The call came early in the morning while I was just starting to get busy at work. It was Dr. Clark, one of the neonatal fellows who had been on call that evening.
"I stayed up all night with Christopher and switched out his ventilator," he started. The week before, Christopher had gotten an infection that led to pneumonia. He had been switched to an exotic, one of a kind, combination high frequency and conventional ventilator. "He coded last night, but we were able to stabilize him," he continued. Coded was the term they used when a baby's heart quit beating and required reviving. Christopher had coded several times during his stay, but the idea that he almost died again really shook me as I listened.
"As you know, we stopped trying to make predictions about Christopher, but he's pretty sick and not oxygenating very well," he said almost apologetically. "You might think about coming in. But you know Christopher, he's pulled through these situations before."
After hanging up, I debated whether I should bother anyone with this news. After all, Christopher had done this type of thing so many times before. After a few seconds, I decided to call Woody to tell her I was on my way to the hospital. She had just finished getting dressed and was already planning to visit, but the news made her feel uncomfortable about making the long drive across town. Our home church was just a few minutes away so she called Chuck, our dear pastor friend and Christopher's Godfather, and he graciously offered to drive her. Woody then called over to my parent’s house to let them know of Christopher's status and that both she and I were going to the hospital. My father just happened to be home. He informed Woody that my mother was at the grocery store at a nearby Air Force base. Unknown to either of us at the time, my father drove out to the base, had my mother leave the groceries at the cash register, and then drove out to Wilford Hall.
When I arrived at Wilford Hall, I found Dr. Null outside of the nursery. Like Dr. Clark, he expressed concern but reminded me that this kind of situation wasn't new for Christopher. "Let's see how he responds over the next two or three days to the antibiotics," he said as I hurried off to get into a gown.
Inside the nursery, I could see the high frequency ventilator sitting beside Christopher's bed. The other ventilator was pushed off into a corner. Christopher had an oxygen saturation monitor attached to him which displays the percentage of oxygen that was being saturated in his blood. The monitor would make a beeping sound at each heartbeat and would display a number between 0 and 100 percent. I could hear the tone sounding unusually low meaning poor oxygen saturation. As I walked up to his bed I could see the number reading between 50 and 60 percent, the lowest that I could remember since his earlier bout with pneumonia. I stood for a long time holding Christopher's hand while staring at all of the monitors. Of all of the times I had stepped into that nursery before, I rarely looked at the heart monitor. Christopher's heartbeat was always strong and consistent. But knowing that he had coded the night before brought a new interest in what his heart was doing. It seemed as though his heart was beating a bit slower and without the same intensity per beat.
And then, as I stood there beside his bed, I felt the Presence of the Lord surround me as I have never known before. And in my heart I heard the voice of God whisper, "I'm taking your son today."
I was stunned. After all Christopher had been through and all of the times I felt encouraged by God's Presence, I never expected to hear these words. But they were clear and precise and I knew that this was my Savior’s voice. I began to weep. Throughout the entire eight months, I cried very little and never had cried at the nursery before for Christopher. God had always provided encouragement and hope. But now the knowledge that Christopher was soon to die swept over me like a flood. I stood there weeping, while sensing the comfort that only the Holy Spirit can supply. The nursery staff looked a bit bewildered at me. Christopher's condition was stable and they had never seen me show these emotions before. One of the technicians came by and put up a room divider around the bed thinking that I might want a little privacy. We had seen this room divider before but only following the death of a baby. I'm sure the technician didn't realize how prophetic his actions were.
My thoughts suddenly leapt to the promise that Woody had asked me to make when Christopher was a few days old - that she could be there when Christopher died. As I remembered her request, the monitoring equipment began to change tone. As I looked up, I saw the heart monitor register lower and lower beats. Soon alarms began to sound and the dot on the heart monitor began making a straight line across the screen. One time, then two times, then three times...
