Dearest Doreen,

On Friday night, November 24, 1989, you were an OB/GYN resident at Saint Barnabas, and I was in (false) labor. I was 23, nervous, and completely agog for the arrival of our firstborn. Our best friends were due to arrive at our apartment on Center Grove Road in Randolph, but the (false) labor gods clearly had other plans for us.

I remember telling our downstairs neighbor, Donna Grumka, to let Trish and John in. There was no way that my nugget was arriving that night, and I knew, with every degree of certainty, that we’d be back to open the Kanga Rocka Roo and the Snugli baby carrier that Trish and John bought us. Jewish “law” says you can’t open gifts before the baby is born healthy, but I figured that 39 weeks was far enough along to break a little rule.

When we arrived at the hospital and I was all checked in, the most adorable, brilliant, kind, and comforting strawberry-blonde-haired goddess told me that she was the resident who would be monitoring me and assessing my progress. This goddess understood that I was just a baby having a baby, and she told me that she delivered her first when she, too, was quite young. As she checked to see if I was dilated, she so gently let me know that I wasn’t dilated and that what I was experiencing were Braxton Hicks contractions. I asked her if she knew how long until I delivered my heart, and she said she was pretty certain it would be sometime that weekend. While excited beyond measure, I needed to know that she would be on call, as in the hour that we spent together, I knew I was in the presence of greatness. She promised that she would be, and she sure was.

Dr. DeGraaff (Doreen), you were there when, after a weekend of back labor, Mike Milano brought my baby girl, Marissa Faith, into the world at 7:21 AM on Monday, November 27th. Four centimeters was all I would dilate, so he performed a C-section to safely deliver her to us. Truth be told, he actually performed a figurative defibrillation on me, because that was the day my heart officially began beating.

I remember you visiting me in my room, and you held my gorgeous girl with such love. At that point, I think you had only had your son, Christopher I believe you told me his name was, and I looked at you with even higher regard, knowing that you balanced motherhood and being a doctor.

We met again when Marissa was a teenager; her skin was heavily blemished, and one of her doctors thought she might have polycystic ovaries. You ran some tests, prescribed some medicine, and promised us that, when she was ready to have a baby, you would immediately put her on Clomid. We arrived at your office with so many questions and so much trepidation, but, true to who you are, we left with our fears assuaged and our hope turbocharged.

From the time Marissa was not quite 16, all the way until she was 24, she endured 8 surgeries and 13 hospital stays. The Ulcerative Colitis diagnosis in 2005 led to the removal of her colon in 2010, and while most girls her age were sporting Longchamp or Coach bags, my warrior wore an ostomy bag for a year. Fortunate enough to have the pioneer of the J-Pouch as her surgeon, Roo’s bag was reversed after a year. What a nightmarish year it was, and the blockages that ensued the next 4 years were pulverizing. I’m sure you know much of this, as you have been her doctor for quite some time. I’m not sure if you read the blog, however; http://www.marissasurgery.wordpress.com is where to find it.

Dr. DeGraaff, Marissa and I have been estranged for some time, which you probably already know. You probably also know that she is married and a mom herself now. Though I don’t even know her second daughter’s name, and I only know her first daughter’s name because a former friend of mine inappropriately and hurtfully shared the information with me, I am so grateful that she was able to conceive, carry, and deliver healthy babies. While I don’t know it for a fact, I’d bet the farm that you played an enormous role in her dream coming true, and I will forever be enamored of and indebted to that strawberry-blonde-haired goddess who was there when my dream came true.

May your retirement bring you all you so richly deserve, and may you enjoy the magic that you have brought to so many. Congratulations!

Marla