Why I have faith
Dec. 26th, 2006 11:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
prgrmrMy youngest son Daniel was born 14 and a half weeks premature. The doctors didn't know if he would make it--not that they said that in so many words, but they sent the message clearly enough. We were scared. They took my wife in to do an emergency C-section and I was left to wait like expectant fathers of our parents' day.
So I waited and a prayed. Not that God and I were on regular speaking terms, but the situation was clearly out of my control. I didn't bargain. I just asked God to have mercy and give our baby strength beyond his days, and to give us the strength to deal with the outcome, no matter what.
An hour of that, and I was taken to Recovery to see my wife, who was awake, but not quite coherant. After 20 or so minutes of talking her back to reality, she wanted to go to the bathroom and brush her hair and clean-up some. A group of nurses lead her off (this was about 1:30am, so we had everyone's attention), and another nurse asked if I wanted to see our new son. Of course I did. I was too numb at this point to be too scared.
She took me up to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. In an "isolet" was my son. He had the usual knit cap on his little head, and mittens on his hands to keep them warm and keep him from scratching himself or grabbing anything. He had an IV in each arm and leg, and one in his forehead. He had plastic tubes in his nose and in his mouth for the ventilator that was regulating his breathing. They were taped down to his face. He had a mask over his eyes--which weren't even open yet and wouldn't for another 10 days--to keep the light out and not overstimulate him.
So I'm standing there looking at him not knowing what to make of it all. He's lying there, on his back, with all this stuff on him. And he's picking his head up and wiggling around and lying back down. Doing that over and over. The nurse is just standing there with her mouth open.
Finally, she says, "He's not supposed to be able to do that. He's not supposed to be that strong, he's too early."
And that's why I have faith.
So I waited and a prayed. Not that God and I were on regular speaking terms, but the situation was clearly out of my control. I didn't bargain. I just asked God to have mercy and give our baby strength beyond his days, and to give us the strength to deal with the outcome, no matter what.
An hour of that, and I was taken to Recovery to see my wife, who was awake, but not quite coherant. After 20 or so minutes of talking her back to reality, she wanted to go to the bathroom and brush her hair and clean-up some. A group of nurses lead her off (this was about 1:30am, so we had everyone's attention), and another nurse asked if I wanted to see our new son. Of course I did. I was too numb at this point to be too scared.
She took me up to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. In an "isolet" was my son. He had the usual knit cap on his little head, and mittens on his hands to keep them warm and keep him from scratching himself or grabbing anything. He had an IV in each arm and leg, and one in his forehead. He had plastic tubes in his nose and in his mouth for the ventilator that was regulating his breathing. They were taped down to his face. He had a mask over his eyes--which weren't even open yet and wouldn't for another 10 days--to keep the light out and not overstimulate him.
So I'm standing there looking at him not knowing what to make of it all. He's lying there, on his back, with all this stuff on him. And he's picking his head up and wiggling around and lying back down. Doing that over and over. The nurse is just standing there with her mouth open.
Finally, she says, "He's not supposed to be able to do that. He's not supposed to be that strong, he's too early."
And that's why I have faith.
