. Josiah turns 9.

I can scarcely believe that my firstborn is turning 9 tomorrow! How the time has flown, and he has come so far, changed so much. Josiah is sensitive, caring, & helpful, and I am so proud of who he is and will be! I've been thinking back to 9 years ago today ... so many memories ... maybe I'll jot a few of them here ...


Back in 2001, we were living in Guyana, South America. We were expecting our first child and were pretty confident that we would be delivering at home with my mom as midwife. If you would but peek in the doorway of a government hospital in that country, you would completely agree that home looked like a peaceful walk in the park.  As the time drew nearer for our baby to arrive I became more & more uncomfortable ... and by 35 weeks was measuring 43 cm. A torturous ride to the capital, Georgetown, for an ultrasound showed that we had a tiny baby, and about 3 times more amniotic fluid than a woman should ever have. But everything seemed okay, so we headed back home to wait for Baby Day. I was due the 18th of Aug.


A week later, on Aug. 5, our plans fell to pieces. My younger sister who was in the states, had an emotional/nervous breakdown, and called my mom & dad in hysterics. They decided they must get to her asap, so they packed up and headed for the capital to await the next flight out of the country. Which left me with no midwife, no support, and no way to get help if I would need it. We felt pretty uneasy about that, plus I was feeling even more cumbersome. So we made the very difficult decision to head to Georgetown too, and hunt up a reliable doctor, a respectable hospital, and a place to stay until the baby decided to arrive.


My mom & dad got tickets for their whole family to fly out early on Aug. 13th. We found a tiny, private hospital run by 7th-Day Adventists, and a wonderful, Christian doctor from the Philippines who was doing an internship in Guyana! She agreed to deliver me at the hospital, and so we settled down to wait at the local Y-WAM base. Mom & dad decided to spend some of their free time visiting some other missionaries at the other end of the country, so Jason & I pretty much had the place to ourselves, with almost nothing to do. I felt like I was about to go nuts.


The evening of Aug. 10th, my water broke. Now, I am quite experienced in midwifery and deliveries, and I know that there can be a lot of water. But this, this was more like a flood. The water ran across the floor, into the next room, and eventually into the room next to that one! And by the time we loaded up and headed to the hospital,  my stomach was so small, I barely looked pregnant at all. Labor finally started up, and by 1 am on Aug. 11th, they placed a very tiny, 5 lb, 5 oz. little boy in my arms. We were SO excited and happy. Then began the nightmare.


The nurses got me back to my own room, and settled Josiah in a tiny crib next to me. I was so exhausted, and tried feebly to nurse my baby. But I had IVs in each hand, and he was not very interested, so I tucked him in next to me and we both fell asleep. Around 5 in the morning, I noticed that my bed was pretty much soaked in blood. We tried and tried to rouse a nurse, but couldn't find one. Finally Jason found the linens cart, got some fresh sheets and supplies, and changed everything for me. Ahhh, back to sleep again. At 7, another flooded bed. This time, I was getting concerned. I had also tried to nurse Josiah again, as I knew that would help with the bleeding, but he was so sleepy, and he didn't seem to latch on or swallow well. He kept sputtering and gurgling. And by now I was in a lot of pain in my abdomen, so I gave up and handed the baby to Jason. We found a nurse, who gave me a shot, and changed the bed again.


At 8 am, my doctor came into my room to check on me. I was so miserable, and felt like I was in labor again. She took one look at me and began to massage my uterus, hard. She was instantly soaked to the skin in my blood, as it came gushing out of me. To make a very, very long story short, she sat on the side of my bed with my life in her hands for the next 12 solid hours. Every time she would stop massaging, I would begin bleeding again. They had given me every shot, pill, IV, suppository and meds they could think of. Finally, after 12 hours, things began to turn around and my bleeding slowed to normal. Apparently, my uterus had been stretched out SO much, that after delivery, it simply had no strength left to clamp down like it should have. Dr. Fiel told me that it was if I had carried triplets.


In the middle of all of this, the Dr. asked me incredulously why I was not nursing my baby?!? I told her that I had tried so hard, but it seemed like he couldn't. She very wisely put all the clues together and ordered a round of tests on him. The short version is that he was found to have no functioning esophagus. Only a little pouch that ended blindly just at his trachea. And not only that, but it was connected to his trachea, which meant that anything he swallowed would go directly into his lungs. The pediatrician came into my room and informed us that he had to have surgery, the sooner the better because he would begin going downhill quite soon. We asked if it could be done in this country? He replied, yes, that one of his surgeon-friends had repaired 8 of these abnormalities in his career. We asked what the survival rate would be. He answered that of the 8, one had lived. Oh. Wow. I think we will be flying out real soon!


I could type all night I suppose, if I were to describe the miracle blood-transfusion I got on a weekend with the blood bank closed. In my rare type. And that it was triple-checked for any diseases. Or if I were to explain how we were able to use my parents tickets to fly with our baby out of Guyana, only because my dad ran into the president of the airlines at a restaurant and he authorized the switch. Or if I told about how we miraculously found the consul of the American Embassy who stamped her authorizing mark on papers which allowed our 2-day-old baby to leave the country without a passport, birth certificate or any other form of ID. Needless to say, when I read back over the journal I kept of those days, I am always amazed at the astonishing string of miracles that God performed for us that week.


We left Guyana on Aug. 13th, with our very tiny baby in our arms. I still cherish those hours on the plane with him in my arms; his IV bags pinched in the door of the overhead luggage compartments. It was the first time that I really got to hold him, and it would be the last for many weeks. During the flight, he began struggling to breathe, and the flight attendants brought us oxygen for him. We used up all they had by the time we landed at the JFK airport, and they told us had they known he would need it, they would not have let us on the plane. We didn't know he would either! The pilot called ahead to the airport and let them know that a very sick baby was coming. They met me at the door with a wheelchair, and whisked us past every check-point, desk, and official. Back to a tiny office where they instantly stamped us into the country, and then right out the front doors where my uncle Dale was waiting with his van to take us to Hershey Medical Center. That was the fastest re-entry into this country I have ever experienced!! And I am SOOO glad Josiah was not born a month later ... can you imagine all the red tape after 9-11??


My uncle had brought an EMT with him, which was another God-thing. Josiah was steadily declining as he developed pneumonia, and each breath was labored. Uncle Dale drove 90 mph the whole way there, and I think he rather enjoyed it. We pulled up the this massive hospital, and I had no idea what to do next. We found directions to the NICU, and went up those 8 floors to the huge double-doors. Walked right in to the {very private} nurses station and said, "here's Josiah! He needs help!" Later I discovered that you never walk right in the the NICU! You always call for permission, even if your own child is in there. And I knew nothing of the admissions desk down on the 1st floor! But there again I believe God had a good plan. They took one look at my baby and whisked him away to help him breathe. While we went back downstairs to sign in and register and fill out yards of paperwork, they  intubated him and placed him in a tiny crib. When we came back, he was finally resting peacefully, and I felt as if a huge weight had rolled off my shoulders! I was so exhausted I cried, but I knew he would be safe, and that as a mom, I had done everything within my power to help him.


Josiah eventually had 25 surgeries to correct all his issues. The doctors said he was one of the toughest cases of TEF/EA that they had ever dealt with. But today you would never know that he had such a rough start. Unless of course he would show you his array of scars, or you would hear him cough past all the scar tissue. I am convinced that through all the pain and misery, God also worked an amazing personality into Josiah. He's different than most 9-yr olds that I know, and I think he is so special. Happy Birthday to my Miracle Boy! I love you, Josiah!