Since our second daughter was born in late August, it's been a bit of a challenge to find time to do things together as a family. So any time all four of us get in a car we pretend it's a family excursion, even when the destination is Mommy's ob-gyn for a follow-up.

A couple of weeks ago, I took a Friday off to go with my wife to her doctor's appointment. We packed Elmo books and stuffed bunnies, Cheerios and sweet-potato puffs, and it felt like we were getting ready for a road trip to Disney World. "Everybody go shi shi?"

The reason for the doctor's visit was my wife's suspicion that maybe she hadn't completely healed after giving birth. I was concerned, too, and that's why I asked for the day off to be there. At heart, though, we're both optimistic people, and we figured it would be a quick appointment, the doctor would say everything's OK, maybe prescribe a pill and we're done.

We made plans to go see my wife's mom after the visit. She works at the same hospital as my wife's OB and we thought we'd all do lunch together in the cafeteria. After that, we had planned to go to Wal-Mart to get a new puzzle for our little girl because by now, placing the same nine colored dinosaurs in the nine colored pukas seems to have lost its charm.

The receptionist at the doctor's office greeted us with her usual big smile even though I almost dented the door with the double stroller. A nurse waved at us from the back. My wife was the last patient for the day and we didn't have to wait long before we were led into one of the exam rooms. The doctor asked some questions and decided he would do an ultrasound. After reviewing the results, he frowned ever so slightly and told us there might be some remnant tissue that he would have to remove through a procedure known as "D&C," which stands for "dilation and curettage."

Both of us trust this doctor and think very highly of him. He was the one who removed a baseball-size ovarian cyst when my wife was five months' pregnant with our first child. That was not a risk-free procedure but he did it flawlessly, and there were no complications for mommy or baby.

So when the doctor said the D&C would only take a minute, I grabbed the stroller with our two kids and navigated my way back to the waiting room. Baby was sleeping soundly and our little girl was flipping through a parenting magazine in her seat, calling out the fruits she could identify in the juice ads.

I'm not too sure about the sequence of what happened next, but 10 minutes later, my wife was rolled into an ambulance and rushed to the emergency room. Her face had the pale color of oatmeal; she had lost about 3 pints of blood. I remember asking the doctor at some point whether he would have to do a hysterectomy, because I know that's one of my wife's biggest fears. He said, "Well, hysterectomy means no more babies. But right now I've got to save a life."

He did save her life. And he saved her uterus. It turns out my wife had what her doctor called a small "satellite placenta" in her uterus, and that's what led to the massive and life-threatening hemorrhaging. Doctors always check the placenta right after birth to see if it's intact or if there are pieces missing that might still be in the uterus. If there's a satellite placenta present, however, the main placenta will be intact and there's no sign of remnants.

This situation is rare. My wife's doctor said in 25 years as a practicing ob-gyn, this was the second satellite placenta he's ever seen.

When I saw my wife on the gurney I was terrified. When I lay my hand on her forehead and was struck by how cold it was, my mind conjured up the worst of my fears and I felt the sweat breaking out on my temples.

Then I looked at the stroller and my two daughters. Kids can sense what's going on. I have to pretend everything is fine. Mommy's going to take a nap — let's go to Auntie's! Play with the cousins!

My wife spent the night in the hospital and was discharged the next day. We were talking about what had happened and how dramatically our planned family day had changed in just a few minutes. And we realized that this is exactly why you should pretend it's a family excursion every time all of you get in the car. Every chance you get, pack up the Elmo books and the Cheerios and make it fun. You won't regret it.

Reach Andreas Arvman at aarvman@honoluluadvertiser.com.