Nearly twenty two years ago I had surgery to reverse a tubal ligation, so that I could give my now ex-husband a child of his own, the greatest gift I could think of, and which we wanted very much. He was a great step dad to my kids and his own foster child from a previous relationship. He went and bought a house one day while I was at home with the kids and my grandmother, who needed help as my grandfather had passed away. We met in Los Angeles, moved to Pacifica, then moved to Oklahoma in the middle of February, a wonderful adventure with mishaps which could have been disastrous, but I felt my grandfather watching over us and protecting us so that we could keep his wife company.
The doctors gave me a 50/50 chance of conceiving, so we got an ovulation predictor. Four months after major surgery I did conceive, and knew it shortly after the exact moment. I tested myself the earliest possible moment in my cycle right at the break of dawn and proudly told his father the news.
My previous baby had been born by cesarean and I wished to deliver normally and was blessed to make a life long friend at the local Universalist Unitarian Church who volunteered to become my doula. After a terribly hot summer my due date came and went, and the doctor began to talk about induction. Luckily my labor did begin after a bumpy dirt road ride and a spicy lunch, my friend came to walk and breathe with us. My labor progressed slowly and my baby was big, as all my babies had been. At some point in the evening my waters burst during a thunderstorm, splash! Somehow I was lucky enough to make it to the toilet without making a mess, but there was meconium in the water, so off to the hospital we drove. Our goal had been to wait until I was at six cm in order to facilitate a normal delivery.
My friend stayed by my side all night long, but in the morning I had only reached five cm, so the doctor advised a Pitocin drip and an epidural as I was worn out and in a lot of pain from almost twenty-four hours of strong contractions. Birthplan in hand, I consented to the doctor’s wishes and my friend had to leave. I fell asleep until feeling a strong urge to push. The nurse came in and checked me and told me to push, my baby’s head nearly emerged. She held it back and told me to hold on til the doc arrived.
The doc who arrived was a stranger, making me feel uncomfortable. I pushed three times and my baby slipped into his hands. I asked him not to cut the cord and he replied with his deep Oklahoma country accent, “We don’t do that with meconium.”
He handed my baby boy to the assistants immediately after cutting the oxygen giving cord, and they deep suctioned him with a bulb syringe. After cleaning him off they gave him to me, but he couldn’t nurse and I could tell something was wrong. They took him off to the nursery for inspection and brought him back twenty minutes later, and again I tried to nurse, and again I noted he was in distress. They took him away again and kept him, and every time I called (we were not allowed to be by his side) they only told me my baby was in trouble, fighting for his life.
Finally the pediatric surgeon came to tell us what was going on. Our baby’s lungs had burst, causing a bilateral pneumothorax condition. They had attempted to relieve this condition with two thoracenteses, then proceeded with putting him on a ventilator.
My oldest daughter took the kids home (she was already 18, and I was 34) and prayed to God for a sign. After lighting a candle she went in the backyard, and hundreds of birds flew by. This lifted our hearts, but it was so difficult to not sink into despair. But we needed to be strong for little Nick. That was the scariest experience we had ever gone through, so we spent all of our time with in the NICU with him, then went to the chapel to pray. We both came from large families and both our families organized large groups of kind people to pray and pray and pray.
Little Nicolas was eight pounds, a strong beautiful baby boy, his eyes were deep and soulful. He told us with his eyes that he was going to make it. Even after on top of all he was going through he developed septicemia from all the germs there. The hospital pediatrician was stern and told us to prepare for our baby’s death. Only 50 percent of newborns with septicemia alone survive, his condition was much more severe. If he did survive, we were told he would need to remain on the respirator at least a month.
On his third day of life at least one hundred of us around the country were praying in unison, and just as we returned from the chapel the nurse came running in to tell us that a miracle had happened. Our baby was breathing against the respirator, and she had turned his O2 down from 100% to 70%. We rejoiced and went to see him again right then. Such a little fighter, with so many tubes on him, on sedatives to keep him from pulling the tubes out, and Dopamine to maintain his blood pressure.
We had to go home that night, the next morning I called at 5 a.m. to see if we could return. He was on a nasal cannula by then, and I was able to give him a bottle of my breastmilk. I was able to nurse him the next day. Finally we were able to take him home by nine days of age. He did have a touch of asthma from time to time, but grew out of that into a tall and strong, kind young man. He is the inspirational dude to his groups of friends.
This was the most amazing miracle I have witnessed, and I am sharing this because this is why I write, to let others know that miracles are really real. I am a late baby bloomer from the Expect a Miracle Generation. And what I know for sure is this: things can turn around very quickly despite a LOT of seemingly contrary to evidence. This is why I have hope for humanity despite the current state of affairs which we are all quite aware of. There are millions awakening, Gaia herself is awakening. The flip side of the coin of Fate is Pure Love in the most magnificent form. We are opening up like lotus flowers, and our etheric wings will lift us spiritually while at the same time we ground the intense incoming energies right now, in the Year of Purification.