Miracles Do Happen

I've been asked to share the story of my miracle boy. I hope this story inspires you, and makes you think.


In 2002, I was 31 years old, and had been married to Mr. Think for about 6 years. We had tried for a baby, but it hadn't fit into God's plan yet. When I got the flu around the beginning of November, I thought nothing of it. It was a nagging flu, though - I couldn't shake it. When the new year rolled around and I still had the stinking flu, I finally went to the doctor. Surprise - it isn't the flu! LOL. We confirmed conception the day after Valentine's day 2003. We were excited and nervous, like any first time parent would be, right?
For a few weeks, life was actually beginning to feel good. I knew why I was so tired and sick feeling, and was able to eat properly and get plenty of rest. Add that to the fact that I was nearing 6 months already, it was time for that sick feeling to go! We went to two routine appointments, and showed up for our 23 week appointment on Mr. T's birthday, March 24. The doctor examined me, and asked me to lie down in a dark room for a few minutes. I didn't know what for, but I tried to lie down and relax. After about half an hour, he came and took my blood pressure again. He ended up sending us up to the hospital "just as a precaution" right then. We went home and packed a few things and drove up to Piedmont Hospital in downtown Atlanta.
Once I was examined in the women's unit at Piedmont, they went ahead and admitted me. The next week was one of extreme boredom - I slept most of the time because I was dead bored. I was also very, very ready to come home. The doctors had told us I was suffering from pre-eclampsia, but that in many cases it could be managed from home. Eager to return home, I did what they told me to do, so I would be released as soon as possible. 
Saturday morning I woke up with awful heartburn. Since consistently one of the things I'd suffered with my pregnancy was heartburn, I really thought nothing of it. I asked the nurses for some Tums. Well, the day wore on and so did my indigestion. I was beginning to get frustrated with the nurses who would not give me any Tums. I even begged my mom to go get me some Alka Seltzer tablets. 
My doctor finally was able to see me at about 6 p.m. on Saturday. He examined me and ordered more tests. Several times over the next few hours the nurses would come in and take blood and vitals. I was getting quite worried, because no one would tell us what was going on, and it was obvious that something was going on.
At about 10 p.m., my obstetrician and another doctor came in the room. They explained to me that I was experiencing something called HELLP syndrome. I'd never heard of it. They explained it briefly and said it meant that I absolutely had to deliver the baby right away - I was literally dying. They explained to me and Mr. T all of the horrible consequences for a baby born at 23 weeks 5 days gestation. Honestly, I was at the point where I didn't care anymore. I was terrified, felt awful, and was just sure my baby was going to die. Mr. T & I signed the surgical authorization papers for a c-section and I just felt numb. The neonatal specialist asked me, "If the baby is born alive, do you want us to work on it?" What could I say? OF COURSE!!!
My mom had visited me that day, and had already left for home. Mr. T. called her, and she came rushing back to Piedmont. My dad and his wife were there visiting as well. Just before I was wheeled into surgery, my mom said to me, "Remember, Cassie, Sometimes He comes in the clouds." That wonderful song by Stephen Curtis Chapman filled my heart and I grasped that hope tightly. Mr. T. left me to gown up, and I went into the surgery room alone. I was given an epidural and then I lay on the bed awaiting the surgeons. I remember I was FREEZING! I was begging for a blanket! 
I was finally ready for surgery. Mr. T. had come in, and I held his hand in a death-grip. He whispered to me that the room was FULL of doctors and nurses ready to assist with the baby.
They delivered our son at a few minutes before 1 a.m. on March 30, 2003. The moment I heard his cry, peace washed over my wounded spirit like a soothing river. It was if, at that moment, God swept me up in His arms and I knew - I KNEW - that everything would be alright.
Too emotional for me. I have to take a break.
to be continued in Miracles Do Happen, part 2.