“Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.” (Hebrews 11:1) I always thought I knew exactly what this meant, until May 25, 2002. My second son was born on this day and my world as I knew it changed forever. Because this was our second time around becoming parents, I assumed we were ahead of the game. I would merely wait the nine months, go to the hospital to deliver the baby, come home a few days later and presto; new family! And, with my cesarean section already scheduled, I knew there would be no surprises like the first go around. Obviously, my son had other plans.
Jonathan Thomas was delivered twenty-three days before his due date. As the nurses and doctors examined him, they noticed that he was having trouble breathing. They assured me that this was common in a baby at his gestational age and would probably need a little assistance for a day or so…no big deal, right? Wrong. It was discovered quickly that he would need to be intubated. I was not even allowed to hold him because of this until he was four days old. At this point I still believed that what was going on was minor and would be quickly resolved. I had no idea what lay ahead for my son.
On June 1, 2002, after spending the entire day with Jonathan, my husband and I left the hospital to have dinner. We were feeling hopeful because Jonathan was finally learning how to feed on a bottle and knew that the next step would be to learn how to nurse. When we got back from dinner, I noticed that he was not quite himself. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something was definitely wrong. I informed the nurse of my concerns, but she thought maybe he just needed rest. Thinking they knew best, we left early that night for the first time since he had been in the hospital. When the phone rang early the next morning, I instantly knew that something had gone wrong. The doctor informed us that Jonathan had had a rough night and they weren’t sure if he was going to survive. When we got to the hospital, he was in the isolation room. I panicked. The last baby they had placed in that room had died. I remember thinking to myself, “is there something that they are telling us?”
After spending the next two days in isolation and on so much medication that we did not see him open his eyes for days, the doctors decided it was time to move Jonathan to All Children’s Hospital in St. Petersburg where he could be seen by pediatric specialists. At this point, we had no idea what was even wrong with him and when or if he would recover. I was both relieved and petrified at the same time that they were moving him to a different hospital. When the doctor’s examined him, we were told all kinds of possible issues. There was a valve in his heart that is supposed to close shortly after birth, but did not. Because he did not respond to stimuli as a normal newborn should, he had possibly suffered a stroke or seizure. His blood pressure was elevated and the doctors did not know why yet. You can imagine the fear that this creates as you stand and listen to the doctor’s list possibility after possibility. This was not some PBS special. This was my child, my son.
After a myriad of tests, the doctors came to the conclusion that the high blood pressure was caused by a blood clot that had traveled to his kidney effectively “killing” that section of the kidney. But, at this point he was still almost comatose, so we still did not have all the answers. It was at this moment that I realized if I was going to get through this trying time, I was going to have to let go. Let go to my beliefs and my faith. Let God take control. We had a friend of ours come to the hospital and pray with us for Jonathan’s health and recovery. As I stood there with my eyes closed and my head bowed down I began to see a vivid picture in my mind. I saw Jonathan with my older son, Jacob, and they were playing and running outside. As my friend was praying, she said “’For I know the plans I have for you’; declares the Lord, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’” (Jeremiah 29:11) It was at that moment that I realized what it meant to be “certain of what we do not see”. I saw with my eyes that tiny, helpless baby lying in a crib in the hospital, but in my mind I saw a young boy playing, happy and carefree. I knew without a doubt that it did not matter what Jonathan had to endure at that moment. It did not matter what the doctors said. Jonathan would have to go through this season, but in the end he would be okay.
Jonathan came home from the hospital on June 17, 2002. Ironically, this was his original due date. We had to monitor his blood pressure daily and give him medication accordingly to keep his pressure down. My friends often asked me how I felt about having to go through all of this. I always said that I did not mind, because it would not be forever. The doctors said he would probably be on the medication his entire life, but I never believed that. I believed he would be healed some day. Jonathan saw his nephrologist every six months after he was discharged from the hospital. He always amazed the doctor. She gradually decreased the dosage of his medicine, even though he was gaining weight and should have needed an increase. His damaged kidney showed signs of growth, even though the doctor was not sure it never would grow. In January of 2006, Jonathan went for his normal six-month checkup. Not only were we informed by his doctor that he no longer required the medication, but she did not need to see him for two years! It took three and half years, but I always had faith that I would see what I had hoped for.
