My Son, My Miracle, Page 2

Steve, Jared's father, was quietly summoned to the outside of the deliverary . .







Steve, Jared's father, was quietly summoned to the outside of the delivery room.  I was laying awake on an operating table beginning to sense an aura of panic immediately following the cesarean delivery of my third bundle of joy.  While monitoring epidural anesthesia, my anesthesiologist tried to keep me engaged in a conversation about the Titanic and its recently discovered treasures.  If it weren't for the sharply trained expertise and the warm bedside manner of the anesthesiologist, I surely would have gone into shock had I known what was going on with MY newest little treasure.

Still, I kept wondering, "Where is my baby and husband?"  When our first two sons were born, they were placed in their father's arms at my side as soon as the delivery team was able to get a finger and toe count.  Together we would oogle our newborns until the nurses practically tore them away from us for their first trip to the nursery. 

I knew Jared was alive.  There were loud exclamations in the operating room as he "tinkled" on his doctors during the delivery.  Soon afterward, I listened to what every new mother listens intently for--the first cry of her newborn.  

But . . . Jared's cry was different.  It was a muffled little cry that sounded as though it were drowning.

Fortunately, Jared was born in University of Michigan's Women's Hospital in Ann Arbor.  Because I am a diabetic, my pregnancy and deliverary fell into the high risk category.  Jared was delivered three and one-half weeks early as a result of diabetic complications.  Numerous medical tests had been performed prior to Jared's deliverary and no surprises were expected.  However, due to the nature of a large university teaching hospital, emergency equipment and scores of doctors were on standby.

Stay tuned . . .