This Family of Mine: What It Was Like Growing Up Gotti (24 page)

Later on, Carmine went into the casino to gamble—while I made a beeline for the exclusive shops in the hotel lobby. When I returned to the suite, I was surprised to find Carmine there, sitting on the sofa with his head cradled in his hands. When he looked up and saw my arms filled with shopping bags, he nearly collapsed.

When he announced that he’d lost $17,000,
I
nearly collapsed! When he told me he had “absolutely no money left,” I really did fall on the floor! We didn’t even have enough money for breakfast the next morning. I was sick with worry. Carmine begged me not to call my father, so I called my brother John instead. He tried his best to calm me down and promised me he would wire some money to keep us comfortable for the rest of the trip. Then he warned me to “keep Carmine away from the tables.”

Instead of wiring the money, my brother shocked both of us by showing up in person the next day. I was so surprised when I opened the door and saw him staring back at me. More shockingly, standing next to him was Johnny Alite. He was someone I definitely wasn’t happy to see, especially on my honeymoon.

The next few days were extremely awkward for me, to say the least. Everywhere I turned Alite was there. He looked for every
chance he could to be alone with me, even if it was just to walk me down to the lobby. I let him know I wasn’t amused by his obvious crush, and I assured him my husband wouldn’t be too thrilled either. If Carmine found out about Alite’s interest in me, he would surely break him in two. This seemed to put him off, at least temporarily. Later that night Carmine and I had dinner plans so my brother and Alite took off for the casino. By the time I got out of the shower, my husband had left the suite and followed them downstairs. I was furious. I waited for over an hour and a half, and when he finally returned he had that same look of dread on his face he had when he had lost all our money days earlier. It didn’t take me long to realize that whatever relief money John had brought to Vegas was now gone. In fact, Carmine, my brother, and Alite took turns blaming each other. This time I was furious and let
everyone
know it. I slammed the door in their faces and cried myself to sleep. The next morning I wasn’t surprised to learn my brother and Alite had caught an early morning flight back to New York. My brother didn’t even say good-bye. He was that embarrassed.

Carmine and I fought all the way back to New York. I wouldn’t even sit next to him on the plane. I had the flight attendant change my seat and sat on the opposite side of the aircraft. When we landed I returned home to my parents’ house. I told my father our house was not yet ready, but my mother knew better. It was that night I realized I’d definitely made a mistake by marrying Carmine Agnello.

I spent three nights at my parents’ house in my old familiar room. Carmine stayed at his mother’s house. I was anxious and depressed and didn’t know how to tell my father that he had been right. I worked myself into such a frenzy I made myself sick. After I couldn’t even keep clear broth down my mother took me to the doctor. That’s when I found out I was pregnant.

I
’ll never forget my father’s face when I announced that I got pregnant on my honeymoon and I was going to have a baby. His expression was a mask of excitement and fear. He was thrilled about the prospect of having a second grandchild on the way. My sister was due in June and I was due in late August. But at the same time, he was worried sick my heart wouldn’t sustain the rigorous trials of pregnancy, and especially the birth. It didn’t help matters that my mother was also concerned and shared this openly in front of the entire family that Sunday in early January. Ironically, Mom recently watched the movie
Steel Magnolias
starring Julia Roberts and Sally Field. For anyone who hasn’t seen the movie, it’s a tear-jerker about a young girl (Roberts) battling Type 1 diabetes. She gets pregnant and, against her doctor’s advice, has a baby—and
dies just after childbirth. Mom went on to tell Dad all about the movie.

The pregnancy really pushed my father’s fears into high gear. He asked me all kinds of questions—“Does the doctor think pregnancy is wise in your condition?” and “Do you feel strong enough to go through this?” Lastly he said, “Let Mama call the doctor in the morning and schedule all the necessary tests.” As if I wasn’t capable of doing this myself?

His last comment sent me over the edge. For the first time in weeks I was over-the-moon with joy, and now every ounce of happiness was being drained by the second. I wanted the baby so badly. Ever since the doctor had mentioned I might not be able to have children, it was all I thought about and it made me realize just how badly I wanted to be a mother.

