathe. All I could do was scream a prayer, and that God would please take care of our baby. I yelled at Sergi to start praying. He broke all the speed limits on the way there. By the time we got to the hospital, the pain had subsided again. I got checked in, signed some paperwork, changed into a gown… all the usual stuff that I could do in my sleep to my patients. This time, I was the patient. They drew some blood for labs, put in an IV and told me that I wasn’t dilated or having contractions. What?
By this time, another bout of pain came on, even worse than last time. Through my pain and agony, I saw the doctor enter the room. I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t talk. All I could do was moan and writhe in pain. The doctor was trying to assess me. He asked me where the pain was. I told him it was thorughout my whole abdomen. He sounded frustrated.
“Olga, you have to work with us. Show me where the pain is.” I shook my head. “It’s everywhere.” He sighed. “Point to where the pain is.” I vaguely pointed towards the center of my protruding belly. What did they want me to do? How was I supposed to isolate the focus of my pain and “Point” to it, when it went all the way through me?
I could already imagine what they were going to rule out. I was right. Over the next two days they tested me for appendicitis, cholecystitis, urinary infection, renal stones, gall stones.
Meanwhile, I was drifting in and out of a hazy, pain-filled existence. The only thing I could focus on was the extreme pain. All I did was sleep and then be rudely awakened by the pain that was so extreme at this point I thought I would die. I stayed curled up on the bed, not moving, scarcely breathing. I had so much blood drawn for different labs and was constantly on the fetal monitor.
The baby was ok. She was perfectly healthy. They did ultrasounds every once in a while. Nothing to worry about. I couldn’t understand what was happening. I only wished they could figure out what was wrong with me so this pain would go away.
I’ll never forget being taken down to get a CT scan. Every jolt on the stretcher ripped right through my body.
Finally, on May 21, 2007, my surgeon decided to take me to surgery. Exploratory laprascopic surgery. There were risks involved. My husband signed the consent. They told us they would do everything possible not to deliver the baby, since she was still a preemie, seven months.
I saw them all gathered beyond my stretcher. Doctors, nurses, hospital administrators. They were talking about me. I didn’t care. I just wanted the pain to fade away. Or at least decrease. My husband was by my side every second, holding my hand, calling my worried parents. He was my rock. He was my strength and I clung to him.
They drew more bloodwork. A nurse came to check the baby’s heartbeat. “How is she? Is the baby ok?” I asked. “The baby is great. Her heartbeat is perfectly normal, nice and strong.” A few minutes later, I felt my world starting to crash, my focus to fade and I could hearing rushing, worried people all around me. I could hear them saying that my blood pressure was dropping, pulse was racing, I was going into shock. My stretcher was raced to the OR. I saw the hallway drawing closer, and then everything went black.
My husband sat in the surgery waiting room. It was late. He was alone. He prayed, but didn’t know what to say. “God, I know I should pray, but I don’t know what to pray about. Nobody knows what is going on with my wife.” All of a sudden, he knew exaclty what to say to God. It was as though He heard God say the words “Bless my name.” “Yes, may the name of the Lord be blessed.” The peace that filled that room was beyond what could be understood. It completely engulfed him. He sat there, waiting, waiting.
The OB doctor walked into the waiting room. Her face was white and etched with fear.
“I’m sorry. The baby is gone and we are fighting to save your wife’s life.”
Those words turned his world upside down. It was hard to comprehend what it all meant. We knew there were risks, but the baby was dead? She was just fine a few minutes before they rolled Olga into surgery. They said her hearbeat was nice and strong. There were fighting to save Olga’s life? How could this be happening?
Sergi called my parents. They dropped everything, got in the car and drove straight to Florida, Mom crying, Dad completely silent. They only stopped for gas, not eating or even drinking a sip of water. Every time the phone rang their hearts sank with dread. If they saw it was Sergi, they were terrified at what he would say. What if he was calling to say that their daughter was dead?
When they opened me up in the OR they saw that all my intestines had become black and necrotic. It was useless to do anything at this point. They would have to cut it all out, but a person can’t survive without any intestines. They “untwisted” the intestines and stapled me back up. I was taken to the Intensive Care Unit.
When Sergi came in to see me, he was shocked and could barely recognize me.
I was hooked up to so many wires and was given so much fluids to keep my blood pressure up and pulse down that I was filled with fluid and it was leaking around my IVs. The room was so loud with all the IV pumps running as fast as they could go and the ventilator had such an eery beep.
From that point on, it was a matter or survival. I was constantly feverish, my pulse wildly racing, my oxygen dropping. When my husband and parents spoke to the surgeon, he explained what had happened, drawing illustrations to make it easier to understand.
This is the picture that the surgeon drew to explain what had happened
He wrote 5% on the peice of paper. “5%. That’s her chance for survival.”
I had five surgeries that week. 
Each time, they would open me up and see if there was anything they could salvage. Parts of the black tissue were turning gray. They ended up cutting out 3/4 of my small intestine and 1/2 of the large intestine. We had a funeral for our baby girl, Ariana Joy. 
I spent about a month and a half in the ICU, slowly recuperating, on numerous antibiotics, fighting the infection that had run rampid through my body.
We lived one day at a time, with the strength that only God can give. Sometimes, you don’t have a choice to be strong, you just have to go on because that’s the only option. Sometimes, life throws unexpected things our way and that’s when we put one foot in front of the other, and live through one moment at a time hoping for the best, knowing that tomorrow will be another day.
Celebrating our 1st wedding anniversary
My mom would always tell me that someday we will look back and remember this whole exprience like a bad dream. That is so true. Five years has already flown by, and it’s hard to believe that we actually went through this experience. It is a bad dream that was so real at the time.
When I was a teenager, I once told my Dad that it’s great that God never gives us more than we can handle. Dad, in his great wisdom, said that what we think we can or can’d handle is different than what God knows we can.
“For we were so utterly burdened beyond our strength that we despaired of life itself. Indeed, we felt that we had received the sentence of death. But that was to make us rely not on ourselves but on God who raises the dead.” 2 Corinthians 1:8-9.
God has been so good to us. From all the 7 billion people in the world today, he noticed me personally and performed a miracle. That is astounding to me, and I still am amazed that He chose to let me live and be healthy, inspite of all the doctors’ predictions.
Celebrating our 5th year wedding anniversary last summer. I like this picture much better than the first:)
“The Lord is like a father to his children, tender and compassionate to those who fear him. For he knows how weak we are; he remembers we are only dust. Our days on earth are like grass; like wildflowers, we bloom and die. The wind blows, and we are gone— as though we had never been here. But the love of the Lord remains forever with those who fear him. ” Psalm 103:13-18.
Life is so fragile and precious. I never want to forget those days in the ICU and be thankful for the second chance at life and make the most of the gift of life that God has given me.
A Couple On Purpose 