June 2017
Hayley was home from her first year at WWU. Even if you did not see her, you knew she was there because her stuff was everywhere! All of her dorm belongings were piled up. We had about 3 weeks until her surgery. Hayley loved home. She was all about her home and her bedroom. This always made me happy. As a child I had moved often with my family. I went to a different school every year until High School. I was adamant with Scott that when or if we had kids it was very important to me that they stay at the same schools for their entire childhood. It bordered on obsessive. We bought our second home at the end of 1998 when Hayley was 6 months old. We thought that was the place. It was a brand new house and the community, Snoqualmie Ridge, was brand new. We were one of the first dozen houses built. We had been promised that the elementary school would be built in the neighborhood within 5 years. This was perfect, Hayley would start kindergarten blocks from home. This was our goal.
The world held their breath as the calendar rolled on New Year’s Eve 1999. Scott and I wanted a second child. We had made the decision that after 10 years at Washington Mutual I was going to leave. I could not work the schedule or hours required and have two kids. My upward climb had become stagnant. This was such a hard decision. I had started as a teller when I was 19 in 1990. Like so many of the senior managers I worked for, I thought I would be there 40 years and retire with a spectacular party and my name on a building. That job paid for Business School. It was a natural decision to accept the offer of the management training program starting within a month of graduation. I wanted to go to Law School. But it felt like an impossible decision to be 23 and be presented with a well paying job with a well defined career path. Law School was expensive. My academic scholarship had ended and continuing to work full time was not going to work for Law School. The last three years of college I had scraped by working two jobs to get to the end. I did not get to enjoy school like I always had. Scott worked selflessly for me to finish. We met when I was 19 and he was 24. Student Loans were not an option. So I chose my path.
When I started working at WAMU they had 40 branches in the state of Washington, when I left they had hundreds of branches in multiple states due to acquisitions. The growth was exciting. As a financial center Manager I had a front row seat to some pretty spectacular change and growth. I knew the CEO, my opinions were valued and I truly believed that I could climb the corporate ladder as quickly as I wanted. Scott also had joined me at WAMU working in the “back office” in various business analyst roles. He had found his thing and was good at it. I started at a time with very limited technology. We used what really was a glorified tap writer. 50% of what we did was actually on a real typewriter. Not only did the bank physically grow frantically, we lived one of the most significant decades involving technology change. This is why they call us Gen X. This was not going from an iPhone 6 to an 11. This was using savings passbooks, balancing with our brains with a calculator and being so in awe when we got a fax machine. Our phones had cords that kept you from walking more than three feet while using it. As the youngest it quickly fell to me to be the one to learn the new shit and teach it to the rest of my coworkers. I loved this leadership role. I loved to teach. The more I did the more competent I would become. I remember the management standing around behind me while I introduced them to “email”. The system we started with was called Wizard Mail. You would say “I will Whiz you”. Of course we always giggled. We went from thick files of paperwork being hand delivered to the underwriters in downtown Seattle to automated decisions to lend hundreds of thousands of dollars to a customer. If you recall this unprecedented growth and lending frenzy eventually led to Washingon Mutual’s demise.
As the nineties ended, I was a 28 year old Mom of a super fun 18 month old. My husband was an amazing father. He may have been one of the original examples of a true “girl dad”. I had stayed home for 3 months when she was born and he stayed home for 3 months. “Paternity Leave” was not a thing. He cried the day we took her to daycare and he went back to work. It broke my heart. So many times I almost said “you stay home, I will be the bread winner”. But I just couldn’t do it. She was way too much fun. I knew that I would grow to resent him. We compromised, Scott worked four tens and I worked Saturdays so I could have a day off during the week. This allowed us to only have to pay for daycare three days a week. My job was demanding. It was “exempt”. Meaning you are going to work way more than 40 hours a week, you will always be responsible and available when that branch was open. I even had a pager! After ten years I finally admitted reluctantly that I had reached as far as I was going to go at the bank. I denied that my failure to continue to move up the ladder had anything to do with being young and a woman. A woman could do anything. I really truly did not understand that most of the men in the power positions had started their own journey at a time when women were not in the board room. They were willing to tolerate us but not quite ready to promote us. Women could not even have their own checking account when these guys started their careers at the Bank. It just did not occur to me that if I worked hard and had success I wouldn’t meet my goals. Sexual Harassment was a new concept. We took required classes in the late nineties. You really did not absorb the information that Human Resource Professionals were trying to pound into your heads. Their audience was Men that had been “harassing”W omen for their entire careers and the Women, we sort of shook our heads and thought, do you really think I am going to report my boss to you for complimenting me more often on my legs than on my ROI. Do you think I am going to risk my career for a new concept that the men were not ready to hear? Nope.