I began to pray through my tears, "Oh God, please let Woody be here." Then I shook Christopher and said, "Don't die! Your Mommy is coming! Please don't die now!"
Then, as I was just about to give up hope, I heard a faint sound from the monitor. I glanced up and saw a faint pulse - then stronger, and stronger. I wept, as I thanked God and encouraged Christopher that his Mommy would soon be here. Simultaneously, the nursing staff was scrambling to get some medications. I heard them yelling that Christopher had coded. They had a special emergency cart and began injecting medicines into Christopher's IV. So much was happening, I didn't stop to look to see if they were surprised to see that Christopher's heart had already started again and was now beating around the same rate as before. As I waited, I kept looking up to see if Woody had arrived. After what seemed to be an eternity, Woody came into the nursery and headed toward the sink to wash up.
"Don't worry about that," I cried. "Christopher's going to die." I said as she broke into tears while embracing the severity of the moment. She quickly came over to the bed and glanced at all the monitors that had become so familiar to us both. Like me, the idea of Christopher dying was the farthest thought on her mind.
"What happened?" she asked as she went to hold his hand. "He was doing fine last night."
After relaying what God had whispered to me before she arrived, we both stood there crying. The monitors continued to make their monotonous tones but with less frequency. Each passing tone began to sound a bit lower.
Outside the nursery, word had spread that Christopher had coded and his condition had degraded considerably since I arrived. Dr. Null and Dr. Tuttle arrived and stood beside us while assessing the situation and making minor adjustments to the medical equipment.
"I want to hold him," Woody said through her tears as she looked around at Dr. Tuttle and Dr. Null. While one of the nurses brought Woody a stool, Dr. Tuttle and Dr. Null carefully lifted Christopher up and placed him in Woody's arms. Christopher looked so peaceful lying there next to his Mommy. It was only one of a few times that she was able to hold him. I am still in awe at how gracious God was to us.
For the next wonderful few moments, Woody cradled Christopher in her arms. And as she was doing so, my Mother and Father arrived. Soon, David and Liz, and then Pastor Chuck, who had dropped Woody off at the front door, arrived as well. And just as if Christopher knew that everyone who was supposed to be there was present, his heartbeat began to decline. The alarms began to sound and a doctor headed for the emergency cart. I stopped him and reassured him that it was all right. God had told me that it was time.
We watched as his heart rate slowly declined to a steady line. Over and over again the line made a steady course across the front of the monitor. Dr. Null reached over and began turning off all of the monitors. Pretty soon I could only hear the whirring of the high frequency ventilator. As I had predicted in the news interview, it too, like all technology would eventually fail. Our hope and trust must rest on God alone.
As someone reached over and turned off the ventilator, it seemed like the entire nursery came to a halt. I looked around and saw the familiar faces of family and friends as well as doctors, nurses, and technicians openly crying.
Dr. Null and Dr. Tuttle began cutting the chest tubes that were still protruding from between Christopher's ribs. As I saw the bits of plastic tubing still sutured to his skin, I asked if they would remove them completely. Somehow, I wanted Christopher to be as "normal" as possible. But as they had cut through the sutures and began pulling the tubes out, blood gushed out from the open wounds. I turned my head only to look back and see them applying bandages over the wounds. They removed the tube that connected him to the high frequency ventilator, and all of the tape that held it in place. For the first time since his birth we were able to see his face without something covering it. One by one, the IV's, and then the monitor sensors were removed. Soon he lay there with only his diaper on. Besides the bandages on his sides, he appeared to be a normal baby, sleeping peacefully.
Then, with no fanfare, they wrapped Christopher up in a receiving blanket, just like you would a live baby, and asked if we would like to spend some time with him in Dr. Null's office. At first, the request seemed morbid, but we found ourselves following Dr. Null as he cradled Christopher's body and headed towards his office. Inside Dr. Null's office, we took turns holding Christopher's body. Through our tears we couldn't stop looking at his face. The swelling that had earlier covered it had disappeared. His long eyelashes lay quietly against his soft, round cheeks. His red hair, now much fuller than it had ever been, was still short and fuzzy and soft. Christopher had grown up to be a good size, full term baby. He was beautiful.
