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

Remembering September 11th

From the book, "Memories of Miracles", a story about September 11th:

Chapter 4
Love and Joy from Fear and Terror

The two days could not have been more different, but they are linked in my brain by one simple thing, the date...September 11th.

I would never have imagined the memories of horror and fear of September 11, 2001 could be transformed with those of love and joy a year later, but because of the grace of God and the faith of two young parents, that is exactly what happened.

The morning of September 11, 2001 started much like any other morning. Patty was in labor and even though the baby was five weeks early, things were going well. Patty watched TV as I watched the fetal monitor.

In the quietness of the labor room we listened to the "whoosh, whoosh, whoosh" of Image via Wikipediathe baby's heartbeat and the steady drone of the television program. Suddenly, breaking news reports flashed on the screen. Our eyes were riveted to the screen in horror as planes crashed first into the Twin Towers and then the Pentagon. Later we watched as the Towers collapsed to the ground.

I struggled to keep my thoughts on the fetal tracing in front of me. More than anything I wanted to hear my husband's voice, which never failed to calm and reassure me. Patty was progressing far too rapidly to afford the luxury of a phone call, though

My thoughts flew also to Camp LeJeune, North Carolina. My son was there for the School of Infantry with the USMC. Would they pull them out of training for deployment? Could he already be on a ship to who knows where?

I thought too, of my niece who worked in New York City and of her brother who worked at a law firm near the White House. Were they safe? How would one possibly contact them in all this chaos? I thought of calling my sister, but I knew she would have no information and my concern would only amplify her own.
I didn’t sit idly as these thoughts ran through my mind, but was busy turning on a baby warmer, setting out perineal prep, and preparing warm baby blankets. While my hands and feet moved rapidly to set the final stage for delivery, my mind and heart ached for all those unknown to me whose lives had been shattered by terror.

Then, as if in a daze, we delivered this baby. The joy and happiness, which normally surrounds this event, seemed so inappropriate with the images of horror so fresh in our minds, which were still visible on the television. I found I could not sing "Happy Birthday" to this little one, as I usually did, because I felt anything but happy.

Immediately upon placing the baby on the warm blankets, I realized the mood of the room would not be improving. The baby’s nostrils flared, his chest sunk deeply, the space between his ribs deepened dramatically, and he grunted with each breath.

Preterm babies make a rhythmic, grunting sound when they are struggling to close the tiny air sacs in their lungs. This is because they are using accessory muscles to close those sacs not yet pliable, due to a lack of a substance called surfactant. While parents often think this sound is cute, Labor and Delivery nurses know this grunting is a sign of poor transition of the baby to life outside of the womb. As I listened to this little boy, I watched his retractions continue without improvement. I quickly foot-printed him, applied his identification bracelets and wrapped him up. After a quick kiss from Mom, I took him to the Special Care Nursery, where he stayed for several days.

When I returned to the mother, she said, "I should feel so happy today, but I just feel so sad." She had drawn out the last word until it alone expressed all of our attitudes. I tried to reassure her that her feelings were valid. Not only had she witnessed the brutal murder of thousands of people, but also I had whisked her son out of her presence with hardly a "hello.” Apart from those deliveries where there had been loss of life or severe anomalies, it was the saddest delivery I had ever witnessed. Never will I forget the events of that morning or the cheerless, quiet delivery of the mother with the grief stricken face.

A year later, I was amazed we even had any cases scheduled for 9/11. Who would choose this date for the birth of their baby? What memories would always be associated with this child's birthday? Yet, here they were, pillows and suitcases in hand, ready and anxious to have their baby. They were not strangers to me either; they had been in my six week childbirth classes.

Their class had been my favorite in twenty-one years of childbirth education. It had been a big class and these couples had so bonded with each other and with me, I think if I had let them, they would have continued to meet each Monday night long after the classes had finished. We all laughed together, cried together, and then laughed together again. It was the best teaching I had ever done and the best group of couples I ever had the pleasure to teach.

I was thrilled to be a part of this couple’s special occasion and looking at them; I smiled my first real smile of the day. As I admitted Joan and she settled into bed, she told me many of her family and friends had suggested she change the date of her induction from 9/11. Her response to them changed my outlook for the whole day.
"I thought the best way to thwart the terrorists," she said, "is to bring love and joy and laughter to this date."
What a glorious thought! What a glorious day! This time I sang "Happy Birthday" to their gorgeous little daughter with a heart full of joy.

As September 11 rolls around each year, I remember those lost in the horrible tragedy and those brave fire fighters and police officers who died trying to save them, but I also remember something else. I remember two smiling joyous faces and the daughter they love, destined to bring love and joy out of terror and fear.

"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning."
Psalm 30:5