A little background:
I was in the Army and broke both my hips in a training exercise while I was still in boot camp. This story happens while I was in recovery from that injury....
...I talked to
Sarah every day from boot camp at Fort Benning, Georgia, asking about her and
the baby; then I would hang up while she cried.
We weren’t expecting to have these problems. I was only going to be in Georgia 13 weeks,
but now I had been there for 8 months due to my broken hips, and had seen my
wife only briefly. In July, I convinced
my 1st Sergeant to let me go home for the 4th
weekend. I spent 4 days looking at
printouts of sonograms that showed our baby and hearing all about Sarah’s
pregnancy. At the airport, Sarah got mad
and said, “I am tired of saying goodbye to you.” Nobody more than me! I had been living in the movie Full Metal
Jacket for 8 months!
Later the
following month, Sarah called crying.
She had developed problems in her pregnancy; her blood pressure was
rising. I convinced her that it was no
big deal, and that things would be okay.
That was in August, the 9th month of basic training. Everyday, things became more complicated at
home with Sarah. She was continually
having problems with the baby, and soon the doctors put her on bed rest. I was beside myself. Not only that, my chain
of command would neither let me go home to my wife nor would let her come to
me. I would hear her cry every time I
called, which tore my heart out.
Then in
September, on Labor Day weekend, I snuck home for a few days to see about
Sarah. My personnel supervisor told me
that, if I got caught, it would mean I went AWOL, but to call and let her know
how Sarah was doing.
When I got home,
things were getting worse for Sarah. All
I could hear was her begging me not to leave her again. She was scared that the baby was going to die
and that I wouldn’t be there for her. I
couldn’t bear to leave her again, so I called my supervisor and told her that I
was bringing Sarah with me. She was a
great supervisor, and quickly pulled some strings to get me permission to stay
with Sarah at a hotel for 2 weeks while she rammed my discharge paperwork
through the system. After 2 weeks, we
were on our own. We managed to keep the
chain of command from discovering our secret.
Then it happened. Things got
worse.
On a Monday
morning, Sarah discovered that the baby had stopped moving. She was 28 weeks pregnant on that last
Friday. I took her to the hospital where
they started running tests on her. They
quickly decided that Sarah was dehydrated and admitted her into the hospital. They pumped IV fluid into her until I thought
she would pop. On Tuesday, they ran more
tests and decided that the baby was not doing well at all. Her heart rate was dropping, and Sarah’s
blood pressure was going up. Her body
was trying to abort the baby.
On that Tuesday
I had to tell my chain of command that I had my wife here with me, and that she
was in the hospital. They were mad, but
let me have a few days off to be with her.
On Wednesday,
Sarah’s condition grew worse, and the baby’s heart rate was dropping fast. The Army doctors were convinced that they
could handle the situation, but truly, things were spiraling out of
control. The next sonogram was bad
news. The baby had stopped responding
entirely, and was 6 weeks behind in her development. Instead of developing to 28 weeks, the baby
was 22 weeks developed. After we prayed,
the Army doctors turned us over to the neonatal hospital unit in Columbus,
Georgia (for the Army to release you is a miracle in itself!).
Once there, the
tests were underway, and the results were not desirable. The specialist came in and sat down beside
the bed. Things were grim. Sarah’s womb had developed a very rare
condition; the blood flow to the baby had reversed and was flowing into the
mother from the baby. He told us that if they couldn’t fix the
problem, then we would have to do an emergency cesarean. On Thursday, I called home to Texas and told
all of our families that we were about to have a baby; they all jumped into
cars and started driving. To make
matters worse, Hurricane Georges was spinning in the Gulf around Mississippi,
directly in their path of travel. I
settled in to watch the television, thinking that it might be a pleasant
distraction. However, the only thing on
the news was Monica Lewinsky and President Clinton.
On Friday
morning, the baby’s condition grew worse; she was in bad trouble. We would be introduced to our baby that very
afternoon, 11 weeks early. The Lord
overwhelmed us with peace. A gift of
faith sustained us. In fact, the staff
often asked what was going on in our minds, but we had faith that God was in
control.
The doctor from
the neonatal unit visited us. He was
concerned. He had seen hundreds of
babies come through his care. He said
that there was an 80% chance that she (the baby) would live. He also told us of the strong possibility that
she would be deformed or damaged in some way.
He said that we had some hard decisions to make. I looked at him and said, “Sir, it doesn’t
matter if the baby is born without a head, we will not abandon her, and we most
definitely won’t abort her. God gave her
to us, and we will be grateful for his gift.”
