A Book of Miracles

Mother's Intuition^R5

Ellen Javernick

I looked at my watch. Almost 4:00  ... the time I'd promised to leave the hospital. I'd practically lived there since our baby was admitted. Our pediatrician first heard Lisa's heart murmur when I'd taken her in for a lingering cold. "It's probably nothing serious," he reassured me, "but I think she should be seen by the doctors down at Children's Hospital."

Two days later, my husband, our five children, and I headed to Denver for Lisa's appointment. We planned to make a day of it, visiting the museum and having lunch out. Instead we ate in the hospital cafeteria while we waited for the results of EKGs and chest X-rays. When the doctors called us back to his office, we learned that Lisa had a condition called patent ductus arteriosus. "Before babies are born," he explained, "blood flow bypasses their lungs. When a baby begins to breathe, a temporary blood vessel is supposed to close. Lisa's hadn't, so oxygenated blood isn't getting to her body. She needs surgery."

I was terrified, but again the doctor reassured me, saying the condition was fairly common.

Lisa was admitted to the hospital and her surgery scheduled for the following week.

When friends heard of Lisa's hospitalization, they were wonderful, sending food, and caring for our other children. I drove home each night after Lisa fell asleep, then left at 5:00 a.m. to get back to the hospital before she woke. The schedule was taking its toll on our other little ones, and today my husband, a basketball coach, had a game so he couldn't pick up the kids for supper. With much encouragement from the nurses, I'd agreed to leave early.

I looked at my watch again  ... just 4:00. If I didn't leave soon, I'd get caught in the Friday afternoon traffic.

I knew I should go, but something made me stay.

Five minutes more wouldn't matter much.

At 4:05, I rationalized I could sing Lisa a couple more songs.

At 4:10, I readjusted the blinds and watered the plants.

At 4:15, I bent down to start Lisa's music box. She didn't look quite right. Her lips seemed slightly blue, her breathing shallow. Panicked, I pushed the call button. An aide arrived. She patted my shoulder. "Your baby is fine. You just go along home to your other children. We'll take care of Lisa."

I knew she was wrong. I ran to the nurses' station. "Please come," I begged. "Something's the matter with my baby."

One of the nurses looked up. "Don't worry; we took her vitals less than an hour ago. She was fine then. Someone from the next shift will check on her again as soon as we finish report. You just go along home and don't worry."

By then I was hysterical. "Somebody help!" I screamed as I ran through the halls.

The cardiologist's office was just beyond the patient rooms. His secretary jumped up to try to intercept me as I burst through the door. I grabbed the doctor's hand.

"You've got to come now," I sobbed. "Nobody will listen and my baby is dying."

"She's overwrought," the doctor whispered, "but I'll walk her back."

I didn't let him walk. I dragged him down the hall.

One look at my listless little one and the doctor sprang into action.

The room immediately filled with medical personnel. From the corner to which I'd been relegated, I listened in horror to snatches of their conversations: "heart failure  ... immediate surgery  ... touch and go  ... she'd probably have died  ... a miracle that her condition was discovered when it was."

It was a miracle, but then God often works his miracles through mother's intuition.

(616 words)