Nothing Short of a Miracle Every Time

I came out to Salt Lake City to help our daughter and son in law with the birth of their second child, which they already knew was going to be a boy.  I thought my job would be as companion to Nate, their first child and my beloved grandchild.

Nate’s birth had been terrifying in that three-fourths of the way through delivery his heart rate had plummeted, resulting in a wild dash down the hall and an emergency C-section.  Both parents were anxious not to repeat that scenario, so this time a C-section was scheduled ahead of time in the interest of a calm, orderly process that would result in the arrival of a calm, orderly baby.

I arrived Tuesday, and immediately fell into the routines of a family just about to expand.  The crib was up, room painted, black-out curtains lining the window.  Searches for the car seat, the baby Bjorn, the baby clothes etc. dominated.  She and I were busy with last-minute shopping trips, laundry and walks with the dog before the Thursday, 5:00 p.m. scheduled C-section.

On our walk she said her contractions were five minutes apart, but she had been instructed not to pay any attention until they were painful.  This is someone who has known what real pain is from an awful riding accident, and what she was feeling was definitely not pain.

You’ve probably guessed that when we arrived at the vast campus of the Intermountain Medical Center she was already in full labor.  Her OB encouraged switching to Plan B and had the flexibility to cancel the C-section.

Anxiously the parents agreed, which meant an entirely new plan for Nate for the night.  I could have gone home to stay with him, but instead was privileged to be asked to stay and help with the birth. A family friend stepped in so I was able to be there with them and witness the birth of Will about six hours later.

It doesn’t matter how often it happens, and it happened nine times that night in that hospital, birth is a miracle every time.  A fetus, in the course of a few seconds, leaves its watery cocoon and becomes a baby boy.  I was allowed to cut the umbilical cord.

Numbed by awe, we were only wakened to the nurses concern when they swooped up baby Will, lying on his Mother’s chest, and removed him to the suction table on the other side of the room.  He had been trying to cry, but his lungs were not working properly and his color had a grayish tinge.  His ribs were heaving from the effort of trying to breathe.

The congratulations turned to silence, and fear took a hold of me as I shot arrow prayers skyward.  Will didn’t improve enough for their liking, and the next thing we knew he had left for the NICU.

The room emptied of nurses.  We reassured each other halfheartedly, and then sat there silently in the semi-dark of the room while our imaginations raced.  When twenty minutes later Will was wheeled back in, bright pink and lively, we were flooded with joy.  I was thankful beyond words at the same time that I had an inkling of the sorrow of parents whose vigils didn’t end as happily.  It made me shutter.

Mother and baby come home tomorrow.  We seldom realized how precious normalcy is.