The doctor smiled and patted me on the back. He then suggested that I walk through the
nursery and see what babies that small look like. He said that I would be shocked to see this
baby for the first time in the delivery room without some prior knowledge. At that moment I became concerned. What would she look like? Would she be a monster?
Well, I walked
down, and a nurse escorted me through the nursery. As I walked into the room, the first thing I
heard was alarms going off, breathing machines humming, IV pumps buzzing, and a
mother crying. I tried not to appear
disturbed, but babies were struggling to live underneath those incubators. They were little tiny babies, not even big
enough to live.
We were
expecting our baby to be about 760 grams, about one pound, 11 ounces. The nurse took me to a baby that was one and
a half pounds, so I could get an idea what my child would look like. I gasped when she pulled back the blanket
covering that little boy. He was so
small and fragile that his skin was transparent. I could see his heart beating inside his
chest. I could see his muscles flexing
as he involuntarily jerked against the IV needle buried inside his leg. His face was covered with a ventilator. The nurse had a tear in her eye when she told
me that he was a twin that was born at 25 weeks, and that he and his sister
were fighting hard to live. I left that
nursery with a heavy heart, but I was ready to see God work on our behalf. Admittedly, I was concerned that this baby
was developed 2 weeks longer than mine, but was about the same weight. What would my baby look like?
That afternoon,
they prepped Sarah for surgery and wheeled her into the operating room. I was suited up like a doctor and joined her
shortly. They gave me a special chair
next to her bed, and I held her hand as they started the incision. I prayed and chatted, trying to keep Sarah
from being overly concerned. Three
doctors from two different hospitals told us that our now 29-week-old baby had
only developed to 22 weeks and only weighed 760 grams. We were braced for whatever the Lord chose to
lead us into.
I will never
forget the environment around us. Thirty
people were in the surgery room. Six of
them were doctors, and the rest were nurses.
To the left, a whole separate team waited with their incubator for the
moment the baby was born. Crash carts
and emergency equipment were readily available.
I can still hear
her little squeak as she was pulled out of her mother’s womb and laid upon a
cold metal table. Sarah was dying to
look at her, but I could see. Sarah kept
asking whether or not she was okay, but I had no answers. What I saw was way too small to be my
daughter…
Little Caitlin
Elizabeth Inman was born on September 25, 1998, at Columbus Regional Hospital,
in Columbus, Georgia at 5:03 in the afternoon.
She weighed 940 grams, about 2 pounds, 1 ounce, almost 200 grams bigger than they thought! Somehow between the sonogram and the surgery
Caitlin had put on 6 ounces! Truly God
was working in our behalf! We aren’t
stupid people, so we immediately gave God the glory for answering our prayers
to take care of our baby.
The doctors said
that Caitlin was doing well considering that she was born under such
circumstances. I left Sarah and walked
over to the incubator, and saw my baby lying under the bright lights. She had an IV in her head, but she was
breathing on her own, something they didn’t expect to be possible. I stared at her, but I can’t tell you what
was in my heart. A part of me was lying
on that table, and a part of me was lying on that gurney having her womb sown
back together. But all of me was looking
down at the gift God had given us, a beautiful little girl. No matter how long she lived, she was my special
baby, and my life would never be the same.
They let me hold her tiny hand when I stood over her. My heart leapt out of my chest. When they wheeled the incubator out of the
room, I felt my first loyalty split.
Should I stay with my wife, or should I go with my daughter?
My
daughter? Does that mean that I am now a
father? Wow, things can sure change fast
in life.
I walked into
the nursery where they were working on Caitlin.
I went and looked at her lying helplessly in that incubator…. I have to admit, my fragile heart was not
ready to see my daughter seemingly tangled up in wires and tubes, IVs, and
respirators. She was by far the
prettiest girl ever born, even though I couldn’t really see her.
Forty minutes
after she was born, a very tired and disheveled entourage of grandparents
stumbled into the door. They didn’t stop
once on their 18 hour journey and were dead tired, but full of excitement. We gooed and gawed over our miracle baby, and
were content for the moment. Sarah
settled in to recovering from her surgery after visiting the nursery in a wheel
chair. We sat and stared at our little
girl and beamed with joy.
The next morning,
we got Sarah out of her bed and wheeled her down to the nursery. Caitlin had done well through the night; in
fact everything looked fine. The doctors
said that she was doing so well that all she needed was to put on some weight,
and she could go home. They said that if
she would put on another 3 pounds, then she would be released. Until then, she would remain under their
care. I was fine with that idea until I
asked them how long it before she put on 3 pounds.
