Emma

From the book, "Memories of Miracles", in honor of our granddaughter's birthday:

Chapter 17
Emma

I had stood at bedsides before and watched preemie babies grunt like this. Many, many times in fact; but this time was so very different.

This was my granddaughter.

I looked at that little face and saw shadows of myself. Each grunt and groan she uttered ripped at my heart. I wanted so much to pick her up, breathe for her, somehow make it all better, and all the while cry my eyes out. But I wasn’t just Grandma, I was also Mom and I was also Nurse. I felt the need to show strength and calm; to show optimism and hope.

I went back to my son and my daughter-in-law and began to explain the problem with Emma’s breathing. Born almost four weeks early, she didn’t have enough of the surfactant in her lungs to make the air sacs slippery so she could close them easily. Along with that, she had a good deal of amniotic fluid in her lungs. She could breathe in well, but she had to use extra muscles to breathe out, which caused the grunting and groaning. As hard as she was working to breathe, she may tire out and then she would need extra oxygen to keep up the oxygen levels in her blood. Their faces were grim as I explained it all and I felt like the wicked witch who had just come in and stolen their precious dreams and hopes. I tried to prepare them for the next step that I knew, by watching Emma, was almost inevitable. I explained the oxyhood, the IV, the antibiotics – everything that I could think of that would be done. Oh, I had given this speech dozens of times to parents, and I don’t think with any less caring or consideration, but with much less wrenching of my heart at their expressions, their tears, their sadness.

I didn’t tell them all I knew.

I knew that if her oxygen was turned up to a certain point, the Neonatologist would be called. I knew that if she had to have high levels of oxygen, she would be entubated and put on a ventilator. I knew that would mean she would be transported across town to the University hospital to a higher level neonatal intensive care unit. I knew there were so many things that could happen. But I wasn’t going to let my mind go down that road. I was going to keep my mind on where Emma was right now and pray, pray, pray. Because I also knew the one Person to whom I was praying cared and could make Emma better.

Emma did go under the oxyhood and stayed there for two days. When Aimee and Noah first went to the nursery to see her, it absolutely broke my heart. I had showed them a picture of her under the oxyhood before we went to the nursery, so they would not be surprised at how she looked, and they cried then. But when they saw her for themselves, Aimee broke down in tears. Noah, too, was wiping his eyes. I stood behind and to the side of them and it was all I could do to not collapse into a heap of tears. One of the nursery nurses came to me and put her arms around my shoulders and hugged me. It was so hard, seeing Emma’s suffering and seeing their suffering, for her. Since then I have often thought how much God the Father must have hurt having to watch the Lord Jesus suffer for our sins. The parent suffers doubly when the child suffers

When Aimee started to leave the nursery, to go to her room, I went to hug her and she started to sob. I could contain my tears no longer and I cried with her. I think every nurse in that nursery had tears in their eyes. The L&D nurse with Aimee told me later, it was all she could do to not start crying herself.

Emma’s progression was short compared to that of many preterm babies. By Sunday night she was off oxygen. She started to eat, and like all Davis’, she did that exceptionally well. By the next Saturday, she spent her first night at home.

As happy as I am that she is home, where she belongs, I am sad too. I have enjoyed stealing away every free minute at work to go to the nursery. The first few days I could only stand there and look at her, or touch her hand and gaze into that perfect, tiny face. And I was perfectly content to do that minute after minute.

Then later, as she got better, I could hold her, or feed her. Sitting there, with her in my arms, held a sweetness that can’t be captured in any other way. I will miss that each day, as if a sweet, little friend has moved away.

"Delight thyself also in the Lord;
and He shall give thee the desires of thine heart."
Psalms 37:4