So there I was sitting in my bed nursing 18 month old Hayley as I watched the ball drop on what may be the end of the world. I had a flashlight ready in case the power went off. Scott had to work that night in case the bank’s computer systems blew up. Which is actually funny, what was he going to do? Hold the fire extinguisher? I remember speaking out loud to sleepy Hayley at that time. I told her two things were about to change. Work was no longer my priority and she was done breast feeding.
In addition to some how coming home with more stuff than she started with in a 100 square foot dorm room, Hayley had decided that it was time for a big girl room. She wanted a full makeover to start her recovery and her new life with a body she didn’t hate. So we moved everything she owned into our “office, bonus room, storage room”. It has always been known as the Blue room. As long as we live here it will always be painted blue. We picked out a new bed. We made lots of fun trips to Homegoods. She chose paint and poor Scott spent many hours and coats covering walls that were either Chocolate Brown with a neon orange stripe or lime green. He had painted that room no less than 5 times in 15 years. Now it was a mature light Gray paint, Kensington Gray. She asked for a comfortable chair in her room instead of teenage lounge seating. She wanted a place for us and her friends to sit while they visited her during her recovery and took care of her every need. She piled her collection of pillow pets in the blue room, that collection was done. The magnet wall paint with the word-magnets to write poetry on was covered with a bookcase and a new tv. Of course, no poetry ever happened on that wall, just teenage versions of mad libs. New art that spelled out the word “HOME” was hung above her bed. Pillows and art that said one of two things was lovingly placed. “You are my Sunshine” or “Love you More”. She loved her new space.
Our plan was while she lounged in bed after her surgery I would start bringing in stuff from the Blue room for her to decide, Keep or Donate. It was only recently and only because of our pending remodel that the blue room was cleaned out. Most of the items are in bins in the garage or were shoved in her untouched room. Her stuff is everywhere in that room. Her Ikea laundry hamper with a few outfits still sits untouched. I am faced with a deadline, I will have to go in there and do what needs to be done before mid August. I wonder if her clothes in that hamper will still smell like her.
The week before her surgery I saw the perfect item in my newsfeed. Those that knew her cannot count how many times they heard her favorite phrase. Not really a phrase but a life motto. I don’t think a day went by that I did not hear her say “I fucking hate people”. It was her snarky response or answer to pretty much anything annoying. She worked at our local café as a hostess and table busser. I guarantee that a shift did not go by without that coming out of her mouth. I had found a pillow. Not any pillow but one of those new mermaid pillows that were all the rage. It looked like a bunch of sequins sewed in rows. These sparkly pieces made an image. The magic happened when you took your hand and rubbed them the other direction. The image would change. The pillow I ordered from this thing Etsy that I had never heard of, looked like a pretty floral pillow. When changed it looked like an old fashioned needlepoint pillow you would find at Grandma’s. This one said “I fucking hate people”. I had planned to surprise her with it but it was delayed when I found it was coming from the UK. So I sent her a screenshot. Her response was “I have to have that”. Mine was “it has already been ordered”. Sadly when I left her in Seattle Cherry Hill to save the lives of others, the package had arrived at the house, she never saw it in person.
