A Miracle in Our Living Room
A miracle is defined in the Miriam-Webster dictionary as being an “extraordinary event manifesting divine intervention in human affairs”. This definition resonates with me as I look on the last half decade of my life.
It was not a miracle that I met my husband, though I prayed for a wonderful man to come into my life. Our meeting was brought together by a website called Christian Café.com. My husband proposed to me two and a half years to the day from our first meeting. Six weeks later we were married in our church before friends and family. It was a glorious day.
Six months later we were delighted by the news that we were expecting. We bought little booties and gave them to both sets of parents as a way of announcing our bundle of joy. We lived in expectation of the birth of our first child.
The day of our first sonogram had arrived. We were excited to learn if the baby was a “he” or a “she”. We received wonderful news revealing our child to be a “he”. However, the doctor also shared an area of concern. Our son’s arms and legs were substantially shorter than that of a pregnant woman in her 20th week of gestation. I wanted to rejoice in the news of our child’s gender but instead I was grappling with this concerning news. At first, I thought, the doctor is wrong. Our child would “catch up” and grow to be within normal range.
We sought another opinion and to our surprise the news was dire. We were told our son’s diagnosis was potentially “not compatible with life”. Further testing was recommended to include an amniocentesis. Despite facing such a negative prognosis, we both felt a “peace that passes all understanding”. That peace carried us through to the day of our son’s birth in August of 2005.
We did not hear a loud cry from our son as he made his entrance into the world. He was whisked away to the Neo-Natal Intensive Care Unit where he was intubated and placed on a highly specialized ventilator. We were told he would not survive birth. The first miracle; he lived. Indeed, the patient kept living. In those first six weeks of his young life, our son, Samuel, had a tracheostomy and a gastrointestinal tube placed. We were told to count our son’s days in terms of months, not years. Each month of life was celebrated like a birthday. He was transferred to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit where he celebrated his first Christmas surrounded by family, friends, doctors and nurses. He was a miracle at four and a half months old.
As the New Year approached we were encouraged by Samuel’s lungs getting stronger. Through a series of ventilator trials he was slowly being weaned off the hospital grade ventilator to a ventilator made for home use. It was an arduous process. Two steps forward, one step back. Then it happened, he was breathing on the home ventilator. By February, he was being transported by an ambulance to our home and 24 hour nursing care. August arrived and we celebrated the day we were told not to expect, Samuel’s first birthday. We asked guests to bring balloons to this momentous event. And so they did. The house was full of bright and beautiful balloons of all shapes and colors. The house was also full of hope.
Today our son is eight years old. He is full of exuberance and joy with a hint of mischief. We believe God divinely intervened in our son’s life. Just in the last year, we were amazed to have Samuel weaned off the ventilator.
I’m blessed to have a real life miracle in my living room.