“He almost didn’t make it.”
“In ten more minutes, he could’ve been dead.”
These words reported by the doctor will forever be etched in my memory.
I will never forget the night fear and faith intertwined. Loneliness and helplessness were my companions.
Still processing my emotions from losing a good friend of twenty years to death from ovarian cancer, I wasn’t prepared for another emergency.
For many hours, I fought fear and faith simultaneously. I fought for the lives of my daughter and my unborn grandson.
We had expected my grandson to be a Christmas present that year, but he ended up being what we were thankful for that Thanksgiving weekend.
Every birth is a miracle of God to me, but that night, his birth was a true miracle!
With that said, if I were to be honest, part of me didn’t want to be there that night. I felt like the star of the movie War Room except my faith didn’t feel as strong as what I believed hers to be.
Fear Unfolds
My 37-week pregnant daughter, Leslie, complained about not feeling well. I assumed her tiredness came from our annual Thanksgiving dinner where we fed 753 meals. Besides, she also hit some Black Friday sales…you know, the Black Friday deals that aren’t on Friday.
Why wouldn’t she be tired? I thought.
A temperature soon developed and by the time evening rolled around, it had risen to 103, even though she was on an antibiotic. A trip to the ER ensued.
Her father and I drove her there. Immediately nurses hooked her up to monitors and I.V.’s, full of fluids and antibiotics. In spite of the medication, her temp continued to climb to 104.1.
A nurse apologized to her for removing the thin sheet she had, but it brought her temperature down.
She then explained to all of us, “Her oral antibiotic for her UTI didn’t work and the infection has spread to her kidneys and entire body. In fact, we believe she is septic.”
My muscles immediately tensed, my breathing stopped, and my stomach flipped as I heard the word ‘septic’. I immediately recalled losing a church member from a UTI that became septic two years prior.
“Please Lord,” I prayed under my breath. “Please take care of my baby and my unborn grandson. Let them live.”
My body still trembled, but I had to get a grip. I had to be strong for her sake. My husband had to leave to get some sleep since we had no idea how long things would be or what would happen. He had the funeral service of our friend to do in the morning.
“Sorry dear,” he stated with his arms embracing me. “Please keep me updated and I will come back if anything develops.”
“Pray for me also,” I responded.
I knew I had to make myself focus on praying and keeping her calm, but I was used to him being by my side.
Pity washed over me. I can’t see so how am I going to use the restroom? How will I get a nurse’s attention if she gets worse? I don’t know where the nurses’ station is, and Steve has always done that part.
I did my best to pull up my figurative bootstraps and face the music, but that didn’t alter the fact I was alone. My daughter was there and an occasional nurse, but uncertainty as to how I could best take care of my baby was beyond me.
I prayed silently as I carried on minimal conversation with my daughter. In my heart, I knew God was with me and would help me, but my mind wandered to more concerns.
I can’t see the numbers of my grandson’s heartbeat, nor see the length of her contractions that started. I can’t see her color to see if she is getting pale or the expression on her face to see her pain, nor her eyes.
Lesli’s groan brought me back to reality.
Fear Picks Up
“You’re going to be okay,” I said softly as I stroked her hair and asked the Lord for a special touch.
A nurse entered and took her temperature. Her fever spiked again, this time to 104.3. She then read her blood pressure. It was dropping. Both baby and mom’s heart rates increased.
Panic set in with not knowing what this meant or what to expect. Unable to ask questions at the moment, I had to push my grieving inside and lift up more prayers.
I sent a text to my husband with an update as the nurse placed two icepacks under her arms and she wasn’t allowed a sheet.
Within minutes they buried her in four more icepacks along with her doses of Tylenol. I might not have been able to see, but I could hear her teeth chatter and feel her shiver.
I did my best to distract her by asking unrelated questions and reminding her of past mission trips we had taken. When silence fell, I asked her what she was thinking about.
“I’m concentrating on finding warm spots.”
This went on for two hours before her fever broke.
Let Faith Arise
The fever had dissipated, but the stress on her body forced her contractions to come closer together. My daughter informed me her baby’s heartbeat was spiraling at the end of each contraction.
A nurse wasn’t present, but I knew this meant my grandson wasn’t tolerating contractions well at all. The same dips showed on a machine I was hooked up to twenty years earlier when I was going to give birth to her. A C-section would be needed.
I prayed silently, “Lord, give the hospital staff wisdom. I don’t want to lose my baby or my grandson. I can’t go get them so please bring them here and give them wisdom to know when to call a doctor for surgery. Let me know the best time to call and wake up my husband so he can be here.”
No sooner had I prayed, a sweet nurse came in. I shared my concerns and placed my trust in her and God.
Life is Precious
With the fever rearing its ugly head again, they decided an emergency C-section would save the baby and allow easier treatment for mom since more medications are allowed for non-pregnant females.
My husband arrived before Leslie was wheeled into surgery. We praised God when learning Braden Allen was found to be healthy with no complications, but he had to leave for the funeral shortly thereafter.
Concerned, we were relieved the doctor was able to give us a summary before my husband left. “The bacteria had traveled through Leslie’s body and had reached the placenta. This meant if we had been ten minutes longer, he would have been attacked by an infection too strong for his little body to withstand.”
Second Miracle
My husband rejoined me at the hospital in the mid-afternoon . . . just in time for another emergency.
He saw our daughter’s face turn white and her eyes roll back in her head. Medical personnel swarmed into the room and began working.
Her temperature had come back with a vengeance, reaching 105 with a heart rate of 160.
He watched as the nurses clothed her in ice bags while bathing her with alcohol.
As soon as things were under control, the doctor filled us in on the dangers and possibilities before adding a second antibiotic to the regimen. He explained that the fever returns in late afternoons, but never rises above the previous day’s high. Leslie’s case had baffled him.
Our prayers were answered as she didn’t have to be transported to another hospital as believed would happen, and no fever returned the next afternoon.
CAT scans and other methods ensued to ensure infected kidneys wouldn’t shut down. Regular lab work also continued for both Leslie and her newborn baby. No sign of infection trickled through to Braden’s precious body.
Once fever-free for 48 hours, Leslie would be able to take her baby home. During that time, a new problem emerged – anemia. Leslie had to receive 2 pints of blood before leaving.
Braden will learn the miracle of his birth when he grows older. He’ll know how God spared his life by preventing deadly bacteria from attacking his tiny body.
He will also learn the miracle of how his mom fought a deadly infection while pregnant, went through surgery, and suffered anemia and being septic, yet her life was spared as well.
God’s timing is incredulously perfect!
***This storm wasn’t limited to Thanksgiving weekend, but had unforeseen difficulties that followed. To learn how I survived, grab a copy of my E-book, 5 Keys to Surviving Life’s Storms.
© 2023, Jena Fellers. All rights reserved.
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