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Faith: The Art of Possibilities (Continued)
“Are you ready to have this baby yet?” the doctor asked, implying he would do a cesarean section.
He agreed to thirty more minutes for me to attempt a natural birth, but after 27 minutes I knew something was wrong. The baby’s hear rate dropped to 80 beats per minute. I stopped pushing and rolled to my left side. My nurse ran back into the room and put oxygen on me then turned me onto my other side. The baby’s heart rate dropped to 60 beats per minutes and we were rushed into the operating suite.
The contraction lasted eight minutes until the baby was delivered. She was a beautiful full term baby girl with black curls covering her head, but she was in serious trouble. Her heart rate low, the doctor did chest compressions to restore her circulation. Her airway had to be cleared of the thick green meconium which threatened to cause her even more problems.
Once she was somewhat stable she was on her way to the neonatal intensive care unit with my husband in tow, but before she left the delivery room I got to see her and feel that instant love. I felt as if she recognized me when I spoke to her. I also knew I was going to have to exercise my faith but I wasn’t going to let her go.
After about an hour my husband returned with a doctor who had no good news. My baby now was seizing and the doctors were suspecting brain damage already, but I refused to believe there would be any lasting severe mental affects. Knowing my religious affiliation, my nurse asked several times if I wanted a priest. In frustration I finally told her if she needed to be baptized, I would do it for her, but she was going to be fine.
My friends were worried about me. They were afraid I was in denial about the seriousness of her condition. It was faith I was holding, visualizing a well, healthy baby.
My priest did come to visit in the afternoon and baptized her. Between the baptism and the medications her seizures came under control. Still she wasn’t in the clear. There was no certain way to assess the damage and still we did not know what had happened. The major fear at the time was that one of the vessels in her brain had ruptured and that she had bleeding in her brain, but she was still too unstable to go to CAT scan.
It seemed there were lines and tubes everywhere in this little person; one for breathing, another for fluids, and one just in case. The fear would try to sneak in and steal my dream, but I was determined - determined to exercise my faith and hold onto my dearest treasure ever.
Over the next several days progress was slow. The medication to stop her seizures took longer to wear off than expected. The neurologist again tried to squelch my hope, saying again he didn’t know how severely brain damaged she was, but he suspected it was profound. I refused to allow his attitude to become mine. There was no hope in his eyes and in my sorrow for him I explained that my job was to teach her at what ever level to be a good person.
His words of despair served to fortify my faith. Over the next several days, my baby strengthened and was released to come home. When she was laid on her bed for the first time, she sighed and smiled. My sister and I looked at each other in disbelief. Somehow it seemed as if she knew she was home where she belonged.
Our bond grew and she continued to improve. My family, friends, and I kept our focus in front of us. We took advantage of therapies to help with bumps along the way, but she and I always maintained our connection.
Today my daughter Sarah is a vibrant, intelligent, compassionate, and loving soul. My hope took substance and my faith has grown. The experience allowed me to see that regardless of the amount of light, vision makes possibilities become realities.
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