I'm not doing my traditional Music Monday feature today.
Instead, I'm going to share a post I've been writing in my head since the birth of my son.
It's a bit of a lengthy story, but it's our family's story and I hope it will encourage you and turn your gaze upon our trustworthy Savior.
-------------------------------------------------------
Let me start in 2016. That was a tough year for my wife and me. We had an ectopic pregnancy in the spring and then a 'normal' miscarriage in the fall. We struggled through the pain, tried to look at the positives, and sought to trust the Lord with this process of starting a family. We both did not want to start having kids right away when we got married in 2007 and by the time other life circumstances opened it up, we discovered in a painful way that God wanted us to make this "normal part of life" a matter of faith.
When we discovered we were pregnant again in the spring of '17, our excitement was tempered by caution. Going through what we did the previous year will do that. We were grateful as each doctor's appointment gave us indications that this baby was healthy and the pregnancy was looking good.
Nine months seemed to drag along as we went about our lives and prepared here and there for our new arrival. Finally, as we hit December the excitement really began building. We had a due date of January 4 and had conversations with seemingly everyone we knew about the positives and negatives of having a baby around Christmas and/or New Year's.
Tate was not especially anxious to come early, which was fine (tax benefits notwithstanding). Our primary doctor assessed Stephanie's situation and decided to induce around the due date. So, we were admitted into KCH Tuesday night, January 2nd, so we would be ready to begin the process.
The steps they take to induce didn't really work on Wednesday and by Thursday - the actual due date - they added Pertussin or something like that, which really kicks in the birth process. Stephanie wanted to do it natural and avoid the epidural, but after long, painful contractions and little progress, we went with the shot.
The epidural sped things up Thursday night and by about 10:30 pm, it was game time. The doctor and nurses were great all week and they were especially comforting and encouraging at this point. We got to the point after midnight where the baby was right there, but pushing was not getting this little guy out. I was feeling a little anxious and frustrated when the baby wasn't coming and I can just imagine how drained my wife must have felt.
The doctor then went with the little vacuum/suction cup apparatus to pull him out, sensing Stephanie's fatigue. First try didn't work, the cup popped off - ugh. After a few minutes and in line with the next contraction, the doctor was able to pull our little boy out.
The next moments are both very clear, but also a complete blur. To finally see my son born and them laying him on my wife's stomach was something I'll never forget. He had a little weird color but I'd never seen this before so I had no clue what to expect. His eyes were open and head happened to be turned right towards me. The doctor, who had an hour before confirmed with me that I'd cut the umbilical cord, asked me to do so - "Boy," I thought, "that seems really immediate". Oh well, I'd never been here before. And one snip later, the cord was cut.
The doctor and nurses had also stated several times during our stay that they promoted "skin-to-skin" care right after birth. It's where they place the baby on mom's chest right away so that mother and child can bond. Tate was laying on her as I cut the cord but pretty quickly after that, they took him off and placed him into what appeared to be a computerized changing station that had been in our room since our arrival.
"Huh, that was quick. I thought the 'skin-to-skin' thing would be more prolonged." But my mind was overwhelmed by everything I was just taking it all in, not realizing my wife was also wondering the same thing.
As I was taking it all in, I began to sense some tension in the room. The doctor, flanked by two nurses, were speaking in quiet and terse sentences as they powered up the computerized station and cleaned off our son. But they were really doing more than cleaning. The doctor was rubbing his hands over Tate's body. It was then that I realized that Tate had been kind of limp since he came out. That, plus the color I'd noticed earlier began setting off minor alarms in my mind. I tried to ignore them and play cool, realizing my wife couldn't see much from her position and was certainly in a lot of discomfort.
Moments later, one nurse began putting a CPR-type breathing mask over Tate's mouth and it started to hit me. By now the changing station was powered on and the heart monitor was beeping and showing about the same numbers that the monitors' had while he was still in the birth canal.
Ok, his heart was beating - good sign.
But not breathing - that's a problem.
Now worry was beginning to build. Soon, our medical team decided they needed another hand and the quickest way to do that was to hit the blue button by my wife's bed - a 'code blue' I guess (?). This called all available hospital workers to our room (!).
We did get that extra hand pretty quickly, but chaos ensued as more and more people poked their heads in our room and offered their services.
That certainly didn't help soothe the mounting anxiety inside of me. "C'mon little guy, pull through" and "No God, don't let this happen!" are some of the panicked thoughts I still recall as I shot up some prayers the rest of which I'm pretty sure needed the Holy Spirit's interpretation.
There wasn't a lot of sound coming from our little guy. Just the piano-key-like beeping of the station that was monitoring him. These minutes felt like hours and every little baby noise made my heart flutter with hope. At one point I buried my face beside my wife's ear and prayed for the both of us on behalf of our son. I could tell her concern level was matching mine.
Later on, one of those nurses, Cory, who providentially was a neo-natal resuscitation specialist, would tell us the ordeal went about four minutes. But Cory, Megan, and Dr. Cook did get our little guy breathing again. It was a relief like I'd never known when their tone changed and they shared that he was doing ok and breathing on his own. Sometimes this happens they would explain, when the baby comes out of the womb and is shell-shocked at this new world they are entering and they don't realize they need to actually breathe.
Relief and joy and gratitude washed over us. They took him to the nursery to monitor him for a little bit and despite all the machine beeps and alarms, our little guy stayed wide-eyed and pretty chill - just taking in everything, and of course breathing on his own. That's where this picture was taken, probably about 3 am.
It's a scary thing to imagine how close we came to being utterly devastated. We know couples who have lost children late in term. We have heard stories of babies who died at birth. I can't offer a perfect theological explanation for those situations, but in our case I can confidently say that God was so gracious to us. He was looking out for us. We had the perfect set of medical professionals for this kind of problem and the Great Physician watching over us.
Someday, we will tell our son about his first four minutes. I hope to do so in such a way and at such an age where he will truly understand God's protective and providential hand on his life. I hope he will recognize how even with his birth, we can see God's grace and love for us tangibly at work.
Someday we will tell our son about his first four minutes and how they were a reaffirming experience for us of God's infinite goodness and infinite mercy.
All it took was four minutes.
