Three months following his arrival at Wilford Hall, Christopher had grown to look much more like a newborn baby. Gone was the translucent skin and skinny body, now replaced by soft, delicate, baby skin and a much more plump body. The NICU had become a familiar place and was now part of our everyday routine. Woody would visit sometime during the day, and then return in the early part of the evening. I would make the twenty-minute drive from work and meet her at the hospital. She had learned to fix a "to go" dinner which we would share in the small waiting area outside of the nursery. By now we were NICU veterans. We were well acquainted with most of the staff of doctors, nurses, and technicians since they rotated through the various areas within the nursery. We had remembered that in the doctor's most optimistic prediction, now was to be the time that we would be able to take Christopher home. That was if the past three months found him growing well and weaned off of the ventilator. Neither of these things had happened.
Instead of progress, Christopher had struggled to get better. Much of the three months was spent trying to get him to receive milk through a small tube that went down his throat into his stomach. The doctors had warned us that babies do not do well when being fed on the high frequency ventilator. They had hoped to wean him from the high frequency ventilator to the conventional ventilator over a short time before starting his feedings. But since he hadn't made any progress coming off of the ventilator, they began to feed him in spite of the ventilator. Feeding seemed to be an ongoing struggle - some days it worked great while others he was unable to tolerate it. In addition to just trying to get him to tolerate the milk, there was the concern that if he spit it up, the milk could end up going into his lungs and he could get pneumonia. Those concerns were realized early in April.
Christopher had been feeding well, and his oxygen requirements had been slowly edging downwards. Then one evening we entered to find his oxygen level had been increased to its maximum setting. The doctor had ordered an X-ray and upon examination, it was discovered that Christopher had pneumonia. The doctors stopped his feedings and started him on a series of strong antibiotics. The hope was that the antibiotics would be enough. His health was already in somewhat of a tenuous position, but the pneumonia posed a real threat to his life. Over the next several days, Christopher became sicker and sicker. He had lost much of the weight he had gained. In addition, his ventilator settings and oxygen requirements remained at their maximum settings. We tried to go about our business being encouraged but it was becoming much more difficult as we witnessed his condition degrade. There was a marked difference in the nursery staff's disposition as well. All of our hope was being drawn down with Christopher's declining health.
One evening we arrived just as the neonatal fellow was leaving. Upon seeing us, she stopped to discuss Christopher's condition. It wasn't good news. Christopher was receiving all that they could medically do for him and his condition was still degrading. We presented the attitude that despite the complications he faced, we still had a great hope that he would get better. To us he was our miracle child. Behind him lay an array of miraculous events and we expressed our hope that he could overcome this hurdle as well. The doctor was disturbed by our attitudes and felt that it was necessary to give us a dose of reality. She asked if we would come with her into another room for a private discussion. Upon shutting the door, she began describing her view of the situation. Then she summarized her discussion by telling us that she felt that Christopher would continually decline and would die in the next couple of days. We both had learned to expect this type of straightforward prognosis from her, but upon hearing her words, my heart sank and Woody began to cry. As predicted, Christopher's health continued to decline over the next several days.
Five days following our talk with his doctor, Christopher's condition had deteriorated beyond anything we had experienced before. We came for our nightly visit that evening but were afraid to leave thinking that he might die before we would be able to make it back to the hospital. I kept thinking about the promise that Woody tried to get me to make about making sure she was there when Christopher died. As we stood around his bed, some of the staff began paying their condolences. We responded with what little hope the Spirit could raise within us. After staying several hours longer than usual, we decided to go home. The drive seemed longer than usual and was extremely quiet.
Once home, we briefly talked about the situation and gathered all of our strength to pray. Our words sounded so forced and empty as our once strong faith seemed to crumble under the stress of our present situation. As was our tradition, we called the hospital only to find his condition had not changed. We kindly asked them to call us if there was any change in his condition. As I lay awake in our darkened room, my mind remained focused on Christopher. God had done so much for us it was difficult to understand why I felt so alone. I stopped to remember all of the things God had done to show us his faithfulness. Was this truly to be the end? And then Psalm 23 came into my mind.