We spent every day together leading up to July 11th. I was not working. She asked me to spend the summer with her. I agreed I could wait to go back to a new job in the Fall. We made so many plans including time at Seabrook after her post surgery check up. I was excited to show her this place that my cousin and I had discovered in May. I showed her pictures, she reluctantly would say it looked nice but it was no Cannon Beach. I told her it was closer and if she wanted ocean time it would be in this state as I was not comfortable going too far away from her surgeon in case there was an issue with her healing. I had no clue how wrong I was. Her breast healing was never going to be an issue.
The week leading up to her surgery she asked me one of many questions about the procedure. She wanted reassurance from me. I don’t recall where we were. My memory of the conversation feels like we were sitting close. She was unusually quiet. She asked me “Mom, can I die from this surgery?”.
Whoa, where was this coming from? I am not one to lie to my children. Hayley had a low tolerance for bullshit. I looked her straight in the face and I said “No, Hayley, you are not going to die.” I believed it with all my heart. Always one to insist on everything be a learning opportunity, I explained that surgeries always had risks. I had at least a dozen in my lifetime. I did tell her that it was always a possibility but leaving our house every day had risk of death. I explained that a lot of the risk was from the general anesthesia and I pointed out that she was having an epidural. I had never heard of someone dying from an epidural. I asked her do you trust your surgeon? She didn’t hesitate, absolutely he is the best. We both agreed that we did not think he would ever risk his patients lives. We believed it and it was the truth, that this was the reason he chose Epidurals. Lower risk and easier recovery with less complications. Google “can I die from an Epidural?”. A common sentence you might see is “the fact that anesthetic textbooks don’t even mention statistics of fatalities related to epidurals probably means that such an outcome is exceptionally rare”. I think about that conversation all the time. What if I had given a difference answer? What if I had dug a little more and found out she was having second thoughts? We could have delayed it a month and would not have had the same outcome. Her entire death was a string of “what ifs”, every single day something could have and should have been done to prevent her death. It was a string of negligence. I knew things were not going well, nothing felt right. I left messages for every doctor I knew that worked in that hospital and some that didn’t. I used her my chart and messaged, “We are in the Issaquah hospital. Hayley is not doing well and I feel we are not getting the care she needs, can you walk over to see her and help us please I am desperate”. Most did not respond, the ones that did said “the hospitalist is in charge of her care, trust that they will figure it out, I can’t get involved”. Really? Her surgeon got involved and he didn’t even have practicing rights there. I was beside myself pounding on nurses station. Why didn’t I walk my ass over to their office, two floor ups, and not leave until someone helped?
On the morning of the surgery, Hayley was so nervous. I thought she was going to back out and I was so nervous that I was fine with that. She had one other surgery in her life and I nearly lost my mind waiting for them to bring her back to her room. I am not good at relinquishing control in general and really bad at doing it when it involved my children. Scott drove us into Seattle. I remember that she wore sweat pants, no bra, what was the point and my favorite zip up track jacket we had gotten on our last Disneyland trip. It was constantly being “borrowed”. I told her once, that is my favorite, that is not yours. She said, I am not taking it I am borrowing it, do you mind if I borrow it? I laughed and asked what was the difference between taking it or borrowing it. She said if I take it, it lives in my closet. If I borrow it I hang it backup in your closet or put it in your laundry basket. Made sense. It made me feel good that she liked borrowing my jacket because it made her feel good. She said wearing it was like having a hug from me. I remember rolling my eyes and telling her that was excellent bullshit, keep it up.
We checked in. She chose to sit on a couch with Scott and I on either side of her. She was not on her phone. She was nervous. When her name was called she jumped. We were led to the back of the surgery center into an exam room. The nurse showed Scott and I a family waiting room just out a door in the hallway where we could wait during the surgery. She indicated that Hayley should undress, put the gown on open down the front and cover her hair. Scott quickly backed out and said he would wait outside. She was no longer the child that walked around the house butt naked every chance she got. I honestly don’t remember when Scott came back in. He says he was there when we met with the anesthesiologist. I must have gotten him. But I don’t remember him being there and I know he did not speak. Hayley and I wanted him to feel a part of this “life altering” decision. She never wanted him to feel left out. Before anyone came back in, she snapped her signature selfie to document the day. I don’t know why but that photo, she chose to make it black and white before she posted it to social media. That was her last post, that was our last photo together while she was alive. It is both a beautiful and heartbreaking photo.