Three
months? That is impossible! Maybe 2 and a half, if everything goes
okay. Well, I was devastated. Our world was falling apart around us. We were along ways from home, the Army didn’t
want Sarah to be in Georgia, and we didn’t have a place to live. How could we afford 3 months of intensive
hospital care? Well, the only thing I
knew was that God would make a way.
That day passed
and no problems looming over us. Caitlin
was doing so well that everyone was amazed.
What really hurt
my heart was the fact that we had a brand new baby but weren’t allowed to hold
her. We could sit and stare at her all
day long, and we could hold her hand, but her existence was too fragile to be
held. In a rare way, not holding her was
a mixed blessing. After all, how do you
hold something that small, with all the wires and tubes? I was scared to pick her up, what if
something went wrong? What if I pulled
some tubes out? What if I looked into
her ear and an elephant crawled out?
Okay, I can see that I was being a little ridiculous, but I was carrying
a heavy stress load and everything seemed amplified.
The next
morning, the doctors were more concerned.
Caitlin was now having some problems with her stomach. As of yet, she was not given anything to eat,
as a precaution; but now there really might be a problem. Her abdomen was slowly swelling, and it was
painful to touch.
Earlier that day,
we had walked into the nursery and saw that one of the beds was missing. I asked what had happened to the baby, but
the nurse whipped a tear from her eyes.
She told me that one baby died earlier that day. “It’s hard,” she said, “but he had been dying
for a week and we were expecting it.”
The baby had been born deaf and never heard his mother’s voice. Can you find a better charity to give to than
the Children’s Miracle Network? Every
since that day, I never asked where a baby was or what happened to his bed.
On day three,
Caitlin’s stomach was horribly swollen.
She was in deep trouble. We
called and activated the prayer chain.
Between all our churches, we estimate that upwards of 2,000 people were
praying.
We went down to
the cafeteria to eat hospital food.
Believe it or not, the food was better than anyone would ever
believe. After lunch, all of us parents
and grandparents went back to the nursery.
I was shocked to see that Caitlin’s bed was gone!
The nurse saw
the look on my face and rushed to our side.
Everything was okay--they had only moved her to another room. The doctor ordered a culture test and Caitlin
showed positive for staff bacteria. She
didn’t have an infection, but rather, the possibility existed.
We gathered and
held her little hands as she was wheeled off to the X ray department to see if
they could find her stomach problem. We
didn’t wait long. A portion of her small
intestine was dying because of that negative blood flow in the womb, and would
be removed. Later that afternoon they
started prepping our baby for surgery.
We gathered and prayed for our baby again. While we were praying, one nurse got my
attention and asked me, “Would you like to hold the baby?” They wrapped Caitlin in swaddling clothes and
handed her to me. I was so scared to
hold her, but when they turned off the lights in the nursery, Caitlin opened
her eyes and looked at me for the first time.
I looked into her eyes and told her “goodbye” as they laid her back into
the incubator and wheeled her off to surgery.
I can’t shake the horrible feeling I experienced that day, wondering if
I would ever see her again, but trying not to cloud my mind with doubt. We gathered in the surgery waiting room and
waited. We could not pray, or sit, or
stand. We could not eat or drink. Okay, we ate Chikfile sandwiches and drank
Cokes, but we were useless to the rest of the world. The hours slowly walked by, the hours got to
their knees and crawled, the hours got on the floor and slowly rolled past. The surgery was to only last for 2 hours, but
we were instructed not to get nervous if it took longer, even up to 4
hours. After three hours, we turned on
the TV and watched “Touched by an Angel.”
It was a great show about a cop that was hooked on drugs.
After four and a
half-hours, the doctors came and visited with us. The chief surgeon said, “She lost 6 inches of her bowels, but she has
oodles left.” (He was the first doctor
that could speak good old American English.)
He assured us that she would recover nicely. We stopped and praised God that things
weren’t as bad as they first seemed.
So much more of
this story can be told, but for the sake of time, let me tell you that she
recovered without too many problems.
Several times we were called at night telling us to run as quickly as we
could, for our daughter was about to die.
God had mercy on us repeatedly; no better God or Father can be found
than my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
Caitlin is now
doing fine. On September 25, 2013, she
turned fifteen years old. She is still
way under the growth charts, but she is as healthy as any child can be, thanks
be to God!
Note: IF you are interested in the rest of the story, including my efforts to walk again, you can read this story in its entirety if you search my earlier posts for Caitlin's Story.