The pregnancy did not go well. Even though the doctors hovered over me like hawks and I had two standing appointments each month as opposed to the normal one, I began spotting from the early weeks after conception. When the bleeding continued for days and then weeks, the doctor ordered me to bed. I was to remain there for the better part of the day and night, only getting up for meals or to go to the bathroom.

The doctor examined me about six months into the pregnancy, and seemed very concerned about the size and position of the baby. She hospitalized me for a battery of tests. I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes and my cardiologist was called in. He found that the pregnancy was placing too much of a strain on my already damaged heart. The increase in blood flow commonly associated with pregnancy was proving to be too much for my heart to handle. I was kept in and out of the hospital for nearly a month. After I was released I remained bedridden again, only this time I was only allowed to be on my feet to go to the bathroom.

By early summer the weather was still showing no signs of
warming up and each morning felt cold and damp. One Monday morning I woke up colder than usual and climbed out of bed to get a heavier blanket. While I was up, I went to the bathroom. It was early and still dark outside. I don’t know why I didn’t put the light on. Lord knows I’ve gone over this question in my mind for years, wondering if it would have made a difference. I walked into the bathroom and didn’t see the small puddle of water left over from my husband’s bath just a half hour earlier. I slipped and fell down. I remember feeling nothing at first, then a sharp and sudden pain shooting across my abdomen. It felt as if my stomach and the baby were caught in a viselike grip and then released. Though the pain was gone I was still afraid to move. So I sat for a few minutes and tried to catch my breath.

The anxiety slowly passed and I felt normal again. As I reached up for the door handle I saw the bright red stain on my nightgown and I knew something was seriously wrong. I crawled out of the bathroom and before I dialed 911, I called my mother. I wasn’t making any sense. I was hysterical and breathing fast and hard. I shouted, “Something’s wrong, Mom. Something’s very wrong.”

My mother called the ambulance and I was taken to Long Beach Memorial Hospital. I was taken in through the emergency room on a stretcher.

My mother and husband arrived first and I started crying with relief at the sight of their worried faces. The doctor came in and announced I would need to be admitted because I’d had my show (a mixture of blood and fluid that preludes labor) and could be going into labor soon. He told us that the baby and I were fine. After a few tests and several uneventful hours, he released me.

The moment I arrived home I called my regular doctor. She was very upset that I had been released. She was also suspicious about the show and the fate of my pregnancy. She ordered me to meet her at Long Island Jewish Medical Center, where I was scheduled
to give birth when the due date arrived. I was immediately admitted and told I was to stay overnight, just for observation. If nothing happened in the next twenty-four hours the doctor would release me the following afternoon.

I had a peaceful night and slept until nine the next morning. When I woke the nurse was standing by my bed, waiting to take my vitals. I asked if I could use the bathroom first. As I got out of bed, I suddenly felt strange. The room seemed like it was spinning. There was a quick sharp pain in my lower abdomen and then a gush of water. I was mortified and ran to the bathroom, but the flow wouldn’t stop. I assumed I’d peed my pants. The nurse summoned the doctor.

When Dr. Stern arrived she had the same glum look on her face as the day before. She explained that the flow was amniotic fluid and that the baby and I might be in danger. The best-case scenario would be if the “mucus plug” replenished itself and early labor did not begin. It was a long shot, but we hoped for the best. She went on to explain about the seriousness of early labor. The baby’s eyes were not yet fully developed, and neither were the lungs. She seemed most concerned, though, about whether or not I would develop a fever. If an infection developed it would be serious. Then the bombshell: I was told a decision would have to be made about whose life should be saved if there were complications, the baby’s or mine? There was a paper to be signed by the family. A choice had to be made.