Over the next few moments, nurses and doctors came into the room. They too wept as they reminisced on the long journey this little baby had taken them on. Several of the nurses reluctantly and tearfully gave us a bag containing all of Christopher's belongings that surrounded his bed. Among the contents were some stuffed animals wrapped in plastic wrap (so as not to contaminate the sterile environment), a musical mobile, a letter from President Reagan, and several scriptures and songs from which we had received encouragement.
Looking back upon this time has brought a new light and understanding to me about the heart of our Father God. Watching your own child suffer and die must be the most painful thing to do. "For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believes in him should not perish but have everlasting life." (John 3:16) As a parent, you would most gladly substitute yourself in the situation. When I think about the way blood gushed from Christopher's side as they removed the chest tubes, I can't help but think about the description of the blood pouring from the side of Jesus when the Roman soldier pierced him. (John 19:34) I had to close my eyes and turn my head. I don't know if that is why Jesus cried, "Father, why have you forsaken me?" (Mark 15:34) But in that darkest moment, I too could not have looked on. People mistakenly think that God could not have been too concerned knowing that he would be reunited with his son in heaven. But as an earthly father equipped with the same promise of being reunited for eternity, I can say first hand that watching your son die is a moment of extreme pain and sorrow, even with the blessed assurance of eternal life.
We decided to bury Christopher at a cemetery that was just a few miles away from our home. After over an hour of making arrangements and phoning friends and relatives, a man from the mortuary came to pick up Christopher's body. We carried Christopher's lifeless body down the long corridors of the hospital, down an elevator and into one of the basements. Like a small infant, he was still wrapped in a receiving blanket. We said "good-bye" and painfully watched as the man placed Christopher in a large body bag. Little did we know that this would be the last time we would ever see him again.
Christopher David, our beloved Christ bearer, fell asleep in Jesus on September 24, 1986.
Scripture quotations taken from the NASB.
© Copyright 1987, 2016 by Rick Murata. All Rights Reserved.
"I stayed up all night with Christopher and switched out his ventilator," he started. The week before, Christopher had gotten an infection that led to pneumonia. He had been switched to an exotic, one of a kind, combination high frequency and conventional ventilator. "He coded last night, but we were able to stabilize him," he continued. Coded was the term they used when a baby's heart quit beating and required reviving. Christopher had coded several times during his stay, but the idea that he almost died again really shook me as I listened.
"As you know, we stopped trying to make predictions about Christopher, but he's pretty sick and not oxygenating very well," he said almost apologetically. "You might think about coming in. But you know Christopher, he's pulled through these situations before."
After hanging up, I debated whether I should bother anyone with this news. After all, Christopher had done this type of thing so many times before. After a few seconds, I decided to call Woody to tell her I was on my way to the hospital. She had just finished getting dressed and was already planning to visit, but the news made her feel uncomfortable about making the long drive across town. Our home church was just a few minutes away so she called Chuck, our dear pastor friend and Christopher's Godfather, and he graciously offered to drive her. Woody then called over to my parent’s house to let them know of Christopher's status and that both she and I were going to the hospital. My father just happened to be home. He informed Woody that my mother was at the grocery store at a nearby Air Force base. Unknown to either of us at the time, my father drove out to the base, had my mother leave the groceries at the cash register, and then drove out to Wilford Hall.
When I arrived at Wilford Hall, I found Dr. Null outside of the nursery. Like Dr. Clark, he expressed concern but reminded me that this kind of situation wasn't new for Christopher. "Let's see how he responds over the next two or three days to the antibiotics," he said as I hurried off to get into a gown.