Her surgeon came in. He was happy to see her. She undressed and he quietly started drawing on her chest with a sharpie. It tickled. She was nervous but not shy. We both saw how focused he was and how much of a perfectionist he really was. He was using tools to measure that looked like what an architect might use. He would make sure they were even and absolutely exactly what she would be happy with. There was not much to talk about, we had asked a lot of questions at the Pre-Op appointment. He asked if she had any questions and was ready to feel better. She was ready. He told us we would meet the anesthesiologist next. I asked who it was and had he worked with that person before. That is when he told us he normally has his own nurse anesthetist, but she had already left on vacation. His own summer vacation was starting that week. I had never heard of a nurse anesthetist. Google: A nurse anesthetist is an advanced practice registered nurse (APRN) certified and trained to administer anesthesia for surgery, labor and delivery, emergency care or pain management.
I will always wish she had been there that day. She had been doing upper thoracic epidurals for 20 years. That is what she did every day she worked. I had no idea that the epidural Hayley would have would be any different than what I happily had to give birth to her.
Her surgeon left and said he would see her soon. He squeezed her shoulder and briefly squeezed my hand. I had 100% confidence in him. As we waited, I remember her looking down her gown and making comments about what she thought all the drawing meant, she asked is that permanent? I laughed. A knock on the door. This is the first knot in the string. Every day, if ‘A’ had happened instead of ‘B’, Hayley would be alive. If this knot didn’t stay tied the thread would slide through the needle. He introduced himself. My first thought was “shit he is young”. I remember thinking I was getting old if a doctor was named “x”. It was a young name, it was kind of a fashionable name. I actually said to my friends group chat that day “his name was X”. Which prompted a couple of the ladies to ask how old was he. I remember teasing Hayley after the meeting how good looking he was. Kind of like a Ken Doll. She rolled her eyes, “Fuck, Mom, he is old like you”, grinning as she said it. Always trying to push my buttons. I am not sure if she ever knew that she could not push my buttons and when I acted offended I was always feigning. I pointed out he was certainly younger than me. I was trying to distract her. The tension in the room had skyrocketed during his visit. I know that I told my friends chat that he was “Hot”. I said “hot” not “good looking” or “handsome”. Do you know why I know I wrote “Hot”? Because during the trial on cross examination of me and every chance they got, all of the defense lawyers put an exhibit on the screen. It was a screenshot of my messages that day. They always made sure that image included the line that said “He is Hot”. Why? Were they trying to embarrass me? Were they trying to make it seem like I was not being serious that morning so I could not have possibly made such a detailed request of the doctor? I don’t know. I don’t give a fuck. The first time was humiliating. Every time they showed that text after I held my head up and stared straight at the screen. Sometimes I may have slightly smiled thinking how funny Hayley would find this particular moment. I would look at him and think, you are not so hot anymore, you look like you have not slept in five years. I wonder why?
He had introduced himself and shook her hand. He started to ask her questions. I tried very hard not to answer for her, she was an adult, I did not need to speak for her. It didn’t take very long for her to look at me with her heart in her throat. I asked her if she wanted me to answer the questions for her. She nodded. This didn’t seem to surprise him, she was clearly in that weird time of life where you are not a child but you are really not an adult. He had asked her if she had any concerns about the epidural. He had not bothered to explain to her any details about an epidural but it wouldn’t surprise anyone that I had explained it to her in detail prior to that morning. She had answered “needles”.
I explained to him that she was really concerned about Fainting. He immediately interrupted me and said “she won’t faint”. I thought “arrogant”. But I continued explaining that Hayley had a history of having a Vasovagal response with needles.
A Vasovagal syncope (vay-zoh-VAY-gul SING-kuh-pee) occurs when you faint because your body overreacts to certain triggers, such as the sight of blood or extreme emotional distress.
