A MOTHER’S LOVE

Delivery-room bombshell sends two women reeling

Leukemia diagnosis turns new-baby joy into alarm

Leslie Harris cradles her newborn son, Ayden, in an oncology ward, where she was undergoing chemotherapy in September 2011.
Leslie Harris cradles her newborn son, Ayden, in an oncology ward, where she was undergoing chemotherapy in September 2011.

— First in a series.

She remembers the nurses crying, murmuring to one another as the doctor leaned over her, offering a diagnosis in a voice tinged with despair.

You have leukemia. We need to take the baby. You need to write a will now.

Leslie Harris — 39 weeks pregnant and sicker than she had ever been in her life — struggled to understand.

But this is my first baby. All I ever wanted was to be a mother.

The doctor’s next words pierced through her fever-induced fog. “Call your family,” he told her. Then he dropped to his knees. “Do you mind if I pray?”

THE PHONE CALL

With trembling fingers, Leslie, 29, called the strongest person in her family — her mother, Rhonda Harris, who had left the hospital while Leslie underwent a variety of tests. In the background, Leslie could hear the nurses talking about her. “Kidneys failing ... septic ” ... Wow, God, Leslie thought. All I wanted to do was to see my baby born. Then her mother’s cheery voice broke through the nurses’ worried whispers. “Hey, babe. How do you feel? “A little better,” Leslie replied. “Are you sitting down?”

“They’re going to take the baby, aren’t they?” Rhonda asked.

Earlier, when she’d taken Leslie to the emergency room, Rhonda assumed this would have to happen because of the severity of her daughter’s symptoms.

But Rhonda also had assumed that Leslie just had a nasty case of mononucleosis. Or maybe a bacterial infection.

That’s why Leslie’s next words caught Rhonda completely off-guard.

“I have to have a blood transfusion,” Leslie said.

Then, almost casually, she added: “And I have leukemia.” Rhonda struggled to keep her composure. “Have you called your dad?” she asked. “No, you call him. I want to call Lauren myself,” Leslie replied, referring to her older sister. When Rhonda’s husband, Billy, didn’t answer his phone, she texted him:

Call me call me call me

Minutes later, he called. “What’s wrong,” Billy asked. Rhonda burst into tears. “Meet me at the hospital,” she sobbed. “Leslie has leukemia.” Then Rhonda turned on her car’s emergency flashers and sped to her daughter’s side.

A MOTHER’S LOVE

R honda and her two daughters describe their relationship as unusually close.

Rhonda and Billy married young. He traveled a lot, so it wasn’t uncommon for the girls to clamber into bed with Rhonda during his long absences.

Leslie and Lauren grew up and went to school in Bryant. Even during their teen years, they trusted Rhonda with secrets normally kept from parents.

By the time they reached adulthood, Leslie and Lauren considered their mother one of their closest friends.

Lauren married and moved to Texas. Leslie remained in the Little Rock area.

But the tightly knit trio checked in on one another frequently.

Leslie saw or talked to Rhonda almost daily.

Their friends often joked about the family dynamic.

Put Rhonda and Leslie in the same room, and it’s difficult to get a word in. They talk over each other. Or they end up speaking in unison as one finishes the other’s sentences. Only a year apart, Lauren and Leslie are close, despite their many differences.

Leslie is impulsive, stubborn, always arguing to do things her way.

Lauren is contemplative, goal-oriented, always following the rules.

Leslie spent the past several years sampling careers — military, radio, television. Lauren is a registered nurse in Houston.

During her 20s, Leslie fell in love, married, divorced and then fell in love again.

In early 2011, she called Rhonda, trying to hold back her excitement when her mother answered. “Are you sitting down?” Leslie asked. “Well,” Rhonda said, laughing, “You’re either pregnant or you’re getting married.” Leslie retorted: “Well, it ain’t the second one.” Rhonda was elated. “I cannot imagine my life without you and Lauren,” she said. “If that baby makes you half as happy as you have made me, you will die the happiest woman in the world.” Rhonda knew how much Leslie had longed to be a mother. As a little girl, Leslie had insisted on using real diapers on her baby doll, which she named Melody.

Rhonda cringed every time Leslie cavalierly trashed a “dirty” diaper. But Leslie was adamant that Melody would wear only clean diapers.

Such memories slid through Rhonda’s mind as she made the frantic drive back to the hospital.