Inside the nursery, I could see the high frequency ventilator sitting beside Christopher's bed. The other ventilator was pushed off into a corner. Christopher had an oxygen saturation monitor attached to him which displays the percentage of oxygen that was being saturated in his blood. The monitor would make a beeping sound at each heartbeat and would display a number between 0 and 100 percent. I could hear the tone sounding unusually low meaning poor oxygen saturation. As I walked up to his bed I could see the number reading between 50 and 60 percent, the lowest that I could remember since his earlier bout with pneumonia. I stood for a long time holding Christopher's hand while staring at all of the monitors. Of all of the times I had stepped into that nursery before, I rarely looked at the heart monitor. Christopher's heartbeat was always strong and consistent. But knowing that he had coded the night before brought a new interest in what his heart was doing. It seemed as though his heart was beating a bit slower and without the same intensity per beat.
And then, as I stood there beside his bed, I felt the Presence of the Lord surround me as I have never known before. And in my heart I heard the voice of God whisper, "I'm taking your son today."
I was stunned. After all Christopher had been through and all of the times I felt encouraged by God's Presence, I never expected to hear these words. But they were clear and precise and I knew that this was my Savior’s voice. I began to weep. Throughout the entire eight months, I cried very little and never had cried at the nursery before for Christopher. God had always provided encouragement and hope. But now the knowledge that Christopher was soon to die swept over me like a flood. I stood there weeping, while sensing the comfort that only the Holy Spirit can supply. The nursery staff looked a bit bewildered at me. Christopher's condition was stable and they had never seen me show these emotions before. One of the technicians came by and put up a room divider around the bed thinking that I might want a little privacy. We had seen this room divider before but only following the death of a baby. I'm sure the technician didn't realize how prophetic his actions were.
My thoughts suddenly leapt to the promise that Woody had asked me to make when Christopher was a few days old - that she could be there when Christopher died. As I remembered her request, the monitoring equipment began to change tone. As I looked up, I saw the heart monitor register lower and lower beats. Soon alarms began to sound and the dot on the heart monitor began making a straight line across the screen. One time, then two times, then three times...
I began to pray through my tears, "Oh God, please let Woody be here." Then I shook Christopher and said, "Don't die! Your Mommy is coming! Please don't die now!"
Then, as I was just about to give up hope, I heard a faint sound from the monitor. I glanced up and saw a faint pulse - then stronger, and stronger. I wept, as I thanked God and encouraged Christopher that his Mommy would soon be here. Simultaneously, the nursing staff was scrambling to get some medications. I heard them yelling that Christopher had coded. They had a special emergency cart and began injecting medicines into Christopher's IV. So much was happening, I didn't stop to look to see if they were surprised to see that Christopher's heart had already started again and was now beating around the same rate as before. As I waited, I kept looking up to see if Woody had arrived. After what seemed to be an eternity, Woody came into the nursery and headed toward the sink to wash up.
"Don't worry about that," I cried. "Christopher's going to die." I said as she broke into tears while embracing the severity of the moment. She quickly came over to the bed and glanced at all the monitors that had become so familiar to us both. Like me, the idea of Christopher dying was the farthest thought on her mind.
"What happened?" she asked as she went to hold his hand. "He was doing fine last night."
After relaying what God had whispered to me before she arrived, we both stood there crying. The monitors continued to make their monotonous tones but with less frequency. Each passing tone began to sound a bit lower.
Outside the nursery, word had spread that Christopher had coded and his condition had degraded considerably since I arrived. Dr. Null and Dr. Tuttle arrived and stood beside us while assessing the situation and making minor adjustments to the medical equipment.
