Springtime is a time when we anticipate new birth: new buds, fresh flowers, and birds chirping in the trees. This spring, we will welcome someone new into our family. Actually, today’s the day! Although we have a sliver of hope, it’s hard to escape a sense of “going through the motions” – that we are going through this just to do the right thing for Stanley. We feel a terrible mix of dread and anticipation. Lots of questions swirl in our minds, some spoken, others felt. We get up early, get the bag we prepared last night, and look through everything again to see if we’ve forgotten anything. This is it, it’s time to go.

Sunrise isn’t due for a couple of hours and we are heading to the hospital for the scheduled c-section. Stanley is active, but there have been no contractions or signs of labor. Considering mom’s uterine issues, this is good. Going much later into the third trimester, especially if labor got started, could be treacherous for mom.

We get to the hospital and are trying to be positive, but the waiting is hard. A bit of small talk keeps the tension at bay while various people get mom into her hospital gown and start the IV. Dad gowns up as well, and we make quite the pair as we depart for the Operating Room (OR).

We say another prayer before we’re taken to the OR. We have no idea what will happen or how it will unfold. We aren’t even sure if we will hear him cry or what he will look like. Finally, it is our time to go in.

In near silence the staff escort mom through security doors toward the surgery room while dad follows a few steps behind. The rubber wheels of the gurney squeak as we walk through the near empty halls. Eventually there is a point where dad is directed to sit alone in a side room until the moment when the doctors will call him in. More waiting.

In the OR, the doctors get ready to work on mom. Despite having had several previous c-sections, mom feels enormously apprehensive as the anesthesiologist begins performing his work.  He has great difficulty getting mom numb, probably due to her incredibly high level of stress.  Eventually she is able to lie back, at which point her arms are strapped down and the doctor moves into position. 

Mom is now prepped and the curtain is up. Dad is allowed to enter and he holds mom’s hand. Per our request, dad offers a prayer that the Lord would direct and guide each part of the procedure. More waiting, monitors beeping, indistinct occasional sounds of medical jargon, waves of mixed feelings. Suddenly we hear a whooshing sound of fluid and the doctors saying, “Whoa!” (They had never seen so much water come out of a uterus). We hear no baby sounds right away and the docs are still working. We look at one another with a sense of resignation. But then, we hear it: a small cry as Stanley takes his first breaths!

While mom’s being stitched up, a full pediatric medical team is working with Stanley.  The lead doctor soon puts his head around the curtain and bends down to let us know, in a grave voice, that Stanley’s oxygen levels are very low.  We think that this is the end – that he will pass away on the table without ever having held him.  Dad sneaks his cell phone camera around the curtain to capture what he thinks may be the only picture of Stanley alive.

The next few minutes feel like an eternity. But then, miraculously, his oxygen saturation levels begin to climb. They wrap him up and present him to us. And he looks absolutely beautiful! He is warm, soft, and pink. He’s breathing normally. He seems to be doing so well – surprisingly well. Mom is the first to hold him.

Mom can’t believe what she’s seeing:  a beautiful, brand-new baby who strongly resembles his brothers and sisters and has the sweetest face.  Dad holds him close to mom, and he seems incredibly happy to meet his mom who has loved and sheltered him safely in her womb for all these months.  What an incredibly special and unexpected gift of pure love!  If we had ever wondered what our true feelings toward Stanley would be, the instant we saw him completely confirmed that we would be as attached to him as to our other children.  We cherish this beautiful opportunity to behold a new miracle of life: our son, Stanley Richard.

Mom holds Stanley for some time and he seems to love being held. Mom tells him “We love you,” while she holds his head and dad rubs his back. As the surgeons work to conclude the C-section, the doc and mom talk about how he has a lot of hair and how little he is.

Now it’s time for clean-up and initial checks. Stanley gets Apgar scores of 7 at three minutes and then 8 at five minutes, and a weigh in at 5 pounds 12.6 ounces. A glance at his stats card shows why the doctors were so concerned only a few moments ago: he started off dusky at 2 minutes; at 4 minutes he had 39% oxygen saturation with half oxygen support; at 5 minutes, he went up to 59% with full oxygen support; at 6 minutes, he went up to 66%; at 7 minutes, he climbed up to 77% oxygen saturation. Finally at 10 minutes, they took off oxygen support and placed him on comfort care.

He opens his eyes during the procedure, probably because he feels cold and he’s being moved around. The nurse puts him back on the bed and he seems to be comfortable again in the warmth of the heated newborn crib. The nurse puts his hat back on and Stanley closes his eyes again and rests.

The nurse soon hands him back to us so mom can hold him. He seems to be doing amazingly well. After a while passes, we start discussing next steps which we hadn’t been prepared to take. We talk about simple stuff, like: “Do we feed him?” “Should others get to see him now?” “What about clothes and supplies?” More than that though, we just revel in the beauty of that moment. We are together and our precious Stanley is alive and comfortable.

At this point, we feel a renewed sense of urgency and a small, but living ember of hope. Our plan is to allow as many people as possible to see Stanley and hold him. We just don’t know how much time he has, so this could be the last opportunity for friends and family to meet him. We don’t want to take this moment for granted or keep the joy of holding him to ourselves. These fleeting moments are precious and we must make the most of them.