I love birthdays. I love passing those milestones with each of my seven kids, a public reminder of the blessing of spending one more year in their lives. In the mom department I have been blessed with having it relatively easy. All seven are pretty amazing people. However, Pretty Pretty's birthday is also my reminder that miracles exist, that the answer is sometimes "yes", and that on occasion the heavens do open and quietly pour out miracles.
Our Pretty Pretty joined our family on a sunny June day. Her birth was much anticipated. It followed numerous miscarriages, and a search for a treatment that would allow us to have the child that we knew was waiting to join our family. Finding the cause of the problem was a miracle in itself: Had I experienced the same issues with my oldest three there would have been no known treatment, and my chances of success would have been less than 20%. I was also greatly blessed to find a doctor who was willing to search for a cause rather than just using my six living children as anecdotal evidence that all should work out eventually. Maintaining the pregnancy required two shots of blood thinner a day, as well as treatment for some other conditions and many weeks of moderate bedrest.
As we arrived at the hospital for her birth, it felt very much like reaching the finish line of a long, arduous race. Our miracle girl, much anticipated by our entire family, was finally making her debut. Things progressed quickly and beautifully, and we soon found that I was nearly dilated with minimal pain. About 10 minutes before it was time to push, things changed drastically. The cord dropped down below our baby's head, cutting off her oxygen supply. The problem was caught quickly and the doctor was in an office just down the hall. As quickly as humanly possible they rushed me into surgery. There was no time for sterilization or a neat incision, but they got our baby out in record time.
The heroic efforts by the staff were not quite enough to keep her heart beating. Since the epidural was not in full effect I could feel the moment they pulled out my still, silent little girl. They quietly rushed her to a trauma room for efforts at resuscitation. I have never prayed as hard as I did during those long minutes on that stretcher ride and operating room table. Our much anticipated Pretty Pretty had an apgar score of zero at one minute after birth. She was essentially stillborn.
Ten agonizing minutes later a nurse returned to tell us that she was not breathing on her own, but she had regained a heartbeat. We were given dire predictions about brain damage due to lack of oxygen; all we could do is continue to pray and to rely on Heavenly Father to help our girl. Thanks to many prayers and a much needed blessing, 24 hours later she was nursing, breathing completely on her own, and was able to move from ICU into my room. The hospital stay was extended to five days, but that was mostly due to the lack of sterilization (for me) during surgery rather than due to her needs. We took her home the next weekend with a little bandage over the cut on the side of her head from the quick work with the scalpel that saved her life. Like Harry Potter, under her honey colored hair she still carries a little scar that reminds us that she was "The Girl Who Lived".
I type this out with some hesitation. I am painfully aware that when waiting for a miracle, the outcome isn't always exactly what you might wish. My first thought goes to the parents of two little boys lost in infancy, so very much missed, who did not receive the miracle that we did. Both sets of parents have strengths that we don't have, and deserved to raise their miracles as much or more than we deserved ours. I have met many other dear friends over the last few years who have lost little ones. Circumstances vary, but the pain is always far reaching and life changing. I continue to hope and believe that the day will come for a joyous reunion, and the long years of grief will seem as a small moment to those who have endured it.
This week, though, I am especially thankful that the answer is sometimes "yes", that miracles do happen, and that four years ago we were on the receiving end of a huge one. And the predicted brain damage? The only possible residual effect we have seen in this quick, feisty, generous little girl is that she tends to faint when she cries hard. We will take it. Miracles still exist, and every day I am grateful for this one.
Happy Birthday, Pretty Pretty!
(Pretty Pretty with her cousin, whose birth was a miracle in its own right)