"Where did that come from?" I thought to myself as I began trying to recite the verse by memory. I couldn't. Could this be a word from God to Woody and me? I lay in bed for a moment debating whether I should turn on the light and read the verse.
“It couldn't be from God, everyone knows that verse," I thought to myself. "Or was that Psalm 22?" I wondered as I became even more confused. After making several more failed attempts at reciting the verse from memory, I turned on the light and began to read, "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want..."
"Yeah, yeah, this is the same old verse," I thought as I reluctantly kept reading thinking I was amusing myself. It wasn't something unusual like Habakkuk or Philemon so it couldn't be from the Lord.
"He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me besides quiet waters, he restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me," I read until suddenly, I felt the Spirit leap within me.
"What was that?" I thought as my eyes quickly raced back up the page knowing I wasn't really paying attention the first time.
"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..."
"Through," I read again as my heart began to leap for joy.
"Through," I read again and again.
“Christopher is passing through the valley of the shadow of death. He is not going to die. It is not his time!” I began thinking as I felt the Spirit rise up again within me. I stirred Woody to let her know of my revelation. Half asleep she acknowledged me and thanked the Lord before falling back asleep. I was too excited to sleep!
"Could this really be true?" I wondered as I thought about the hopeless situation we left at the hospital. Remember, the words of the doctors, and the unspoken words of the other medical personnel? Remember the settings on the ventilator and oxygen and how Christopher was still declining? It all seemed so impossibly hopeless. But deep within me flickered a glimmer of hope. It was an understanding from the Almighty that we were facing death face to face. We were so close that its shadow engulfed us. But I felt convinced that at least on this day, the valley was not to swallow another victim in its shadowy grave. Christopher was to walk "through" the valley of the shadow of death.
That night the angel of death passed by my son. The next morning we called the hospital to find he had an uneventful evening. By the next evening, he had improved dramatically. Thankful, we did not gloat over his miraculous recovery. We were truly just as surprised as everyone there that Christopher was given this new chance. Despite hearing this word from God, I was still completely amazed at the outcome. To sense that God could be so concerned that He would communicate His grace and love to us over and over was truly amazing to me. Being in His Presence even meant receiving a glimpse of things to come.
Over the course of his life, the doctors would kid us that they were no longer going to make any specific prognosis about Christopher's health because of the number of times that he, and God, defied their best understanding.
Scripture quotations taken from the NASB.
Instead of progress, Christopher had struggled to get better. Much of the three months was spent trying to get him to receive milk through a small tube that went down his throat into his stomach. The doctors had warned us that babies do not do well when being fed on the high frequency ventilator. They had hoped to wean him from the high frequency ventilator to the conventional ventilator over a short time before starting his feedings. But since he hadn't made any progress coming off of the ventilator, they began to feed him in spite of the ventilator. Feeding seemed to be an ongoing struggle - some days it worked great while others he was unable to tolerate it. In addition to just trying to get him to tolerate the milk, there was the concern that if he spit it up, the milk could end up going into his lungs and he could get pneumonia. Those concerns were realized early in April.
Christopher had been feeding well, and his oxygen requirements had been slowly edging downwards. Then one evening we entered to find his oxygen level had been increased to its maximum setting. The doctor had ordered an X-ray and upon examination, it was discovered that Christopher had pneumonia. The doctors stopped his feedings and started him on a series of strong antibiotics. The hope was that the antibiotics would be enough. His health was already in somewhat of a tenuous position, but the pneumonia posed a real threat to his life. Over the next several days, Christopher became sicker and sicker. He had lost much of the weight he had gained. In addition, his ventilator settings and oxygen requirements remained at their maximum settings. We tried to go about our business being encouraged but it was becoming much more difficult as we witnessed his condition degrade. There was a marked difference in the nursery staff's disposition as well. All of our hope was being drawn down with Christopher's declining health.
