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Peace Under Pressure

It was nearly time for the final push. I knew it. My body knew it. The baby knew it.

We were finally here.

I gripped Jason’s hand tighter and with a soft smile he ran his thumb over my knuckles. After so much danger, after so much pain, after so many broken hopes and losses we were finally at the end.

It had been 10 long months of surrendering this child to the Lord over and over and over, and God had revealed Himself in miraculous ways throughout every fear and heartache. We had learned so much about ourselves and our God. We had seen Him beautifully meet our every need and we had at last reached the end of this journey.

Or so I thought.

“Alright. Let’s see how we’re doing.” My nurse lifted the edge of the sheet and skillfully inspected the results of the last contraction. “Oh!”

I saw my nurse’s eyes get wide as she hunched towards me. I felt a pressure as she leaned into the baby, though the epidural from thirty minutes before dulled any pain. She hit the call button and called for the OR to be prepped, and climbed onto the bed with me.

She straddled my legs and attempted to shift the sheet around my lower half, trying to maintain my dignity. Through it all her right hand was wrapped around my unborn child’s head, deft fingers lifting the prolapsed umbilical cord from my baby’s neck where it had begun to twine, attempting to keep my precious little girl alive.

“Okay, hun, so we have a few things happening all at once. The umbilical cord was delivered before the baby and your contractions are squeezing it so that the baby is not able to breathe. It’s also wrapped around her neck and I’m unable to get it unbound. We’re going to need an emergency C-section in order to save her. You can do this. Do you understand?”

By this time we were surrounded by several people in scrubs and they started wheeling us out of the room and down the hall.

My husband was still holding onto me and he squeezed my fingers in a reassuring grip. We looked at each other and we knew: we had surrendered this baby to Jesus, and were He to take her from our care we would trust Him still.

I took a deep breath, looked at my nurse and said, “I’m good. I understand. Um, do you mind if I sing? It’s encouraging and calming to me.”

She laughed in surprise. “You do what you need to do!”

“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound…”

As I softly sang I felt tears well up and stream from my eyes. Yet there was peace. Absolute, stunning, beautiful peace. The lights in the corridor were flashing, code blues were being called out, and the urgent voices of the six personnel around my rolling bed continued.

“You! Come with me.” Another nurse had grabbed Jason and he gave my hand one last squeeze. He and the nurse followed the procession, breaking off into a room next to where I was wheeled in order to get washed and scrubbed.

“Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fear relieved…”

I was taken to a brightly lit room with trays and tables and shining instruments already prepped. In the hubbub of bustling people I heard someone near my head say, “On three. One, two, three!”

They lifted me from the hospital bed into the operating table, my nurse still sitting on my legs. My hair was swept from my face and a blue cap was placed on my head.

“The Lord has promised good to me, His Word my hope secures…”

A curtain was strung up at my chest and I felt someone grab my hand. Looking up to the right I found Jason smiling down at me. His little blue hat made him look like a concerned Bob Ross, and I smiled back at him. He held my gaze for the next several minutes, while the world turned around us at a dizzying speed.

Seven minutes later there was a cry, several shouts of victory, and shortly thereafter a little bundle was placed on my chest. I couldn’t see her face, but I bent my neck and nuzzled her head. I think I cried. I know Jason did. And it was beautiful.

Remembering Auna’s Birth (October 6, 2014) Christin Hunt

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