Miracle on 17th Street.

{Today's "guest post" is written by my brother, Steven, chronicling the uncertain events that surrounded his infant daughter's birth. Both Jami and Baby Abby are now doing beautifully! Praise God for this family and their miracle. Enjoy!}

As the sun rose early on a typical Thursday morning, most were getting ready for work or school. Yet my wife and I were taking this typical day to welcome our new baby daughter.  As Jami was a week overdue,  our doctor informed us that our current situation indeed ordered us to go in for a scheduled induction. 

 As we arrived at the hospital, things couldn't have seemed more perfect.   

As the day progressed, so did Jami.  Fighting those contractions like a birthing machine, it seemed as if our natural birth was finally going to happen. (With Bella, we had to undergo an emergency c section.  However, we were bound and determined to forget the past and have our new bundle of joy the natural way).  After lunch, Jami started feeling pains in her shoulder, and asked me to buzz the nurse.   

I did, and here is where our miracle begins.   

As the nurse came in, her smile seemed to fade, and the look of concern seemed far too serious for my comfort.  She ran off and brought several nurses in with her.  Then, I noticed that their tones changed. Suddenly, Jami had an oxygen mask on, and they were sternly paging our doctor.  As the doctor rushed in, she took one look at Jami's belly, and ordered the nurses to get Jami to the O.R quickly.  As I started to walk with her, I was told that I wouldn't be allowed to go back with my girls.  Suddenly, I felt a sense of fear.  The same sense had hit me once before, two years ago, when Bella was born.  I stood in the empty hallway staring at the operation doors as if my heart had just been ripped out of my chest, and that's exactly what had just happened.

I paced the floor, and kept looking at the clock as if I could make a rational time limit on when someone was going to come get me.  Yet, and hour and a half past, and I knew nothing.  I saw a nurse come by and ask a receptionist what was going on.  The lady at the desk, not knowing that I was listening, informed the nurse that the lady in room 11 had just had a uterine rupture.  The nurse threw out a curse word and ran for the operating room doors.  My wife is a guru when it comes  to all things VBAC ( vaginal birth after cesarean), so I have been educated on the ins and out of the process. 

 When I heard the she had a uterine rupture, I instantly got sick.  I knew that it was time for me to seriously plead my case with God.  

If you have ever seen the movie Signs, you might remember the ending scene where Mel Gibson pleads with God to not take his son as he was suffering a major asthma attack ( hope I didn't just spoil the ending for ya).   

That was me.....I begged God not to take my wife and daughter. 

   

Thoughts surrounded me of life without my wife and new daughter.  There were things I could have said, should have said.  Just then a nurse came down the hall and told me that she was fine.  She?  There were two ladies back there that I was concerned about...I just knew one had passed away.  

 Then it hit me, where was my faith?   

We had prayed for 10 months that God would allow Jami to deliver our baby safely and healthy.  I told God that I trusted Him, and that it was in His hands.  Not too long after, a nurse brought my new baby girl and let me hold her for just a few seconds.  They needed to get her to the nursery to check her vitals and such.  Nurses were still running around in a panic, so I waited to hear what I needed to hear....she's ok, right?   

Just then Jami's doctor walked out and came towards me.  In my heart I had to trust God, because I was fixing to lose it.  The doctor smiled and said, "Your girls are precious to me, so I took the best care of them that I could".  She then informed me that Jami was going to be fine, but there was still a possibility that she would need a blood transfusion.  I instantly thanked God for being too good to me.  I knew that He had delivered a "miracle" to me in more than one way. 

 Now let's face it, the word "miracle" is tossed around pretty loosely sometimes, but I knew in my heart that this indeed was a grade A, 100% genuine God-sent miracle.  And if there was any doubt to this, pretty much every doctor that walked out of that operating room (there were several) confirmed to me that God saved my wife and daughter.....and that I should be thankful.   

Just like on the end of Signs when Mel Gibson looks to the sky and thanks God for saving his son, I couldn't help but to tear up ( Hard for me to admit...don't spread that around) and just praise God for saving my family. Several hours later, our little family, minus one crazy haired toddler, was reunited and all was right with the world. 

 So there you have it. Even though my miracle doesn't come in black in white, or feature that girl from Matilda that has the lisp.....it's a miracle that happened in Knoxville, TN on 17th street.

It is a miracle I'll never forget.

(Missed today's daily photo? Click here.)