Dr. Maller’s Blog

Choosing pediatrics raised many an eyebrow among colleagues and friends, and still does on occasion. Most have trouble imagining how I stand the screaming kids all day (”What screaming?” I reply). Others can’t imagine putting up with all those (fill in your own adjective) mothers.

Truthfully, I’ve never regretted my choice. Kids do grow up; by 3 most are great patients, and many have stayed with me and are bringing me their children. Mothers continually inspire me, and this entry is about one of those mothers who taught me that a wounded baby can turn a mother into a lioness.

Celeste was delivered on a January morning in 1976. Her mom had been seeing me with her son since the year before. He has the distinction of being the only baby ever to urinate all over me (I’ve had many close calls). The reason was simple; I was too distracted by the dazzling mom and let down my guard. Baby Celeste was critically ill; she had hydrocephalus and spina bifida, far too severe to correct surgically. The diagnosis had not been made before birth as it would be now, but Mom worried all through the pregnancy and refused offers of a baby shower. Her intuition was right. I was returning from a ski trip to Idaho with my kids and missed the delivery.

By the time I entered the picture Celeste had been transferred to Childrens and Mom, who had not been permitted to see her baby, had signed herself out of Valley Presbyterian (after a cesarean!) and driven her Flower Power VW van to Hollywood to be with her. At the time I was quite active teaching there and held a clinical professorship at USC (I do to this day) so I was able to intervene on her behalf. The nursing staff tried to take over the baby’s care and keep Mom at bay. Mom knew the prognosis but demanded her rights, including nursing the baby with a pump and taking her home. I put myself on the line for her and got the staff to back off and let her do just that. Regional Center had demanded that she relinquish guardianship, and when she refused a psychiatrist was dispatched to “reason” with her. Perhaps in 2008 this doesn’t seem remarkable, but in 1976 parents didn’t challenge the system like that.

Mom was alone in her battle. Dad (20 years older and from a macho culture) warned her, “Don’t bring that thing into my house.” Also “That can’t be my baby or she’d be perfect.” Grandma’s contribution was to tell her G-d was punishing her for being such an evil child (I later learned that on the contrary she had been severely abused by her family for years as a child.)

Celeste clung to life for three months, getting enough nourishment to survive. Mom barely slept. I dropped by often to support her as I could. On one visit I was holding her hand when her husband walked in. His reaction was to accuse her of having an affair with me. Mom and I agreed that she needed to place the baby in institutional care. The best facility was Pacific State Hospital in Pomona. Their waiting list was a year; Celeste didn’t have a year. I contacted the Medical Director, a former colleague from Childrens, and got her in right away. I drove Celeste and Mom out there because no parent should ever have to make that trip alone. I was curious as well. The children’s ward was cheerful and immaculate. I asked my colleague how he and his staff did it, how they kept up their spirits amid dying and insensate children. His answer has stayed with me. “They elevate us, make us feel privileged because their lives are so innocent and they need us so much.”

No one ever questioned whose baby Celeste was, or whether her death was to be as comfortable and dignified as possible. There would be no “Code Blue”. Mom never stopped thanking me for my support. The experience strengthened my belief in the sanctity of all human life and in the proper role of a physician. A year and a half later a perfect daughter arrived, a gift Mom earned for her courage.

They say no good deed goes unpunished. Au contraire! That Mom is now my wife Cynthia, still dazzling and still inspiring.