I shared with him that she had fainted multiple times when getting blood drawn or most recently getting an IV when she had her wisdom teeth out. We had already discussed this with the surgery nurse during her pre-op appointment. She also had blown us off and assured us she would be there the entire time and it wouldn’t happen. I remember saying well that was what the nurse told me at the Wisdom Teeth when I suggested she put the arms up on both side of the chair. I may have said I told you so to her when I had to catch Hayley as she slid off the right side of the chair. That nurse seemed personally offended by the fact that Hayley fainted. (yes feedback was given to the doctor)
Again Dr. Ken Doll indicated it was no big deal. Nope. Not good enough. I explained to HIM that I was familiar with the position she would be in when he administered the epidural. I knew she would be sitting up rounded forward and that it was so important that she hold very still as he slid a needle into her spinal canal. Trust me I was familiar with this rodeo, twice. Again, he blew me off. Nope. Again.
I asked, how will you handle it if she faints? I think he realized this was not going to be a drive by meeting like he was used to. It was obvious he expected it to go like this. “Hi I am Dr. Ken Doll, I am doing your epidural today, do you have any questions, please sign here”. Remember a dozen surgeries here, I was very familiar with the drive by meeting with the anesthesiologist. It often comes across as arrogant and confident. Not necessarily a bad thing. But he clearly had not met me before or dealt with any patient and their mother.
Hayley knew I was getting annoyed, she was not smiling anymore. I pressed him, “what happens if she faints?”. He may have realized that my chair blocked his exit because he finally addressed the fucking question. He told me, if she fainted he would abort that attempt quickly as to not do any damage. I looked at him like “And?”. Nothing. Let me be more specific Ken. “Will you then switch to general anesthesia?”. Remember as a frequent flyer in the surgery ward, I really did not have trepidation about general. I had not had a bad experience. An epidural for surgery was new and scary to me. I had pressed upon Hayley before that day that she needed to try her absolute hardest not to faint and hold perfectly still or she could get hurt. Here is exactly what he said. I have no doubts about my ability to recall this conversation verbatim.
“If that is to happen, which I am sure it won’t, I would have to lay her down on her side to perform the epidural. This is not ideal” insert a long pause, “And why is it not ideal?”. Am I going to have to drag every word out of this fucking guy. Is he an anesthesiologist because he prefers to put people to sleep to talking to them? Seriously, if you have followed my writing at all it should not surprise you that all of this is exactly what goes on in my heard. Yes, it is exhausting.
He says, “because the vertebrae up high where the epidural would be needed are closer together therefore the space I have to thread the needle in is smaller, laying down makes the space even smaller, by rolling forward in a sitting position you are opening that space and therefore laying down would be more risky”. Insert alarm bells in my head. Hayley looked green. Again he said “but I am sure that is not going to happen”. NOT. A. GOOD. ENOUGH. ANSWER.
Here is what I said on the morning of July 11, 2017 and in my deposition over and over AND when I testified in the recent wrongful death trial. Interestingly his recollection of this exact same conversation changed three different times during HIS deposition which I was present for AND in trial. All times under oath. Just to be clear I have watched this man, a man responsible for my child’s death, LIE under oath directly to my face. More than once. More than one different lie.
I said “Dr. Ken Doll that is not going to happen because if Hayley faints while sitting up YOU are NOT to proceed with a risky attempt while she is laying down. YOU are to come back and talk to Scott and myself about other options. We would be willing to consider general anesthesia at that point.” Hayley nodded. I was not yelling, I was not speaking in a negative manner, I was not questioning his credentials. It was just stated if “A” happens you must do “B”. I know I was nice about it I know it was a statement not a question. I remember being a little shocked at my firmness. I had never advocated like that for myself. But it is no surprise that I was not going to just “trust” when it came to my child. I was also modeling behavior for Hayley. This is how you advocate for yourself, are you taking notes babe?
His response? Did he argue? Was he arrogant? No, he was not.
He said and I quote “Duly Noted”.
Again, it’s me.
“Are we on the same page?”
I looked between him and Hayley; both said yes. She signed the consent form. The knot was tied.
