Jesus, make my baby cry

It happened so fast. And then in slow motion it seemed. Everything was fine. Perfectly normal. Textbook, and then it wasn’t.

My pregnancy was pretty uneventful. I’m lucky, I know. Besides getting Covid in my 9th month, I didn’t have to experience a whole lot of fear. I had daily conversations with my unborn son during those 15 days of quarantine. We were way, way too close to my due date for comfort. I was terrified I’d go into labor and have to do it all alone. Stay put, little man. Stay put. He did.

I was five days overdue when I went into labor. Set for an induction later that night, I was delighted with his timing. He’s our first. He will be our only. I really wanted to experience what it felt like to go into labor. Thank you, little one.

I have another post in my drafts where I share the details of my labor. But for some reason, this story has been sitting heavy on my heart lately. So it wins.

I’m going to share this one detail because I think it’s a key benchmark. My mom, who had been hanging out with us for a little while, left my hospital room at 10 PM. When she left, a regular delivery was still the plan.

Our son was born via emergency c-section at 10:35 PM.

I wish I could tell you what changed. To this day, I still can’t quite work out the details because I truly felt like I was given a choice. To continue laboring or to go ahead with the c-section.

I really felt like I made the choice.
It’s clear to me now, I did not.
That baby needed out.
And he needed out fast.

I’ve had many surgeries in my life. An OR is fairly familiar territory. I wasn’t afraid. Just ready. Excited. We were only moments away from meeting our son.

That feeling quickly evaporated. As they rapidly prepped me for surgery, I felt sick. I’m going to be throw up I cried to anyone who would listen. And then I did. Violently. Repeatedly. Painfully.

Somehow, they got it under control and my husband joined me, taking his seat next to me.

I was told I wouldn’t feel any pain, but I would feel tugging and pulling. So I waited. And waited. And waited.

Suddenly, the tiniest tiniest little sound.

Wait, was that a baby? I looked all around me. Was that a baby!? Have they started? I felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Eventually, a nurse confirmed yes, a baby. A baby boy.

If that’s a baby, why isn’t he crying?

Silence.

Why isn’t he crying? I weeped.

More silence.

WHY ISN’T HE CRYING? I sobbed.

…

Panic gripped my throat. I never once considered this. Not once. Everything was fine. Perfectly normal. Textbook. And then it wasn’t.

The silence hung in the air for what felt like forever.

JESUS, MAKE MY BABY CRY!

The words weren’t fully out of my mouth when his cries filled the room. And I weeped openly. After just a few moments, the nurse came to ask if dad could go be with baby while they got him cleaned up. Go, I insisted.

Jonathan was maybe three paces from my bedside when I heard the doctor start shouting. Push this. Push that. She’s bleeding out.

I felt the first shot. Then the second. I’m going to be sick I whimpered.

You have nothing left the nurse assured.

She was right, but the dry heaves were more painful than the sick. Can’t you make it stop I cried. They couldn’t. The room faded to black. And then back. And then black. And then back.

Can you hear me, baby girl? I nodded, or at least I think I did. When you’re ready, turn your head to the left.

I can’t. I’m afraid I’m not done getting sick. I waited. Then turned.

You have to open your eyes. I did, and there he was. My husband, the man I’ve loved for almost 20 years, holding our son. A perfect little life.

I’ll be honest, I don’t remember much of what came next. And the pieces I do remember make my insides hurt, so I’ll keep those tucked away for now.

But this I share because 6 months ago, I was bleeding out on a table while nurses worked to resuscitate my son. My son who was born APGAR 0. Who remained APGAR 0 for a painfully long time. A curveball I never, ever saw coming. And Jesus rescued us. He made my baby cry. Miracle.

I don’t tell you this story to scare you. I share it because when God shows up so obviously, it deserves attention.

We are both okay. Our little one spent 4 long days in the NICU, far fewer than they initially told us. And he got to come home with us when I was discharged on day 5, something they assured me would not happen. Miracle.

It hits me every now and again, though. More often than I’d care to admit. Our lives took shape when JWH entered our world. Our days, lives and hearts are so much more full. We can’t imagine not ever knowing him. And my heart clenches whenever I realize just how close we came to that reality. A life without him.

Thankful.

So. Very. Thankful.