During Day 3 of my hospital stay, I awoke to sunshine flooding into the room. I placed my hand on my belly and Ezekiel was moving around and kicking. I smiled and thanked God for another day on earth with my baby.
Despite the dismal news of Friday and Saturday, that Sunday, I felt hopeful. Per the dismal doctors, I was supposed to have delivered within 24-48 hours of entering the hospital. While Ezekiel and I were certainly not out of the woods, I had renewed optimism that we could beat the odds. I repeatedly read Psalm 139 and Psalm 91 to Ezekiel. My husband had stepped out of the hospital to attend Sunday service. To his surprise, the readings in church were from the book of Ezekiel and he sent me pictures of the readings. When he returned from service, we thanked God for his faithfulness and grace. Together we prayed and thanked God for another blessed day with our son.
Later that morning, the resident obstetrician came in to complete an ultrasound. Ezekiel was still breech but she was pleased that there were still 3cm pockets of fluid around him despite my membranes rupturing. “He has a healthy pocket of fluid around his brain and his heart. That’s a very good sign. He just needs to flip!” she exclaimed.
When I wasn’t talking to God and telling him all of my hopes, desires, fears, and doubts, I was researching on the internet. Everything from the causes of an incompetent cervix, pPROM treatment, hopeful NICU stories and anything positive to continue to my hope – I searched for it. I poured over the results of clinical studies, blogger sites, and message boards. Several of the blogs that I came across had advised to stop googling. I opted to do the complete opposite. I love reading. I crave learning. I viewed the negative outcomes of situations similar to mine but I wanted to focus on the modern day miracles. Stories where women of faith showed their perseverance and fought for their children. I was determined to be one of the miracle stories.
One of the doctors in my OB/GYN’s practice came in to check on me that afternoon. She was at least 7-8 months pregnant. Before she could provide any dismal news that the other physicians had provided, I blurted my story to her. “Hi. I came in for a routine scan and I know it’s too late for a cerclage. My membranes have ruptured but I’m trying to keep the baby in me as long as possible. I know the risk of infection is high for both me and the baby but I’m planning on staying here as long as I can as long as we are both healthy.” She nodded her head and supported my decision. Alas, for the first time, a doctor who understood what I was trying to do! God was surely working miracles this day.
When she left the room, my husband and I were filled with peace. We prayed again together. We even laughed with the nurses about the awkward priest who tried to photograph us when I was bawling my eyes out the day before. We knew that the Lord was carrying us and that as long as we planted the roots of our faith deeper into Him, we would be victorious. Ezekiel was with us another day. To God be the glory.