Thursday, February 12, 2009


I had a post forming in my mind and I was suddenly derailed. I was going to make an Ode to MotH post (borrowing from the two fantastic posts made by Mr. and Mrs. Nurse Boy) and suddenly feel a very strong need to share something else.

The irony is that I can't think of a single person that reads this blog that doesn't already know this story, or a version of it. Yet I still feel compelled to make this post, so here goes.

I was raised in a Christian home. My parents saw to it that we regularly attended church and many of my fondest childhood memories involve church camps and retreats.

I had many "bursts" of spirituality. I would get emotional during songs and was moved during special church services. I considered myself a Christian.

MotH had a similar upbringing and I knew enough about God's wishes to know I needed to marry someone with a similar faith.

Unfortunately, neither of us were living our faith by that time. We married and then didn't step foot in another church for several years. We both drifted far from God.

Fast forward to the year 2000 when I found out I was pregnant. Actually, fast forward to July 10, 2000. That is the day my water broke on AM's twin when I was only 20 weeks pregnant.

We were told by many doctors that the chances of either baby surviving were extremely low. I was given a "goal" of 24 weeks (the point of viability) and parked in a hospital room.

On the morning of August 1, I woke up and got ready for breakfast. A new perinatologist (high-risk ob) came in and did an exam. I knew something was wrong since they hadn't done an exam since I was admitted (risk of infection). I was soon to find out that I had partially delivered our daughter.

She lived only a short while and died in the arms of a nurse.

AM arrived that afternoon. I was exactly 23 weeks pregnant. I now know that the reason they didn't deliver him via c-section was that they felt he had virtually no chance of survival and didn't want me to go through major surgery. We were told that the best we could hope for was a sign from him that he was a fighter.

He came out and actually cried. Such a small, delicate sound. Nothing like the loud, gusty wails of a newborn. He sounded more like a mouse.

He was rushed to the NICU and I was taken to the OR (I began to bleed badly). When I woke up in recovery, I expected to be told that he was dead. I was shocked to hear that he was still fighting in the NICU.

Over the next couple of days we got a crash course in extreme prematurity. I will never forget when the neonatologist came in my room and told me that AM's blood sugars were very high and that was nearly always an indication of a significant brain bleed (brain bleeds are the cause of many disabilities associated with prematurity).

We needed to make a decision. They could keep trying to save him, but the chances of him being "normal" (if he survived) were less than 10%. We would likely have a severly handicapped child (we were told he would likely be blind, deaf and brain damaged). Or we could choose to stop treatment and let him die peacefully.

I pray that none of you reading this is ever forced to make a decision like that.

My heart cried out to save my baby and that was, thankfully, the decision we made. Looking back, it's obvious to me that God was working on our hearts. At the time, I didn't see it. I just knew I wanted them to save my son.

That afternoon the doctor returned to my room and, in amazement, explained that AM did NOT have a brain bleed and that he had never seen that before (when blood sugars shot up).

After everyone left that day, I ended up on my knees crying out to the God I had virtually ignored for years. It was suddenly so clear to me that AM would survive ONLY by His will. Every medical evidence pointed to him dying or being severely disabled. We were given virtually NO hope that there would be any other kind of outcome. I was finally driven to the point where I had to hand it over to God.

The next part of my story may cause some of you to doubt my sanity. Some may pass off what I'm about to say as the fanciful imagination of a mother. I will only say that I know what I experienced and I know what happened.

I walked in to the NICU shortly after giving my son to God. As I approached AM's bed, I SAW the hands of God cradling my infant son and felt an overwhelming voice whisper to me "he will be okay, trust me". Flying in the face of everything medical science was telling us, my God told me AM would not only survive, but that he would be "okay".

Perhaps what God gave me this image to help me understand that He was there, I do not know. I DO know that AM was being held in the hands of an Almighty God that heard the cries of a desperate mother.

Over the next weeks and months, there were moments when we were told AM might not make it. I remember one evening I was visiting AM and he suddenly had a "spell" (blood O2 levels went way down and heart rate slowed dramatically). I stepped back as a team of medical personnel rushed to his bedside and proceeded to resuscitate my son (chest compressions and "bagging" him to force his lungs to open back up).

As I stood there with tears streaming down my face, that small voice whispered again to my soul "I promised he would be okay, trust me".

On November 22, 2000, we brought AM home. He is now a healthy, happy, "normal" eight year old.

He is exactly what God promised me he would be.

The story doesn't end there. Two years ago, I was in bed and suddenly felt the need to pray that God would remove from me the fear I had of getting pregnant again. As I laid there, I was suddenly overwhelmed by the peace of God. My fear was removed.

This time, the voice of my heavenly father told me that if I ever got pregnant again, things would be fine.

As most of you know, I delivered a healthy, full-term son on November 9, 2008. In fact, had he been delivered on his due date, he would have been born on the same day AM came home from the hospital.

As I stated at the beginning of this post, this was not the topic I had planned. I'm not sure why I feel compelled to write this, I only know that I had to.

I also feel that I have to address something people have skirted around but rarely asked. Why did God save my son but not my daughter?

I don't know the answer to that. However, I DO know this. She is with Him and our separation is only temporary. THAT gives me a peace that passes understanding. In His incredible love and mercy, He cares for her now and someday I will see her again. Our separation is only temporary. Isn't that amazing?

There are no goodbyes for those that find their rest in Christ.

I know that many of you read this because the majority of my posts are meant to be funny (I'll let you decide whether or not they are). However, if there is even ONE person that reads this that is unsure of their relationship with God, I will say this.

There is ONE God and He loves you like crazy. Christ died for YOU. Even though there are millions upon millions of people on this planet, He cares for YOUR concerns as intimately as a father cares for his beloved children. YOU are His child and He wants a relationship with you. If you don't have one with Him, ask Him to show you the way.

He loves YOU.


Mr. and Mrs. Nurse Boy said...

That is a BEAUTIFUL post! I am all misty eyed. Our Creator is amazing!!!! It is always so hard to even imagine his love for us. The simple fact that He loves my children more than I do just doesn't even seem possible.

AM is a miracle! What a powerful testimony he has. God has big plans for that little guy!!! And your entire family.

mommy4life said...

I knew parts of the story, but not all of it. I think your image of God holding AM is AMAZING! God is good all the time and works everything together for good. What a great thing that he used AM (a child) to lead you and MoTH back into His arms.

Mother Mayhem said...

And I am so glad that HE does! :o)

I firmly believe that just one day in the NICU would open a lot of people's eyes to the presence of God.