"I want to hold him," Woody said through her tears as she looked around at Dr. Tuttle and Dr. Null. While one of the nurses brought Woody a stool, Dr. Tuttle and Dr. Null carefully lifted Christopher up and placed him in Woody's arms. Christopher looked so peaceful lying there next to his Mommy. It was only one of a few times that she was able to hold him. I am still in awe at how gracious God was to us.
 |
| An earlier, blessed moment when Woody was only able to hold Christopher. |
We watched as his heart rate slowly declined to a steady line. Over and over again the line made a steady course across the front of the monitor. Dr. Null reached over and began turning off all of the monitors. Pretty soon I could only hear the whirring of the high frequency ventilator. As I had predicted in the news interview, it too, like all technology would eventually fail. Our hope and trust must rest on God alone.
As someone reached over and turned off the ventilator, it seemed like the entire nursery came to a halt. I looked around and saw the familiar faces of family and friends as well as doctors, nurses, and technicians openly crying.
Dr. Null and Dr. Tuttle began cutting the chest tubes that were still protruding from between Christopher's ribs. As I saw the bits of plastic tubing still sutured to his skin, I asked if they would remove them completely. Somehow, I wanted Christopher to be as "normal" as possible. But as they had cut through the sutures and began pulling the tubes out, blood gushed out from the open wounds. I turned my head only to look back and see them applying bandages over the wounds. They removed the tube that connected him to the high frequency ventilator, and all of the tape that held it in place. For the first time since his birth we were able to see his face without something covering it. One by one, the IV's, and then the monitor sensors were removed. Soon he lay there with only his diaper on. Besides the bandages on his sides, he appeared to be a normal baby, sleeping peacefully.
Then, with no fanfare, they wrapped Christopher up in a receiving blanket, just like you would a live baby, and asked if we would like to spend some time with him in Dr. Null's office. At first, the request seemed morbid, but we found ourselves following Dr. Null as he cradled Christopher's body and headed towards his office. Inside Dr. Null's office, we took turns holding Christopher's body. Through our tears we couldn't stop looking at his face. The swelling that had earlier covered it had disappeared. His long eyelashes lay quietly against his soft, round cheeks. His red hair, now much fuller than it had ever been, was still short and fuzzy and soft. Christopher had grown up to be a good size, full term baby. He was beautiful.
Over the next few moments, nurses and doctors came into the room. They too wept as they reminisced on the long journey this little baby had taken them on. Several of the nurses reluctantly and tearfully gave us a bag containing all of Christopher's belongings that surrounded his bed. Among the contents were some stuffed animals wrapped in plastic wrap (so as not to contaminate the sterile environment), a musical mobile, a letter from President Reagan, and several scriptures and songs from which we had received encouragement.
Looking back upon this time has brought a new light and understanding to me about the heart of our Father God. Watching your own child suffer and die must be the most painful thing to do. "For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believes in him should not perish but have everlasting life." (John 3:16) As a parent, you would most gladly substitute yourself in the situation. When I think about the way blood gushed from Christopher's side as they removed the chest tubes, I can't help but think about the description of the blood pouring from the side of Jesus when the Roman soldier pierced him. (John 19:34) I had to close my eyes and turn my head. I don't know if that is why Jesus cried, "Father, why have you forsaken me?" (Mark 15:34) But in that darkest moment, I too could not have looked on. People mistakenly think that God could not have been too concerned knowing that he would be reunited with his son in heaven. But as an earthly father equipped with the same promise of being reunited for eternity, I can say first hand that watching your son die is a moment of extreme pain and sorrow, even with the blessed assurance of eternal life.
We decided to bury Christopher at a cemetery that was just a few miles away from our home. After over an hour of making arrangements and phoning friends and relatives, a man from the mortuary came to pick up Christopher's body. We carried Christopher's lifeless body down the long corridors of the hospital, down an elevator and into one of the basements. Like a small infant, he was still wrapped in a receiving blanket. We said "good-bye" and painfully watched as the man placed Christopher in a large body bag. Little did we know that this would be the last time we would ever see him again.
Christopher David, our beloved Christ bearer, fell asleep in Jesus on September 24, 1986.
Scripture quotations taken from the NASB.
© Copyright 1987, 2016 by Rick Murata. All Rights Reserved.