Pages

Monday, July 29, 2013

So Much More Than Happy Birthday


When he comes downstairs this morning I say, "Happy birthday." Just like I say to my other children on their birthdays. I direct him to the chocolate donuts he requested. When he walks away I think about how, no matter how many birthdays he celebrates, his will always be different than the other children's. Because while it's his birthday, it's an anniversary of sorts for me. The anniversary of the day my safe and predictable life got turned on its ear. It was, in truth, one of the worst days of my life. And yet, all that pain was necessary to make me who I am today. On this day 17 years ago I was forever changed.

When he was born, he couldn't breathe. They held him up and we could see he was struggling, his chest collapsing in on itself. They tried to hand him to me but changed their minds when they saw that he was turning blue. They ran him out of the room and my husband and I were left there, just the two of us in the evacuated room, blinking at each other in this sudden uncomfortable silence, wondering what had just happened. Had we just had a baby? Did we still have a baby?

The reports throughout the day weren't good. They didn't know what was wrong with him. He had a collapsed lung. He didn't have a collapsed lung. He had a syndrome so rare they couldn't properly identify it. He had other issues. They didn't know if they could even nail down what those issues were. They were hopeful. They were grim. They were calling in specialists, each one making the trek down to the little maternity center where he was born. He was supposed to be, you see, a healthy baby. No risk involved. Just a quick stop in, a birth, and home again with our little bundle in 3 short, joy-filled days. That had been the plan and, until that day, my plans always worked. I had a not 2 year old and a not 4 year old at home. They had been healthy and perfect. Why wouldn't he be?

Night was falling when the last specialist arrived, beleaguered and harried from a long day of helping others, he came into the room, his red hair sticking up in little tufts on his head. He said his name was David Matthews. I quipped "Like the band?" And he smiled, surprised by my joke. I was surprised too. That a joke was still within me. I would learn later that my capacity to laugh would always be there, a survival technique that buoyed me during dark, dark times to come. But we didn't know anything about those dark times that night. Not yet. We were still hoping that he would be ok. I was still hanging onto the hope that I could get my normal back by the time we left the hospital.

"Yes," David Matthews said. "Like the band."

And then he sat down and said the words I'd been waiting all day to hear: "I think I can fix your son."

He went on to tell us about rare surgeries and success rates and rare syndromes and prognoses and genetic testing and I struggled to understand. When he left I latched onto the hope he had given us. Held onto it like a child with a balloon, aware that it was fragile and apt to be blown away. Our son would be moved to another hospital. At five days old he would have the first of many surgeries. We didn't know that then. We were just ignorant enough to think that that one surgery would be enough. If I had known that night all that awaited us, I couldn't have withstood it though. Lesson 1 of many: We think we want to know what the future holds but we really aren't prepared to handle it. Better to just focus on the day at hand.

That was July 29th. Our son wouldn't come home from the hospital until November. In the months between his birth and his discharge from the hospital I would get a crash course in pediatric nursing. I would become familiar with not just David Matthews but a host of other doctors as well. That big city hospital they sent us to? The one that scared me? I would become intimately familiar with it, cruising its hallways and learning shortcuts like I lived there. Because I did. Even now the smell of antibacterial soap and astringent and sickness can bring it all back-- those months I would wake up from yet another sleepless night filled with alarms and vitals checks and stagger to the door, grab the first nurse who walked by and whisper hoarsely, "Coffee." And those dear sweet nurses would bring it to me out of their lounge, busy themselves with my son while I gulped it down in hopes of being alert enough to talk to the barrage of doctors coming through on rounds.

If you've met me since all of that happened you might not understand where my faith comes from. It's not from my family of origin. It's not from years in church. It's not from friends who influenced me. While all those things played a part I can't say that the kind of faith I have came from that. Instead I trace it back to those days after his birth, when I would sit in that hospital and beg God to heal him. Beg God to give me strength. Tell God that I couldn't take not one more piece of bad news. Search the Bible for verses that would help me understand, accept, find peace in the midst of this storm. And here's the absolute truth: I found Him faithful. Every. Time.

I get that some of you aren't there. Some of you think this is crazy talk. Some of you shrug off my religious-ness chalking it up to my southern upbringing, my years I wrote for an organization that offered devotions, some sort of weird personality thing. But the truth is, it's none of those things. Because none of those things hold up under extreme stress and uncertainty. None of those things were there for me when my world fell apart.

When I sat in that lonely hospital room with my baby gurgling and gasping to breathe for weeks on end, I found the frayed ending of this long rope called "myself" I'd been following for 26 years. And then I handed that frayed ending to God and said, "Please do something with this, because I can't." And what came after? Well, I had very little to do with that. That was Him, fixing the fray. Stepping into it.

And so this is the anniversary. This day. I see that 6' tall boyman standing in my doorway, filling it up, and I see his trach scar and that chin I thought would never grow. I tell him to go eat donuts when eating was impossible for him back then, when he was fed by a tube in his stomach. When I couldn't see this day coming because I was so afraid it never would. Today I celebrate not just his survival, but also mine. Not just his growth and progress, but also mine.

