I have posted about my good friend before. She is the friend who was a ROCK for me during my infertility years, the friend that was there for me through every single miscarriage, failed cycle, and finally, successful cycle. She is the friend who called me, who sent cards, who forced me to eat after we lost Gummy Bear. She cried with me, prayed with me, and then. . . she laughed and celebrated with me. She was the first of my friends to hold newborn Will. She is the friend who gave me our beautiful high chair as a gift.
She has been trying to have a baby for nearly two years, experiencing two heartbreaking miscarriages, and being diagnosed with "unexplained" infertility. She was just about to start her suppression cycle in February when she hurt her knee skiing. She stayed off of it for a few days, tried ice, tried NSAIDs, tried ignoring it, but realized it was a serious injury and, as she is a runner, she knew she needed to have it looked at.
She didn't just "hurt" her knee, she tore her ACL. Her doctor recommended getting the surgery to repair it prior to becoming pregnant, as pregnancy and a torn ACL aren't a great combination.
The last thing she wanted to do was a surgery that would delay her IVF cycle, but through the miracle of great timing, her surgeon had an opening in his schedule and she was able to have the surgery done AND would still be able to proceed with her IVF cycle as planned.
She had the surgery two weeks ago. She started Lupron a week ago.
I talked to her this morning. She seemed fine. She was upbeat, excited to really be feeling better, excited to be moving through the Lupron without too many ill effects, looking forward to getting this IVF cycle really underway and finally becoming a Mommy!
An hour after we got off the phone, my phone rang again. As we often talk more than once a day, I thought nothing of it. I answered it and my world came to a screeching halt.
It was not her on the other end of the line.
It was her husband.
Calling from the ICU.
She had suffered a pulmonary embolism and had coded already at the hospital. Her vitals and prognosis were very poor.
They don't have family in the immediate area and he was all alone. I was forty five minutes away, but I turned my car around and drove as carefully and quickly as possible.
When I arrived, she was coding again.
We sat. We cried. We prayed.
She managed to make it through a procedure that was able to remove 20% of one of the blood clots. But there are so many that remain.
She is in a medically induced coma, on life support. They have done what can be done. Now, we wait. We wait and pray that she doesn't throw another clot, because her body can't take another surgery at this point. We wait and pray that she lives.
I know life isn't fair.
I know that.
But this cannot be it. This cannot be the ending that my friend gets. It just can't.
I know not all of my readers pray. But if you do, please. Please pray.
And if you don't, then please do whatever you do in times like this.