This was supposed to be the happiest day of Leslie’s life — the day she made the transition from daughter to mother.

IN DANGER OF DYING

Leslie dreaded making the call to Lauren. How do you tell your sister — who lives so far away — that you’re about to die, and that you’re going to have to exchange your forever farewells over the phone? Besides, the news had become even more grim. Doctors weren’t sure her baby would survive, either. Lauren was on duty when Leslie called. “I have leukemia!” Leslie blurted, forgetting that she had hoped to break the news gently. “Leukopenia?” Lauren asked. “Leukemia.” Leslie said again. “Toxemia?” This time, Leslie screamed into the phone: “No! Leukemia!” Lauren began crying. “I’m on my way,” she assured her younger sister. Lauren called Rhonda. Surely, Leslie had misunderstood. “Is she on something?” Lauren asked her mother. “Honey, I don’t think so,” Rhonda replied. She, too, was hoping that Leslie had gotten it wrong — that she was too feverish, too sick, too out of it — to comprehend what the medical staff had told her. Besides, Leslie had sounded so calm when she called. But when Rhonda returned to the hospital, a doctor pulled her aside. “You need to prepare yourself for a fatality,” he told her. “Who do you want to save?”

‘JUST A BUG’

Even the beginning of Leslie’s pregnancy was marked with panic.

When she started bleeding in the early months, the doctor who examined her said the baby had died and would have to be removed surgically from Leslie’s womb.

Leslie was devastated.

But on the day she was scheduled for the procedure, a sonogram technician detected a heartbeat.

Leslie would later learn that her body — already under attack by the leukemia — likely had tried to reject the baby. But at the time, Leslie simply thanked God for the “little miracle” that continued to grow inside her.

For the next several months, Leslie reveled in the pregnancy. She and her boyfriend made plans for their baby’s arrival, and Leslie excitedly shopped for maternity clothes. But in August 2011, Leslie began experiencing a strange set of ailments. Her gums swelled over her teeth. “Gingivitis,” her obstetrician said. Nausea set in. She couldn’t keep anything down. “It’s just a bug,” the doctor said. She ran sporadic fevers and woke up with drenching night sweats. And she was so, so tired. Rhonda went with Leslie to the obstetrician, determined to get some answers. “Rhonda, you’re being a worrywart,” the doctor said. “You think Leslie’s just being a wuss,” she retorted. But Rhonda knew Leslie was anything but. After the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, Leslie had joined the Army National Guard, where she trained to become part of the military police. In the early days, her fellow soldiers called her “Boot Camp Barbie,” a reference to Leslie’s slim build, long blond hair and high cheekbones.

But Leslie soon proved herself. When she broke her ankle, she continued training because she didn’t want to stop to let it heal and then have to start all over again.

Leslie was crushed when that broken ankle kept her from going to Iraq.

“No,” Rhonda told the obstetrician. “My daughter is not a wuss.”

The odd symptoms continued through August. By mid-September, they were more intense, and Leslie had more bad days than good.

Shortly before her baby shower in early August, Leslie went to a salon to get her roots touched up. During the appointment, a petite woman in a pink hat arrived with her husband in tow.

The woman, a cancer patient, had gone through chemotherapy. Her hair had just grown long enough to do something with.

“This is my one-year anniversary since losing all my hair,” the woman declared.

Leslie felt humbled.

Here she’d been complaining about all of her pregnancy ailments and this woman was a cancer survivor.

How lucky I am, Leslie thought. I’m getting one inch of roots done. She’s got one inch of hair, and she’s happy to have that.

RHONDA STEPS IN

Rhonda fretted almost daily over Leslie’s ever-changing symptoms.

This wasn’t just a tough pregnancy. Something else — a virus? A bacterial infection? — had seized control of her daughter’s body.

Leslie went to other doctors, hoping they could tell her what was wrong. But they, too, blamed the pregnancy for her symptoms.

On Sept. 20, 2011, Rhonda arrived at Leslie’s apartment, where she learned that Leslie — by then 39 weeks along — had canceled her obstetrician’s appointment because she was too weak to go.

Leslie’s face gleamed with perspiration. At the same time, she shivered and complained of being cold.

“I’ll never have another baby as long as I live,” she moaned.

