Part 1

Evangelines story: Part 2

A story of surrender.

—

A million thoughts pass through my mind as I stare into your fathers tear filled eyes. My own eyes are already spilling over with tears. I have no idea what is going on with you, but I know in my gut that your life is at stake.

I have a choice to make on how I am about to react. Will I cry out to the doctors and demand answers, will I make your father get up and go check on you, will I scream and cry in panic. Somehow I know I can’t do any of those things, my instincts kicks in and I know those things would only steal the doctors focus away from you. I reach out for your father’s hand, he grabs me tight and I do the only thing I know how to do when I’m lost.

” Dear Lord, please save Evangeline, please give these doctors wisdom on what to do right now. We pray that you would be with her God, that you would be with us right now.  God please keep our baby girl safe.”

Daddy cries out a similar prayer next to me. We are numb in disbelief. I turn my head up to the ceiling and continue crying out loud to God. Songs of worship come to my lips.

The anesthesiologist comes up to me to check my vitals.

“Hows mom doing?” he asks

“Whats wrong? Whats going on? How is she?” I can’t seem to ask the questions fast enough.

“She had a blockage in her throat and we couldn’t get in out. We worked on her for twenty minutes and were able to get it out, she’s intubated now.”

I catch my breath, relief washes over me.  I turn and stare at Daddy and tears stream down our eyes. Thank you God, Thank you, thank you. thank you. More moments pass and then the pediatrician steps forward and starts to talk to us. I can only see the smallest little part of the top of your head. She tells us a little more about what happened and then tells us you are now intubated and they are going to put you on a cooling unit to keep your body temperature down and to hopefully reduce your chance of brain damage. She tells us a team is coming to life flight you to Kapiolani Medical Center on Oahu. She keeps referring to you as a ‘he’, I interrupt her before she wheels you away.

“I had a boy?” I ask.

She does a quick check then says “Nope! It’s a girl! Sorry, we weren’t looking at that end.” It’s strange how this moment sticks out in my brain, but its like God gave it to me because I remember laughing when she said that they weren’t looking at that end.

All of the staff in the room is staring at me as she tells us all of this. I turn my head to my doctor and lock eyes with him, I notice all of the staff turn their eyes to him too. I need to know.

“When do I get to go?” I ask.

“You can leave the hospital tomorrow.”

Tomorrow, it feels like a lifetime away but I am already clinging to it.

—–

The next few hours are a blur, you are wheeled off away from me to the nursery to be monitored. I’m wheeled in the opposite direction to be monitored down the hall. As I pass through the doors I see your Marme and Aunty Sharon.

Marme comes up and strokes my head. I remember crying out “mom” and then tears overwhelm me. She is my safe place, I hope you feel the same about me as I do about her. Sharon, with a tear-stained face, tells me that she saw you wheeled by, you are beautiful. All I can tell her is that I didn’t get to see you. I start to break, she holds my hand. They come with me to my room and daddy goes to be with you. Doctors come in and out telling me different things they are going to be monitoring you for. I try to take it all in but my head is so fuzzy,  I am in shock over what has happened.

I have a brief moment with your daddy before I see you and they take you both on a plane far away from me. He sits next to me on the bed, we are holding hands.

“How are you? I ask.

“I thought she was dead.” he can barely get the words out. But we both break with them. We hold each other and sob. Then we whisper words of comfort over each other. We remind each other that you are alive, that you are strong and that we believe God is going to get all of us through this.

My heart is aching to see you, its been torture to be on the same floor as you but to not be able to see you, to touch you or  to hold you. None of this is how it was supposed to be. Aunty Sharon comes back in the room and says they are about to bring you to me. She captures our moment of meeting on camera for us.

I sit up as straight as I can, determined to get the best view of you. They wheel you in, you are a tiny little thing in a big container. You have more wires than I can count attached to you. And you are beautiful. I stare at you in amazement, you are the strongest little being I have ever laid eyes on.

“Can I touch her?” I ask

They open the container for me and I stroke your little hand, which is smaller than my pinkie. I could sit here and stare at you all day, I try to memorize every part of you that I can, but I know that they have to take you away and that I only have a few moments with you on your first day of life.

“You are so strong baby girl. I love you so much, and I am going to come be with you as soon as I can. You keep being strong, keep fighting. Daddy will be with you but I gotta stay here and get strong too so I can be with you. I love you and I’m gonna be with you soon. You are so strong and beautiful. I love you.” I say these words to you as much as I do to myself.

They start to take you away and daddy comes over and kisses me good-bye. My heart breaks when you are gone. I want nothing more than to follow you and protect you. You are in better hands with the doctors right now though, and I have to trust that God is watching over you. It takes every ounce of strength that I have but I set it in my mind that I am going to remain calm and trust God. The only way I can take care of you right now is to take care of myself.

I am determined to get to you as soon as I can.  And I am so thankful that I get to follow you. Because God saved you my sweet Evangeline. I’ll be with you soon.