A Little Miracle
I had never seen one so tiny. To realize this one belonged to me was beyond my amazement. My heart overflowed with joy, yet an anxious feeling kept trying to sneak in at the unknown prognosis. I felt ready to burst with mixed emotions!
I gazed into the incubator of my precious baby boy, born at only 2 lbs. 4 oz. Oh, how I desperately wanted to pick him up and cradle him in my arms! As I wrapped my fingers around his tiny hand, my thoughts drifted to the previous events.
Awakened from a deep sleep by the feeling of wetness, I sat up in my bed quickly discovering myself surround in blood! What was happening? I shook my husband awake and asked him to call the hospital. There was no time to waste. “Get to the hospital immediately!” was the response.
Admission to the hospital and complete bed rest were the doctor’s orders. It was vital to attempt to control labor and stop an imminent delivery. The baby would not survive. It was much too soon!
My head was spinning! This was all happening too fast. I just wanted it be dream, not reality. I was scared. At last, all I could do was lie in bed and wait and pray. Pray that the baby would remain in the womb long enough to survive once born. I fought fear. The Lord reminded me of the verse, “What time I am afraid, I will trust in Him.” Psalm 56:3 Yes, my Lord was in control. He had special plans for this little one and I didn’t want to get in His way. I would do my best to rest in Him as I waited.
I was engrossed in an adventurous book, attempting to occupy my waiting time in bed, when suddenly I was startled by the quick entrance and apprehensive look on the nurse’s face. “The baby has stopped moving and it seems we will have to induce and allow the baby to be born!”
“No!” I cried out. “It’s too soon! We’ll lose the baby!” The nurse put her arms around me allowing my tears to flow on her shoulder. A call to my husband informed him of the news. He was to come immediately.
I was scared! It was like a nightmare. I was only six months into my pregnancy and yet the little one within was becoming restless and threatening to enter into the world early.
“Why, God, are you allowing this to happen? Please don’t take him away!” I sobbed as the nurses began prepping me for delivery. With my heart grieving, my desire to let God have complete control left me for the present time.
Finally, with my husband and a close friend at my side, my precious little son made his arrival. With blue as his coloring, he was whisked off to the neonatal care unit in attempts to ventilate him for breathing.
I could only lie on the gurney, exhausted. I wanted to see the little one, but my body demanded sleep. The nightmare was over. I had no clue what the next few days would bring. I only knew I had to give it all back over to God. Only then could I be at complete peace, no matter what the prognosis.
My thoughts of these previous events were interrupted by the booming voice of the doctor. “How’s the little President today?” he asked as he began checking the status of my son, nicknamed President due to his given name. It caused me to chuckle.
The days progressed to weeks. Each week brought further progress. Yes, my little son would survive. He was a fighter. As I walked into the nursery each day, I would stop and admire several of his little peers in their own cribs. Some were smaller yet. The saddest day was the day I noticed an empty crib where a one pound baby had once lay. Tears threatened to fall as my heart grieved with the parents.
My heart swelled with great pride and gratefulness as I held my precious little Mr. President in my lap as the nurse wheeled me to the car where my husband waited to take us home at last. Tears of joy splashed on the faces of nurses as they watched yet another fighter join his anxiously waiting family.
Our sweet, little miracle. He could have died, but God wanted him to live!
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