Rhonda ushered Leslie into the shower. Leslie needed to keep that appointment even if Rhonda had to carry her to the car. But as Rhonda went to get a towel, Leslie stumbled back out of the bathroom. Wet, shivering and nude, she collapsed back into bed. “I can’t stand, Mom. I can’t stand,” she said. Rhonda got into bed with her daughter and held Leslie close to warm her. She felt Leslie’s lymph nodes and was alarmed by how large they were. “Something’s going on,” Rhonda said, mentally rifling through a variety of possible illnesses. Mono, maybe. Or strep throat. Or maybe the flu? At the obstetrician’s office, Rhonda pleaded for a diagnosis. Couldn’t the doctor see how sick Leslie was? Finally, Rhonda lost her cool. “I am done with you,” she said, pointing at the doctor. She wheeled around to face the nurse. “And I am done with you. Please call the ER and tell them we are on our way.”

THE DIAGNOSIS

At the emergency room, Leslie was blunt. “I believe I’m dying,” she told the medical staff. Hours later, a doctor confirmed her suspicions. Leslie had acute myeloid leukemia, a disease that usually strikes men older than 40. Its victims have abnormal cells inside their bone marrow. As those cells quickly grow, they replace healthy blood cells. Eventually, the bone marrow — which helps the body fight off infections — stops working. Symptoms include all of those that had surfaced during Leslie’s pregnancy: swollen gums, fatigue, fever. The final test to confirm the disease is bone-marrow aspiration, a painful process that involves using a needle with a suction tube attached. When the doctor arrived with the diagnosis, his demeanor suggested bad news.

Oh, God, he’s babying me,

Leslie thought. “You have leukemia,” he declared.

Well, thanks, James Bond,

Leslie thought. She hurled one question after another at the staff: “Does my son have it? Will he die? How much time do I have?”

THE DELIVERY

Leslie would need a C-section, the doctor told Rhonda. Because of her condition, there would be no form of anesthesia. No spinal block. No epidural. No painkillers. The surgery would take place at 9 a.m. the next day, Sept. 21, 2011. The baby, however, had other plans. In the early-morning hours, Leslie’s water broke. Rhonda ran alongside the gurney, one of her fingers gripped by Leslie’s hand. The doctor made the incision. Pain seared through Leslie’s lower abdomen. She wondered hazily if her stomach was on fire. But then she heard the unmistakable sound of an irate newborn. Leslie turned her head toward the cries. She could see her baby, Ayden, framed in a square of bright light. He sounds healthy, she thought, and then she passed out. When Leslie came to, she looked down at her stomach and panicked when she realized her baby bump was gone. “Where is he? Where’s Ayden?” “Over here,” someone said. And there he was, her sweet baby boy, cradled in his father’s arms. As Leslie stared in wonder, Ayden’s solemn gaze met hers. By this time, a crowd had filled the hospital room. As everyone marveled at Ayden’s tiny toes and fingers, Leslie rallied. He was fine. She had survived the delivery.

Thank you, Jesus.

But tension permeated the room, dulling the joy a new baby usually brings. “Um. Excuse me. I have cancer,” Leslie announced to the visitors, faking indignation over all the attention her new son was receiving. “I’m trying to see my grandbaby here,” Rhonda replied, laughing. “Oh, that’s how it is,” Leslie drawled. She mockingly pretended to be one of her visitors: “Hey, cute kid. Oh, good, you’re not dead.” The jokes subsided, however, when Leslie was moved out of the intensive-care unit five days later and realized her new status. She was no longer a new mom. She was a cancer patient. Ayden was going home. Leslie, meanwhile, would receive her first dose of chemotherapy. “OK, we need to take some control over this,” she told her family. She cut her long blond hair into a short bob. The poison wouldn’t take it from her. But nothing could ease the pain of Ayden’s departure. On that day, Leslie gave Rhonda firm instructions. “OK, Mom. Let me kiss him. Then just walk out. Keep on walking.” Rhonda’s heart ached. Taking away her daughter’s baby felt like an act of betrayal. But she followed orders. R honda gently lifted Ayden from Leslie’s arms and walked away. She didn’t look back. But she could hear her daughter’s sobs behind her, all the way down the hall.

MONDAY: Rhonda struggles to accept Leslie’s grim prognosis.

About this series

In writing this series, Cathy Frye relied on multiple interviews with Rhonda and Leslie Harris and with their family members and friends. Information about bonemarrow transplants came from the National Marrow Donor Program, Be The Match, DKMS and Colin Hall, who organized many of the marrow drives for Leslie.

Front Section, Pages 1 on 12/16/2012

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