June 16, 2000

Amid Father's Dark Prognosis, New Life.

My nurse let me know that our waiting room was full, but I needed to spend more time with Diane. This appointment was crucial.

Diane had been my patient for many years. A friendly, happy-go-lucky, down-to-earth person, she had a sincerity and warmth that made her very likable. I remember when she told me her news, "Doctor, I met a wonderful man. Scott's my age, 28, and we're getting married this summer. Hey, you never know, you may be delivering our baby someday." I was delighted for her.

Diane and Scott got married, as planned. With two successful careers, and a strong, loving relationship, they seemed destined to have a long, happy life together.

They had been married for only 7 months when suddenly the picture changed drastically. Scott's doctors discovered that he had metastatic colon cancer, stage IV, and the prognosis wasn't favorable. He would begin chemotherapy within a month. He and Diane were devastated. How could this be happening to them?

When they came to see me, the strain of the diagnosis was deeply evident on their faces. "Scott and I were going to wait to have kids. But now we want to get pregnant as soon as possible," Diane told me. She knew that once the chemotherapy began, Scott's sperm could be affected. If we are successful, I realize that I'll be raising our child as a single parent, but at least a part of Scott will live on. When I look in my child's eyes, I will be reminded of Scott." A solemn Scott assured me that he wanted this too. They both had tears in their eyes.

On the very day that Scott was to begin his chemotherapy, he came in with Diane for a pregnancy test. I could barely contain my excitement when I told them, "The test is positive." They were thrilled.

Diane's pregnancy was progressing well. But after six weeks of chemotherapy, Scott's cancer had spread. It was a harsh contrast to see Scott growing weaker while their baby grew stronger. I have often thought of life as a continuum: as loved ones die, new loved ones are born.

Scott had been discharged from the hospital to spend his remaining time at home.

Diane was keeping a vigil at his bedside and was neglecting her prenatal visits. I understood how she felt, but she and her baby needed care too. I made a promise to her: If she came in for a checkup, I would ultrasound the fetus and make a videotape that she and Scott could watch together. At nineteen weeks' gestation, she finally came in and I videotaped the fetus.

We spent a long time looking at the baby's face, at the beating heart, the little legs kicking, the tiny hands and feet. At one point Diane exclaimed, "The baby's praying." And indeed the hands seemed to be in a praying position.

Diane took the videotape home with her and she and Scott watched it together that same evening. The next day she called to thank me. "Scott's been in so much of a daze the past several weeks that focusing long enough even to read a simple greeting card was too difficult for him. But he watched the videotape, all thirty-five minutes of it, completely entranced. He couldn't take his eyes away from it. He kept saying how beautiful our baby was and how lucky he was that he could see our child. I hadn't seen Scott so alert and intent in weeks. We were together as a family: father, mother and baby. I feel that Scott truly achieved peace of mind."

She paused, crying. I cried too when she said, "And then, in the middle of the night, Scott died."

John S. Weitzner, M.D.

is an obstetrician-gynecologist who practices at

Rush-Presbyterian-St. Luke's Medical Center in Chicago

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