Front Row Seat to a Miracle: Conclusion

    The ambulance arrived and the transport team was preparing to transfer the baby into a travelling incubator.  Before leaving the unit, the doctor sent me to get my sister-in-law.  As I turned to go, he said, “She must begin the grieving process.  The nurse will provide mom and dad with pictures of the baby to remember her by.” 

   What should have taken a few minutes, took over an hour as they moved her from one bed to the other.  Her condition continued to deteriorate as we watched.  Our mom and dad had arrived and looked on as the newest member of their family fought to live.  Daddy led the way straight into the throne room as he pulled us into a huddle in the hallway.  He reminded us that we had come to the end of what man could do for her, and now we must give her over to what God had for her.  And that we did.  He voiced the prayer that was probably the most difficult one he would ever have to pray.  Her mom and dad trusted her into God’s care, not knowing if they would see her alive again. 

   March 5 will mark the 22^nd anniversary of that night, a night that will not soon be forgotten.  Jeremiah 33:3 says, “Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know.”  Through this experience, that Scripture came alive.  From the ambulance ride to Houston, that she wasn’t supposed to survive, to a helicopter flight to Galveston-- God revealed things about Himself that none of us had known until then. 

   A mostly experimental treatment, that was almost unheard of at that point, was her last medical hope.  She would be only the 36^th baby to be placed on ECMO.  Her blood would be circulated from her body into a machine that oxygenated it and pumped it back into her body.  The work of the heart would be greatly reduced and her lungs would be given time to mature and heal.  

   She began her Student teaching a few weeks ago.  She is excited to break out and to make her mark in this world.  The silent witness to God’s unsearchable things is a faint scar from just under her ear and down her neck.  Through the years, she has been reminded of how God used her birth to show her family of what He is capable.   We were invited.  We gave Him our full attention and trust.  And we were given a front row seat to a miracle.  

Front Row Seat to a Miracle: Part 3

   For all the trouble she was having, there were several babies on life support that night.  By God’s grace, each of them was stable, at least for this shift.  Thanks for this fact had no sooner crossed my lips, than the alarm on her ventilator sounded. 

      It had crashed!  Not a simple malfunction, but an outright, no longer working- crash.  The very thing that was pushing breath into her body had stopped.  As I scrambled to fix and finally replace the machine, the doctor stood bedside and manually ventilated her lungs.  As he stood there he told me the story of this family.  “They are counting on me, because I took care of their older daughter, as well.”   She had been a C-section baby that needed a little support after birth because of fluid in her lungs.  Feeling somewhat of a failure, the decision had been made to transport this baby to Houston.  She would have to be travel via ambulance instead of helicopter because of inclement weather.  There was little hope that she would survive the trip.  As he talked, my mind wandered down the hall to her mom’s hospital room.  I wondered if she knew the gravity of her baby’s situation.  But for a few seconds after delivery, she had not seen her.  My heart ached as I looked down at her and wondered if she would leave this world without realizing how much her family loved her.  Would the only touch that she experienced be the mechanical touch of doctors and nurses that manipulated her body just long enough to carry out whatever procedure needed to be done?

   With the new ventilator in place, the wait for the ambulance began.  Her dad entered the unit again and stood as a sentinel.  With resolve that had all but slipped away, I quickly turned my back and busied myself.  Thankfully the nurse across the aisle asked for my assistance with another baby.  I noticed tears in her eyes.  I asked if she was okay.  She told me that her husband had left her that evening.  I tried to offer comfort from a heart that was already bruised and bleeding.  She wiped her eyes and went on to say that even so, her problems were small compared to what this family was experiencing.  That was all I could take.

   “That is my brother.”  It came out as a whisper.  “And she is my niece.  I need to go be with my family.”

Front Row Seat to a Miracle: Part 2

   In spite of all the lines that protruded from her little body, she was beautiful - with a head covered in black ringlets.   I wanted so badly to distance myself from this one, in order to make my job a little easier, but she had already taken up residency in my heart.  And this night, everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. 

   Even though she was heavily sedated, she was hypersensitive to any stimulation.  If she was touched, talked to, or if she heard the alarms on any of the equipment, her heart rate would drop perilously low.  The pressure that we had to ventilate her lungs with was so high, that she was at major risk of suffering blindness.  I watched the normally confident neonatologist pacing.  He had not left the hospital since she was born that morning.  What had started out as a wonderful day to celebrate the promise of a new life had slowly changed as the day wore on.  And now the promise was dimmed to the point of being snuffed out. 

   As I worked, I prayed, ever in quiet conversation with God.  As anyone in the medical profession will agree, there is a place that you retreat to that allows you to carry out the necessary duties to sustain life without the interference of emotion.  This night, would not find me there.  I silently called out to God on her behalf.  I asked for God’s mercy for her family.  My heart was in torment as I watched her dad stand with head bowed and shoulders trembling with silent sobs.  I listened as the doctor spoke in anguish about being at a loss for what to do.  “We have done all we can.  This family trusts me.”  I thought to myself, “You have no idea…”

Front Row Seat to a Miracle

   For the past few hours, I had watched him.  Each time he had walked into the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, he was a little more undone.  I dared not approach him, even though my heart screamed out to go to him, to hug him, and to cry with him.  But, that was not an option. 

   He was the daddy of a brand new baby girl.  She was a full-term baby, healthy by all appearances, that for no good reason, was fighting for her life.  She was one of a small percentage of Caesarean delivered infants that suffer from hyaline membrane disease.  Her lungs were not developed enough to sustain her life.  Because of that, she was one of my patients.  As a Respiratory Therapist, I was responsible for monitoring the life support equipment, as well as, her heart and lungs, and arterial blood gases.

   With two preschoolers at home, I found that the 11-7 graveyard shift worked for me.  I would put my babies to bed before I left for work and would be home before breakfast.  This night would be unlike any I had ever worked before or since.  As I took report that night, the Therapist from the previous shift minced no words.  “We’ve got a kid going bad. The unit is full, but this one will take your full attention. Doc is weighing the options at this point, but, it doesn’t look good.  And just so you know, Dad has been given to permission to come and go as he pleases as long as his doesn’t approach the bed.  He stands over at the nurses’ station and watches.  It’s really sad.”   These bits of information were passed along so that while we performed our jobs, we could do so with the utmost sensitivity.  “Which baby?” I asked.