I was crying so hard at this point I couldn’t call anyone. So Dr. Stern did. Within the hour my family had arrived. My mother was nervously pacing the floor, and my father anxiously inquired about my condition over and over. Carmine sat solemnly in a nearby chair. The doctor told my parents and my husband that the baby was a girl. She was small and the delivery would be difficult. Later that night my mother was exhausted and I asked my husband
to drive her home. My father wanted to stay longer. He told me later that he had a strong feeling something terrible was going to happen.

I assured everyone I was okay and forced them all to go home and get some rest. I was exhausted and craved sleep. My father was the last to leave around 11
P.M
. I drifted off to sleep almost immediately. Then I was awakened a few hours later with excruciating pain. I was sweating profusely and my forehead was burning. The nurse summoned the doctor and the next thing I knew chaos broke out around me.

The next few hours were filled with distorted images and voices. I remember the excruciating pain and the loud screams I made. It felt like my insides were being ripped apart. I passed out from the pain after about an hour, just as the baby was kicking up a storm inside me.

I woke up around 10
A.M
. to find a nurse standing beside my bed. The first thing I reached for was my stomach—the swollen mass was gone. Images flashed before my eyes of the labor and delivery just hours before. But the outcome was a complete blur. I had no clue what had happened after I lost conciousness. I was scared and alone. I looked up at the nurse. She stared back at me, then said, “Do you want your baby baptized?”

Being a Catholic, I nodded, yes.

“Would you like to see her?” she added.

I could hardly wait. I wondered where my parents and my husband were. The night nurse had called everyone once labor had started and once again everyone raced back to the hospital.

The nurse left the room and headed to the nursery. She returned a few minutes later wheeling a small, well-lit incubator. I hoisted myself up and cradled my arms to receive my daughter, wishing my parents and husband were there to see her as well. I waited for the nurse to hand her to me, but the woman just stood
there staring. A few seconds later she left the room, with a confused look in her eyes.

I turned the white cotton blanket swaddling the baby over to one side and noticed my daughter was lying completely still. The tips of her lips were blue and her skin was a pasty gray. I reached inside the bin and lifted the baby into my arms. It was only then that I realized she was dead.

I started screaming so loud the entire nursing staff came running to my room. They stood at the door staring at me. I was crying and my body was shaking with grief. One nurse shouted to the other, “Oh my God, didn’t anyone tell her?” Quickly she reached for the baby and took the small bundle from my arms. A slight mass of dark hair capped her head and her tiny fingers were perfectly formed. She was a beautiful girl with tiny perfect features and a small, perfectly formed body that was as stiff as a plastic doll. I ached, the pain was so bad.

The nurse said, “I’m so sorry, someone should have told you,” as she took the baby away from me.

A few minutes later my father appeared looking both disheveled and anxious. It didn’t look like he had slept. I later learned he was still downstairs in the hospital lounge, waiting for me to wake. One of the nurses had the foresight to run and tell him what had happened in my room with the baby. He took the elevator and raced to my room. When he looked at me with tired, dark eyes, his heart nearly broke. Before he spoke to me, he walked to the door and asked a nearby nurse to “get the doctor right away.” She nodded. Then he whispered, “Can I ask why my daughter is still on the labor and delivery floor?” His eyes moved to the newborn babies being wheeled out of the nursery for their regular feedings.

She nodded in agreement then shrugged her shoulders. “I was told early this morning your daughter was to be moved to the surgical floor ASAP. I guess they were waiting for an available bed.”

The nurse left the room and shut the door behind her. My father looked clumsy and awkward; sensitive as he was, he had a great deal of difficulty expressing it. He sat down on the bed beside me and reached for my hand. “I’m sorry, Vicki, the baby didn’t make it.”

There were a few moments of silence, and then I started sobbing again. I fought hard to hold back my tears, especially in front of the man who’d always taught me that crying was “for those who were weak.” My father would tell me often throughout my childhood to “never cry over simple things like a scraped knee or a bad test grade.” He would end the lesson by letting me know I should “save the tears for when
really
necessary.” I turned my head slightly to the side so he couldn’t see my tears, but he moved in closer to me and whispered, “Go on, cry.”