Oh you guys, God is gooooood. Nothing surprises Him. Nothing is out of His control. I'm so humbled to be reminded of these simple truths.
I've practiced CPR so many times throughout my healthcare career. Like any healthcare provider, I've had to prove my competency at frequent intervals. This meant attending uncomfortable classes where I knelt on the floor to kiss plastic dummies, or found my unfortunate partner's navel for the Heimlich maneuver. To have a working knowledge of CPR is important, obviously, but when you're talking to a hunk of plastic that only slightly resembles a human torso, it just feels a little embarrassing. I have always hoped those skills would never be needed.
When Seme was told that her baby's cord had prolapsed, the hospital staff promised her a c-section. She signed the release and then waited. And waited. And waited. She was so composed and I was working with several women, so I only popped in occasionally to check on her.
Before long, she was transitioning and making more noise so I moved over to be closer to her, wondering when the OR staff were going to come and take her to the promised c-section. A doctor wandered through the ward (literally, wandered) and casually checked her.
"She's fully dilated. We can't do a c-section now. She'll have to deliver vaginally. And it looks like the cord has retracted back and is in a normal position now anyway."
Seme labored on. When she was ready to push, a midwife came over and checked her again.
"Yup, there's the baby's head. And oh, I think that's the cord!" She called to another midwife to come verify.
"Yes, that's the cord presenting first!" Then she swore.
Both midwifes began to shout at Seme. "Look, you have to deliver this baby fast! You have to push it out right now or it's going to die!!" I stared at them, aware of the danger the baby was in, but disbelieving their approach to a safe delivery. Looking back, I shouldn't have been so surprised. As long as I've been going to the ward, midwives have been shouting at expectant mothers.
Poor Seme was red in the face and every vein on her forehead and neck were bulging. She pushed with all her might with barely a breath in between efforts. The midwives were getting increasingly more anxious and so their shouts became louder and more urgent.
"PUSH!! Don't stop!!"
Fear was clearly written across Seme's face. I leaned in close to her ear and spoke softly, "Seme, this is your fourth baby. You're practiced at this and I know you can do it. God will give you the strength you need." And I fully believed He would. I stood over her praying fervently for her strength and for her baby's life.
Only three more pushes and a baby girl came sliding out onto the bed. She was completely limp and gray. I've seen so many flaccid infants. The images are seared into my mind. No flailing limbs, no gurgling cries. Just a sickening flatness and silence.
The midwife felt the cord. She felt the baby's chest.
And then, out loud for all of us to hear, "There's no pulse."
Immediately, I reached over and started giving that sweet baby chest compressions. It was as if my hands were moving independent from my body. I vaguely remember asking if I could give compressions as I moved in to do it. No one answered my question and it didn't matter. My only experience with infant resuscitation was on a baby doll in all of those CPR classes. This felt entirely different. Yet somehow, it felt right. Praise Jesus for His help and confidence when I needed it! There was no doubt about what needed to be done.
The midwives now rushed to clamp and cut the cord. As soon as she was free, I scooped our girl up and all but ran to the warmer where a midwife began bagging oxygen through a tiny, neonatal mask. I was so relieved that she got a good seal right away and that each squeeze of the bag made the baby's chest rise and fall. I continued to give compressions for a few more seconds.
And then...a pulse! We put our hands on that tiny chest and her heart raced under our fingers. How can words tell what that felt like?! I just stood there in awe while that darling midwife and I exchanged beaming smiles. She continued to bag and it was a long time before our girl began to gasp and try to pull air for herself.
After some time, the midwife exchanged the mask for a nasal cannula. Baby girl's lips were puckered tight and she looked beautiful but stressed, and I was still worried for her. She'd had a rough beginning and I knew she wasn't out of the woods. After the urgent rush of activity, I realized that Seme was alone and no doubt worried. I went back over to give her an update. I told her that her daughter was breathing on her own and practicing her suckle for nursing. I delivered only the positive facts, but my mind was reeling with the baby's obvious respiratory distress and how I could speed up the process to have her further evaluated.
A long half hour later, a resident from the special care nursery came and took her away to be examined. There didn't seem to be any rush and I never saw her again.
During our exchange, Seme took my arm. She smiled. "My baby will have your name. I'm going to call her Jessie."
Oh the joy and relief of restored life, the hope of health, and the sweetness of sharing that moment with Seme. What a privilege to be the namesake of her baby girl. I gifted them a little pink knitted cap before I left; the beautiful handiwork of a friend in the States.
Please pray with me for baby Jessie. She was deprived of oxygen for too long. I will never know the effect it had on her brain and development, but she's a miracle nonetheless.
"Oh the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable his judgements, and his paths beyond tracing out! Who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his councilor? Who has ever given to God, that God should repay him? For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be the glory forever! Amen." Romans 11:33-36Life is precious. God is good.
