The day had arrived. I had waited nine months to see our precious and perfect little girl. Her room was decorated and waiting with a closet full of clothes. As they started to induce labor and broke my water, I knew shortly I would see her.
In an hour, my obstetrician came in and said “Uh-oh.” (The worst words a woman in labor can hear.)
He said he felt a baby’s bottom, not a head. “How could this be?” he asked. “When was your last ultrasound?”
I said, “Friday.” (It was only Saturday.)
“She’s Frank Breech,” he said. “We have two choices — I can deliver her vaginally. I have done it many times before, but since this is your first pregnancy, I would recommend a C-section.”
I quickly agreed, knowing I did not want to go through eight hours of labor just to have an emergency C-section later.
In a few moments, tubes were hooked up, medicines pumped in and I was off — wheeled into the operating room.
When they pulled her out, she did not cry. My heart sank. They kept working with her. Then I heard a small “wheeee.” I was glad to hear it but concerned.
Tears rolled down my cheeks. I wanted to see her and hold her so badly, but I could not focus or hold my arms up. I could not stay alert and fell asleep.
When I was moved to my recovery room, I asked for my baby.
They said, “The doctor is in here doing rounds. We will bring her in as soon as he is done.”
At 7 p.m. I finally saw her. She was beautiful, but something was wrong. A pediatrician from our doctor’s office came in and said, “I hesitate to even mention this to you. I am uncertain of it, but there is a chance your baby has Downs Syndrome.”
He told us the clinical findings — faint cry, unresponsiveness, simian creases on her hands, low set and cup-shaped ears, almond eyes, wide bridge in nose, absent sucking reflex.
The noise faded; the room became dark.
During the next three days, I tried to breast-feed a baby who could not suck. They took her to the nursery to try to “feed her a bottle” and returned in an hour with a tube placed in her nose.
I wept. What was wrong with my baby? Please someone talk to me. How can I help her eat? How can I help her?
It was like I was in a black hole, and no one could hear me or would answer me.
I finally asked one nurse to please level with me. She replied in a sharp voice, “We have done nothing but level with you. Those are the facts. Deal with it.”
It was my worst nightmare. I felt so alone, forsaken, thinking “My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?”
I had dreams for Emily. She was going to be a great writer, artist, musician, athlete, friend, runner, speaker, teacher, dancer. I was going to smile proudly as she achieved everything she wanted in life.
Now I held a baby who struggled to even eat. I did not know what to do.
My husband, Edward, and I read from a little book called “Our Daily Bread,” and every day the verse was written just for us. As I sat and held my baby, tears rolled down my face, and then it hit me. My heart began to sing.
“When peace like a river attendeth my way and sorrows like sea billows roll. Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say, ‘It is well, it is well with my soul.”
As if from nowhere, the words came to my mind. God had sent them. I was filled with peace.
God has a plan for Emily. It is well with my soul.
I was reminded how Mary felt when Jesus died. As they took his feeble body down, she held it and wept. His body — I thought, that’s all that was left — His body. Our spirits are who we are, not our bodies.
And, oh, what a spirit Emily has! I hold her now, and she laughs, cries, talks and fights me to sit up or lie down. She loves life.
She does not have Downs Syndrome, but she was diagnosed with a visual impairment and some hearing loss.
Emily may have her share of disabilities, but she is soaring. Her spirit is high. God has a plan for her. My dreams for my unborn child were selfish. Now I see Emily will do much more than I ever dreamed.
I have “peace like a river,” even in sorrow. God has not forsaken me. He only moved closer and taught me to sing.
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