Today I say happy birthday, but what I really mean is so much more.
Pin It!

20 comments:

Unknown said...

Wow, can not imagine experiencing what you went through but thank God, literally for the outcome! Wonderful testimony! Kelly

NoOrdianryOne said...

I'm not going to lie... I logged into this thinking I was going to read a quick fun story about one of my favorite kids and ended in tears over the beauty and strength in this story.

There has always been something about that "6'tall boyman" of yours that instills a gentle spirit and a joyful smile when I've interacted with him. (I mean it's been rather minimal as the typical teenager avoids the babysitter downstairs like the plague) But today there is a depth and a beauty to those interactions and an understanding of that sweet spirit that I never realized before.

And there is the continued respect that fills my heart at the mention of your name, sweet friend. You too are an infectious joy and an unyielding faith that when I've though of where it could stem from I've always just thought - "it's a God thing." But today it has new depth, new layers, new meaning and new respect.

I'm ever thankful for the times you share your children with me and your friendship with me. Today I am thankful for all of that and for your amazing and powerful testimony as you share your heart with me... and so many more!

Love to you MaryBeth!

Ellen - SkoMomma said...

Awesome. Thank you for sharing your story. Happy Birthday indeed, to all of your family. God bless.

.....Elizabeth..... Polka Dot Skies said...

Thank you so much for sharing this with us. I am so glad you son has grown tall and is still here with you! Sometimes we meet people and have no idea the things they have gone through. God has an amazing way of giving us strength when we have nothing left.

Carol Baldwin said...

i have the chills. Thank you for sharing this wonderful story of the Lord's work in all of your lives> What a wonderful birthday story!

Kate said...

Beautiful - thank you for sharing

Unknown said...

Happy Birthday to your son Marybeth, and thank you so much for sharing this story. You are a wonderful woman, and I cannot wait to see you again at Decatur Book Festival, I hope you'll be hanging around after the writer's conference. Hugs woman!!

Unknown said...

Tears--but joyful ones. I always knew your third child had health problems at birth, but I never knew to what extent. This post is a testimony of God's faithfulness, but also one of a dedicated and loving mama. Thanks for sharing. And thanks for the reminder that He is always faithful--no matter what. Happy 17th Birthday to your miracle baby! :)

Mandie said...

I loved reading this MB! I related so much to "the fray." Holding it UP, and giving it up to God. At that end, where God works and we allow Him to. Thank you for sharing. x

Pam said...

Yes, it is true that what we go through makes us who we are. What a story and thank you for letting all of us who didn't know it share in it through your words. An amazing young man with an amazing mama! Blessings as you celebrate!

A said...

Thank you for sharing a part of your story. Happy 17th Birthday to your son!

Anonymous said...

I have been reading your blog for years, but have never commented. Your son's medical problems at birth sound very familiar to my oldest daughters. She was born with Pierre Robin Syndrome and is now a beautiful 15 year iold teen. She has been trhrough a lot in her years and is such a blessing to us. Anyway, at her birth and periodically throghout her life there have been times that I wish I could connect with others to gain insight and share experiences.

Laura Wilson

Tammi T. said...

What a beautiful, sacred story. Thanks for sharing. I have a similar 9 year birthday / anniversary approaching in 3 days. My youngest son was born then with a serious heart defect called Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome. It has been an amazing journey of battling fear with hope, faith and prayer. I can empathize with the pain and rejoice with the miracle that is your son and your own miracle. Happy Birthday to your 27 year old son and Happy Anniversary to you.

Tammi T. said...

Oops! I meant your 17 year old son.

Marybeth Whalen said...

Laura, it was Pierre Robin Syndrome. Amazing! I usually don't mention the name of the syndrome because it is so rare and it's just another detail. But, for those of us who've been affected by it, it's a name we will never forget. Truly amazing that you read this and picked up on the similarities. Thanks for commenting!

Marybeth Whalen said...

And thanks so much to all of you who commented, emailed privately, and shared this post via Twitter, Google Plus and Facebook. You blessed me and validated my vulnerability in sharing this.

bradmaddox said...

The Best Lol n Troll Network with the Name of Lols Gag... Troll Images, Prank Peoples, Funny Peoples, funny planet, funny facts, funny cartoons, funny movies pics, iphone funny, funny jokes, Prank Images, Fail Pictures, Epic Pictures, Lols and Gags, Lol Pictures, Funny Pictures, Lol is the Laugh out of Laugh where you can Fun Unlimited and Laughing Unlimited.
LolsGag.Com

Unknown said...

Make Money Online is very easy now, In Internet system we have now best earning system without any work, Just Invest some Money into your Business and Make Perfect Life time Earnings with this Business.
Join Now for Make Perfect Business and Earn Money online from home.
www.hotfxearnings.com

Unknown said...

Latest cars and vehicles, Latest Mazda Models, Racing Cars, International Sport Cars, Concept Cars, PS-Pod, Strange Vehicles, Nissan, Royce Corniche, Ford Concept Cars, Strange Vehicles, Mercedes and More Sport Cars and Vehicles with Pictures and Info
WorldLatestVehicles.blogspot.com

Unknown said...
This comment has been removed by the author.