Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: IT IS WELL WITH MY SOUL (don't write about the song) (04/02/15)
- TITLE: FRIENDS IN HIGH PLACES
By Dianne Hummelle
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Terry Michael was born breech. I could see his tiny blue tinted body in the large rounded mirror that was above him. They were trying to get his head out but it wasn’t coming. Art was suddenly sent out. The room quickly filled with nurses, orderlies & all 4 doctors employed at the hospital. Three faces squished together as they peered through the small circular window of the delivery room door.
A nurse rushed in with a crash cart from the surgical room. A needle was put in my arm. As I was going under, one doctor decided to ‘save the day' grabbing a pair of forceps and trying to put them around my son’s head to pull him out. I was screaming in agony as I went under, hearing the fading voice of my doctor yelling at him to stop. From the waiting room, Art could hear me screaming as he anxiously paced.
A caesarian was done to pull my son’s shoulders back into me but to no avail. After four hours of trying to get our son out of my body, Art was approached with a set of papers to authorize drainage of water from his head. They explained, “It's the only option left. She won’t be able to hang on much longer. This procedure will enable us to take the baby out in the original breech direction. You'll lose your son but save your wife. Not signing - you'll lose them both.” Art signed, then went outside to the parking lot where he kicked snow bank, after snow bank, after snow bank. Once 25 ounces of the water was drained from Terry Michael’s head, they were able to pull him out.
I spent the next two days in ICU with a 24 hour watch nurse sitting beside me. Finally, I was moved to a private room in the medical section, to spare me from seeing happy new moms with their healthy little babies. On the weekend, the on-call doctor opened the door, slowly leaning in. “How are you doing?” he asked. “Okay,” I whispered. “Well, it was a good thing he died,” he announced. “He would have been retarded anyways.” He quickly disappeared.
After ten days of hospitalization, I was discharged for a long recovery at home. I had gone from having an amazing memory to having trouble remembering pretty much anything. I’d ask the same questions repeatedly, causing expressions of irritation. Eventually, I started to remember my questions but couldn't remember their answers. Over time, most of my brain cells regenerated but I’ve never regained my ability to remember names well. Years later, I learned that during the surgery, my brain had suffered from oxygen deprivation.
I had to wait one year for a tubaligation, as assurance it wasn't a decision from despair. Once the year passed, it was done. Being the last carrier of Genetic Hydrocephalus in the family, our curse was put to rest. My decision sat well with my soul.
Wanting a child, I saw an invitro-fertilization specialist. Feeling my explanation for having the tubaligation was overstated and wanting to know what REALLY happened, he requested the medical report from the Geneticist's office located on the next floor. He read for what seemed like a long time before resting the report on his desk, still holding onto the bottom of it. I was expecting him to say something but instead, after minutes of silence, he lifted the report back into position & continued reading. At last, he closed it, setting it gently on his desk, looking dumbstruck. I expected his professional response but words didn’t come.
Finally, he carefully said “This report tells me there are at LEAST, four times you SHOULD have died. You didn’t. I don’t know WHY you’re still here. You SHOULDN’T be alive.” In awe, having learned for the first time, just how close I came to death, I confidently responded with “I have friends in high places.” I wasn’t yet actively following my faith but in my heart, I knew it was God who saved me from death and God who saved my son from a short but terrible life. It was truly, well with my soul.
This story is my true experience.
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