A miracle baby; I have heard that witnessing a baby being born is truly a miracle. To see the beginning of a life at the earliest stage of its development can often open ones eyes to the beauty of life, the beauty of God’s creation.
For many others, holding their new born baby in their tired arms is the seed of love that is planted in their hearts; set to root over time as the child grows and develops. For me, holding my new born child would ease my heart, knowing that my son would be alright. But for now my prayers are my only hope to find comfort in.
You see, I didn’t get to hold my new born son after his birth. I laid in the hospital bed, my hair and skin damp with drying sweat, as I watched my baby being carried away.
“Wait, what-?” I began to cry out. One of the nurses lifted a hand toward me, indicating that I should not move but that I stay in the sweat covered sheets of the bed.
“Ma’am,” the nurse began with a smile. “We told you that this would happen.” She kept her hand outstretched toward me, keeping me from moving or overreacting. As I looked deeper into the pools of the green sea of her eyes, I could see a trust worthy person, a person who cares for her patients. She would ensure the safety of him, my baby boy.
“Ma’am, as we have told you previously, your child has a blood clot in his brain. The right side, you see. The blood clot is really hurting the brain capacity of the child. If the clot is not removed as soon as possible, there is a good chance the child will die.” The nurse explained.
The child would die!
Against my better judgment, I allowed the nurses to take my baby. I watched the young women clean up and bundle the new born in a soft, warm blue blanket. Turning toward the door, the blanket bundled baby in hand, I watched the nurse leave me alone in the room. As the nurse turned to maneuver down the hallway, I saw a pair beautiful brown eyes. The child’s eyes peered into mine; they glistened with wonder and innocence. It was then that I fell in love with him.
“Ma’am, here is what we are going to do,” the doctor began. I looked around, realizing that the nurses have rolled me into different room than the one I had delivered in a few moments ago. “We have discovered that your child does not have platelets in his blood stream, which means that if the child begins to bleed at all the wound will not clot and he will bleed to death.” I looked at the facial expressions of the doctor, who had a thick white beard covering his face. Analyzing his mannerisms, I felt a thick layer of sorrow coated over his white medical jacket.
“What we are going to do, Ma’am, is get some blood from you. We will then extract the platelets that we need and inject them into your son.” As the doctor spoke I could see the green eyed nurse rummaging through a series of medical supplies that would be necessary for the procedure.
I felt a small pinch as the nurse precisely pressed the needle into my arm, right at the inside of the elbow. Instantly I felt the blood being pumped from my body. I watched the red liquid ride through the tube like a rollercoaster into a small empty pouch. As the pouch filled with my blood I thought of how this baby was dependent on me and my blood. I would give up all the platelets in my blood to see my baby survive. Just looking at the pouch, I pictured my newborn completely helpless and in need. A tear came to my eye.
“Nurse,” the doctor said, pulling my attention back toward the two people in the room with me. “When you get the amount that we need, rush it to the labs so that we can get the platelets that for the child.”
“Yes, sir,” the nurse said smiling down at me, as if to say, don’t worry your child will be just fine.
“God….” My voice quivered to myself. I sat in the hospital bed, my hands folded on my lap, my head bowed. “I know I haven’t been a perfect person…..but…,”I thought of those beautiful brown eyes as I formed my thoughts into sentences. “… I ask you to protect my child. I realize that our lives are in your hands…,”I felt a tear stream down my colorless cheeks. “….So, I pray that you take care of my child. God, I believe that you have a plan for this child,” I paused. “So, I place his life into your hands; do with it what you will…..If it is your will for this child to live, he will live. If not, then he will die.”
I didn’t want to say the final word to that sentence, believing that saying that word would curse the child. So I pushed the word out. As I spoke that final word I felt a shiver run up my spine, reaching throughout my body to the tips of my toes and the tips of my fingers.
“Father, please help this child. Be with him, Jesus. I give his life to you, knowing that your will be done; knowing that you will do great things for and through this child.” As I spoke my voice became steadier as if I were more confident of my son’s fate. As I spoke to my God, a rush of comfort ran over my body cleansing me of fears and worries. I knew everything would be fine.
“Your son is responding well to the operation. He is resting safely now.” I heard the doctor’s voice, trying to dig deeper into what they were saying, trying to understand what they meant. “The only problem is that he has lost a lot of weight.” The words hit me, feeling as if the doctor had just stabbed me in the heart with a needle. Lost a lot of weight, he only weighed 5 Lbs at birth.
“We are going to need to keep him here and feed him until he is at a healthy weight.”
The doctor looked into my tired eyes. I am sure he could tell I hadn’t slept a wink since the birth of my son. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t sleep until my boy was in my arms, safely at home.
“I feel as if I should tell you, while your son’s operation went smoothly, there is a great chance that your son will be a vegetable.”
“What?” I asked curiosity painted over my face.
“My apologies, all I meant was that there is a good chance that your son will never walk.” He looked into my eyes; I saw the sincerity in his gaze. “We also found that the operation will greatly affect his motor skills, especially on his left side.”
“Wait, why his left side? I thought the operation was on the right side of the brain.” My words seemed to slur together with tiredness.
“It was, but the way the brain works is that the right side controls the left side of the body, and the left side of the brain controls the right side of the body.” The doctor tried to explain, but I was too exhausted to really comprehend his words.
“When will he be able to leave?” I asked trying to hold back my tears. I awaited an answer. It seemed as if I were standing in front of the doctor for several minutes before he answered.
“We aren’t sure yet. We want to make sure that he is healthy enough before we send him with you.” The doctor ensured.
So, I waited. I continued to pray for my child daily, waiting for the day when I could hold him safely in my arms at home.
My nights grew long. I couldn’t sleep. I just lay in my bed, dreamed of those beautiful brown eyes, falling more in love with them every time I imagined them in my mind’s eye.
I thought about him everyday for the next two weeks. Every waking moment of my life was spent at the hospital. Many times I was sitting with the child, breast feeding him, trying to get him to gain as much weight as possible so that I could take him home. And other times the nurses would feed the child with milk that I had pumped earlier.
On October 30th I got the good news: I would be able to take my son home. The doctors had felt that he was at an appropriate weight, a weight that would ensure that he was healthy and that he not longer needed their attention.
There was no conversation with any doctors, not that I remember. I just remember when the nurse carried my bundled baby boy toward me, placing him in my arms.
“You two are free to go home,” the nurse said to me with a smile. I looked down at the child, his brown eyes looking back into mine. The infant smiled up at me as if he knew who I was. His smile brought a tear to my eye.
“Come on, Tony, Let’s go home.” I said to the child, holding him tightly in my arms.
Anthony K. Giesick
I grew up loving stories and quickly found myself loving writing poetry, stories, songs! Here is a sample of what Beautiful Feet Writings is all about!.