One evening we arrived just as the neonatal fellow was leaving. Upon seeing us, she stopped to discuss Christopher's condition. It wasn't good news. Christopher was receiving all that they could medically do for him and his condition was still degrading. We presented the attitude that despite the complications he faced, we still had a great hope that he would get better. To us he was our miracle child. Behind him lay an array of miraculous events and we expressed our hope that he could overcome this hurdle as well. The doctor was disturbed by our attitudes and felt that it was necessary to give us a dose of reality. She asked if we would come with her into another room for a private discussion. Upon shutting the door, she began describing her view of the situation. Then she summarized her discussion by telling us that she felt that Christopher would continually decline and would die in the next couple of days. We both had learned to expect this type of straightforward prognosis from her, but upon hearing her words, my heart sank and Woody began to cry. As predicted, Christopher's health continued to decline over the next several days.
Five days following our talk with his doctor, Christopher's condition had deteriorated beyond anything we had experienced before. We came for our nightly visit that evening but were afraid to leave thinking that he might die before we would be able to make it back to the hospital. I kept thinking about the promise that Woody tried to get me to make about making sure she was there when Christopher died. As we stood around his bed, some of the staff began paying their condolences. We responded with what little hope the Spirit could raise within us. After staying several hours longer than usual, we decided to go home. The drive seemed longer than usual and was extremely quiet.
Once home, we briefly talked about the situation and gathered all of our strength to pray. Our words sounded so forced and empty as our once strong faith seemed to crumble under the stress of our present situation. As was our tradition, we called the hospital only to find his condition had not changed. We kindly asked them to call us if there was any change in his condition. As I lay awake in our darkened room, my mind remained focused on Christopher. God had done so much for us it was difficult to understand why I felt so alone. I stopped to remember all of the things God had done to show us his faithfulness. Was this truly to be the end? And then Psalm 23 came into my mind.
"Where did that come from?" I thought to myself as I began trying to recite the verse by memory. I couldn't. Could this be a word from God to Woody and me? I lay in bed for a moment debating whether I should turn on the light and read the verse.
“It couldn't be from God, everyone knows that verse," I thought to myself. "Or was that Psalm 22?" I wondered as I became even more confused. After making several more failed attempts at reciting the verse from memory, I turned on the light and began to read, "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want..."
"Yeah, yeah, this is the same old verse," I thought as I reluctantly kept reading thinking I was amusing myself. It wasn't something unusual like Habakkuk or Philemon so it couldn't be from the Lord.
"He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me besides quiet waters, he restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me," I read until suddenly, I felt the Spirit leap within me.
"What was that?" I thought as my eyes quickly raced back up the page knowing I wasn't really paying attention the first time.
"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..."
"Through," I read again as my heart began to leap for joy.
"Through," I read again and again.
“Christopher is passing through the valley of the shadow of death. He is not going to die. It is not his time!” I began thinking as I felt the Spirit rise up again within me. I stirred Woody to let her know of my revelation. Half asleep she acknowledged me and thanked the Lord before falling back asleep. I was too excited to sleep!
"Could this really be true?" I wondered as I thought about the hopeless situation we left at the hospital. Remember, the words of the doctors, and the unspoken words of the other medical personnel? Remember the settings on the ventilator and oxygen and how Christopher was still declining? It all seemed so impossibly hopeless. But deep within me flickered a glimmer of hope. It was an understanding from the Almighty that we were facing death face to face. We were so close that its shadow engulfed us. But I felt convinced that at least on this day, the valley was not to swallow another victim in its shadowy grave. Christopher was to walk "through" the valley of the shadow of death.
That night the angel of death passed by my son. The next morning we called the hospital to find he had an uneventful evening. By the next evening, he had improved dramatically. Thankful, we did not gloat over his miraculous recovery. We were truly just as surprised as everyone there that Christopher was given this new chance. Despite hearing this word from God, I was still completely amazed at the outcome. To sense that God could be so concerned that He would communicate His grace and love to us over and over was truly amazing to me. Being in His Presence even meant receiving a glimpse of things to come.
Over the course of his life, the doctors would kid us that they were no longer going to make any specific prognosis about Christopher's health because of the number of times that he, and God, defied their best understanding.
Scripture quotations taken from the NASB.
© Copyright 1987, 2016 by Rick Murata. All Rights Reserved.