Miracles Do Happen, part 2

Warning: a graphic description of abortion is contained in this post. I do NOT recommend that children under the age of 13 read this.

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.


As tiny as he was, they whisked him away to the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit), where he would spend the next three months, 2 weeks of his life. I was still a pretty sick mommy, so off I went to the ICU myself. 


Honestly, my memories of those first few days of his life are hazy. The day of his birth, I was in the ICU, being given morphine for pain. I woke up, thinking it had been just hours and hours, and I was crying, begging for Mr. T. to come in to the room. The nurse told me he had gone home to shower and rest, and I was satisfied with that explanation, so I let myself go back to sleep. The next time I awoke, I asked again for him to come in, and they said it had only been ten minutes or so. I could hardly believe it, but I said okay and went back to sleep. I did this for about 3 hours. I must have asked 20 or 30 times if he was back yet! I know the nurses were tired of me asking, but they were so patient with me. After he did come back, I talked with him in my exceedingly drugged-out state and told him I just felt terribly sick and could he please fix it. I know he was thinking how silly I was: here I am in a hospital and asking him, my non-medical hubbs, to fix it! The doctor did come in to check on me, and he thought it might be the morphine making me sick. Yep, that was it! The change from morphine to a non-narcotic pain reliever did the trick and I no longer felt like I was in Wonderland. 


I stayed in the ICU for 3 days before I was sent up to the post-partum unit. It was time for me to see my wonderful miracle baby for the first time. I had already been given his birth statistics.


Weight: 485 grams [17 ounces = one pound, one ounce]


Length: 28.5 cm [11.22 inches]


Apgar scores:  1 minute = 9; 5 minute = 10


Seeing those statistics in no way prepared me for the reality of having a one pound baby. His length was almost exactly the same length as a Ken doll. He was so small we could cover his entire body with one hand. His skin was so frail I could see almost all of his blood vessels. The first time I saw him, he was 4 days old. He had an IV line secured using gauze and an "arm board." It was a finger splint, I think - it was longer than his whole arm and hand, by at least an inch. He had a CPAP machine supporting his breathing. The mask was actually too big for his face, so he had a nasal cannula. The smallest cannula they had was too big. He had on the tiniest, thinnest little diaper I have ever seen. They are actually smaller than the diapers for Baby Alive, if you've seen those. It was too big.


Despite all this, he was the most beautifully formed, perfectly proportioned baby. God knows what He is doing, friends. At the time my son was born, a woman in Georgia had the right to abort a child exactly his gestational age (the limit was 24 weeks; he was born at 23 weeks 5 days; in 2012 the Georgia legislature passed a bill placing strict limits on abortion beyond 20 weeks). A child in one operating room given all possible life support and specialized care. A child in another room brutally ripped apart as he is vacuumed from his mother's womb. TELL ME THE DIFFERENCE! Tell me. Convince me that beautiful soul was NOT A BABY - not alive. Not "real" yet. You cannot. David described it so perfectly: 

You alone created my inner being. You knitted me together inside my mother. I will give thanks to You because I have been so amazingly and miraculously made. Your works are miraculous, and my soul is fully aware of this. My bones were not hidden from you when I was being made is secret, when I was being skillfully woven in an underground workshop. Your eyes saw me when I was only a fetus. Every day [of my life] was recorded in Your book before even one of them had taken place* 

Even the prophet Jeremiah tell us that the Word of God told him, "Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you. Before you were born, I set you apart for MY holy purpose**." Do you see this? God MADE us, every one of us. He knew us before anyone else. He knows every day of my life. How on earth can you justify the destruction of something so lovingly and attentively created by God? He, the Creator of the universe, lovingly created ME. He lovingly created you. Every life is precious to Him.


[As you can see, this is a particularly emotional and important topic to me]


I've gone on too long. More of Jay's journey in the NICU, and the strange and awful feeling of leaving the hospital while your baby stays will be addressed in Miracles Do Happen, part 3.


Scripture taken from God's Word translation of the Holy Bible. Any emphasis is mine.
*Psalm 139:13-16
**Jeremiah 1:5a

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.