My Daughter, My Love
I was almost 43 years old when Mackenzie was born. It had been a long road to her arrival but I knew it had definitely been worth the wait. What I didn’t know was how much longer and more difficult that road was to become in the year following her birth.
Like many other professional couples married in the 1970’s, my husband, an entertainment production manager and I, a professional photographer had put off having our children in pursuit of our careers. It wasn’t until 1984, after living in Manhattan and London, that we moved to bucolic Sussex County, New Jersey and welcomed our first child, a son named Jordy. Then in 1985 came Jake, red headed son #2. Two wonderful, active young boys gave me plenty of motherhood experience, but I kept feeling there was something missing; our family wasn’t quite complete. And this from a career woman who doubted she wanted ANY children, let alone three! I wanted to try for a daughter. And try we did - for six long years. Then one day while food shopping it suddenly hit me that I was “late”. I went to the Pharmacy Dept., bought a pregnancy test, visited the Ladie’s Room and right then and there, found out I was pregnant. Yippee!!
Not everyone shared my excitement though. My mother thought I was crazy to start all over again with a new baby at my age. I was considered a high risk pregnancy and sent to Colombian Presbyterian Hospital for CVS, a very early test to make sure there were no genetic problems with the fetus. As a byproduct, the gender of our baby was revealed. "Mrs.Clements you’ve got your baby girl!” I guess wearing all that pink underwear paid off!
Ten weeks postpartum I had a stroke…a blood clot to my brain while I was en route from New Jersey to San Francisco, via Los Angeles, to assist a close friend whose husband had died suddenly. Clem put me on the plane in Newark and then became alarmed when I didn’t arrive at my destination. It was as if I had simply vanished between one coast and the other.
I hadn’t vanished. I had spent the entire flight in the restroom drifting in and out of nauseating consciousness, seeing phantom colored lights blinking before my eyes, experiencing the most horrendous headache you can imagine and wondering why no one was helping me.
When the plane landed, I managed to stumble out and in very slurred speech asked for help from the flight attendants. They called paramedics who dismissed my distress, thinking I was drunk or stoned and suggested I “snap out of it” whereupon I started having grand mal seizures. Finally I was taken seriously and was transported by ambulance to a hospital. My last conscious thought was “I think I’m going to die.”
In one more twist of fate the hospital was one of two in the Los Angeles area that shared the same name but were in two different parts of the city. So it took 2 days for my husband to track me down. When I woke up I was just grateful that my pounding vice-like headache was gone.I had no idea where I was or how I had arrived there. Apparently my clothes had been cut off of me and while I was having grand mal seizures on the floor of LAX someone helped themselves to all of my cash. The most surprising part was that nobody checked my identification or bothered to call my “ in case of emergency” number. As I slowly ‘came round’ I looked down from my hospital bed and saw a stylish pair of pastel colored argyle socks. I looked up into the eyes of an incredibly handsome doctor. He reminded me of that ad, “I’m not a real doctor but I play one on TV.” By the look of things I figured I must be in Hollywood. And I was!!!
I became terribly depressed. The nuns and nurses in this Catholic hospital realized that with a name like Schwartz, I did not share their religious persuasion. They asked if I would be happier if I was transferred to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, the nearby world renowned Jewish hospital. I said it wouldn’t make any difference!!!!!
After two more weeks of treatment my husband flew out from New Jersey and shepherded me back home. I was treated with blood thinners and anti-seizure medication. I suffered from short term memory loss and (devastatingly for a photographer) I had blurred vision.The low point was when I realised I could barely take care of myself let alone our two little boys and our new baby daughter. It was so touching to see 8 year old Jordy and 7 year old Jake trying their very best to help me, but not being able to rely upon myself mentally shook me to my core. It took more than a year of tests, doctors, specialists and medications before I came to realize just how lucky I was and to stop fearing a recurrence.The aftermath of the stroke was occasional migraine headaches, some fainting spells, memory issues and times where I felt my mental wires were crossed. I experienced a certain loss of energy, understandable given the mid life juggling act of home, career, three children and a husband often away ‘on the road’
On the last page of Mackenzie’s baby book I had written I’m so lucky to have you and of course, your brothers as well! And from the perspective of many many years later, no matter what the circumstances or how long the wait, the gift of a child is exactly that.
