Abigail
Birth... what a miracle! Abigail Aviya Austin entered the world at 12:52 a.m. on Saturday, July 8, 1995. Our first two children had been born by c-sections, so my husband and I were amazed at the miracle of experiencing a birth. We watched anxiously as the hospital staff checked her out , and breathed a sigh of relief as they noted that all seemed well.
The next week passed quickly. Family and friends came and went. On Sunday, we decked our precious bundle out and showed her off at our church, the small, newly formed fellowship where my husband is pastor. She, of course, received generous amounts of attention.
On Monday morning, Kyle's day off, I was beginning to feel that life was returning to normal. We were in the living room discussing what we should do for the day. I was holding Abigail on the couch. I was trying to decide if there might be something wrong with her. Though she had been up nearly every hour the night before and not nursing well, I hadn't been too concerned. She had no fever, but today she did seem to be breathing very rapidly. At church the day before, my friend, a nurse, commented to me that she seemed to be breathing fast. We had noticed the same thing earlier, but our doctor had checked her out at her 3-day appointment and found nothing wrong , so we hadn't worried about it. But now I wondered... maybe my friend was right.
Suddenly, I noticed that her lips looked blue. I knew that was a bad sign. I stood up to call the doctor's office. She stopped breathing. "Abigail!," I said. "Kyle, she's not breathing. She's not breathing!" Then she took a few breaths and stopped again. "Do you want me to call 911?" he asked. I said, "I don't know." I was having trouble deciding whether she was breathing or not. Kyle walked over to take a look. Our friend said, "You better call." Abi took three slow breaths with long gaps in between. With the last one she went totally limp. Kyle ran to the phone and dialed 911. I said her name over and over. She was turning purple. I tried gently shaking her and blowing in her face to try to startle her into breathing. Nothing. Holding the phone, Kyle went to the middle of the living room floor and kneeled down. "You need to calm down" he said, "Lay her down here." He had taken CPR in high school and the 911 operator gave him careful instructions to refresh his memory. He breathed into
her mouth and nose a few times. I prayed. The operator asked for him to feel for her pulse. He couldn't find one. "You've got to get somebody out here. I'm not getting it done!" he said. She assured him that help was on the way. After another few puffs, Abigail gasped, sighed, and finally started to cry. It was music to my ears. I went and opened the front door. I could hear the sirens. "They're coming!" I said. Then I realized that I wasn't dressed. I wasn't going to let them take her anywhere without me. I ran to our room and threw on the first set of clothes I found. Kyle was apologetically opening the door for the rescue squad. "Sorry guys, I guess she's okay, she's breathing now."
They pushed past him into the living room.
Suddenly the room was full of men, women and equipment. Our friend went downstairs to keep our other daughters, six-year old Tirza and four-year old Lydia, occupied. Someone mentioned that Abigail was extremely cyanotic. We asked what that meant. "Purple," he said. "Oh, she looks good now - much better than she did," we said. Kyle held me. What if she had been in her crib when this happened? I thanked God that He had allowed this to happen while I was holding her. They struggled with equipment that was not meant for such a tiny baby. Some of the monitors would not work at all. "You'll just have to count," someone commented. After asking where she was born, someone placed a call to get permission to take her to Fairfax Hospital, instead of to the hospital closest to our home, since Fairfax would already have her records. Soon we were ready to pull out in the ambulance. One of the men came to the window and asked if I needed any thing for the baby, like the diaper bag. He thoughtfully ran into th
e house to get it for me.
I thought that Abigail must have apnea, and I expected to have her checked out briefly at the hospital and then be sent home with a monitor. Kyle stayed behind to take care of the older girls and give a report to a police officer. I promised to call him as soon as I knew something. During the ride, we would occasionally hear her cry. The driver would say, "Do you hear her crying? That's a good sign."
Finally, we pulled into the Emergency Room entrance. As one of the guys exited the ambulance he said, "She did it to us, too." He looked concerned. They rushed her in. She looked so tiny and helpless on that gurney. They had started an I.V. in the ambulance. It looked like they had taped her arm to a bandage box. A nurse asked one of the guys something about the I.V. "You're lucky we got it in at all," was his response. They scrambled to find other pediatric equipment. "Do we have any diapers around here?" a nurse asked. "I do," I was able to answer, thanks to the gentleman who had brought me my diaper bag before I left home. The young doctor that was attending to her looked like he was not sure what to do or what was wrong with her. He was not saying much. I felt panic well up inside me. I knew that this hospital had a wonderful Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. I would have felt so much more comfortable if she was there. I was getting ready to ask if they could bring someone up from the NICU to
look at her. Then a man in casual clothes walked in, took one look at her and started giving orders. He was not dressed like a doctor and I was wondering who in the world he was. As he worked, he gave the younger doctor a lecture on what steps to take if he ever saw an infant in her condition again.
Someone escorted me out. She explained that I needed to go complete some paperwork to admit her. "Oh, you will keep her then?" I asked. I just could not imagine that anything serious could be wrong with her. She had seemed so healthy. She hadn't even had a fever. How could she be sick? The nurse looked at me like I was crazy. "Yes, she will be staying." She also said that I would be assigned a social worker. "Oh, no," I thought, "they think I did this to my baby." She went on to explain that the social worker would act as a liaison between me and the doctors, since they would be too busy working with Abigail to talk with me for awhile. In the admitting office, I gave a woman all the pertinent information. I was a little worried, since our HMO requires that you call their advice line before seeking any kind of medical attention. I told the clerk that I hadn't called the HMO before I called 911. I asked her if she thought it would be okay and if I should call them. She also looked at me like I
was crazy. "I'm sure they'll believe that this was an emergency," she said. Then I started to think that things were a lot more serious than I realized.
The social worker took me to a consultation room. I had a seat on the couch. He explained that I should wait here and he would check on Abigail and keep me posted on her status. He said I should feel free to use the telephone. Shortly after, a doctor came in. He introduced himself and proceeded to explain that Abigail was a very sick baby. He said that with her symptoms, her problem could either be a serious infection or a heart problem. He said that he was more strongly suspecting a heart defect. He explained a few different kinds and said that they would be doing a echocardiogram (sonogram of the heart) shortly to find out. He also said that Abigail was in very good hands.
As soon as the doctor left I called my husband. I told him that the doctor had said that she was very sick. "Really?!" He sounded as shocked as I felt. I told him to come right over and bring the girls. We would figure out what to do with them later. I told him to pick up some lunch on the way since it sounded like we'd be here awhile. I decided to call a few of the women in our church and ask them to pray.
Soon after, the pediatric cardiologist came in. He explained that Abigail's problem was definitely her heart. He told me that he had seen right away that she was purple from the waist up and white from the waist down. This observation had caused him to suspect that her difficulty was a coarctation of the aorta. The echocardiogram had confirmed it. Her aorta, the main artery that supplies oxygenated blood to the body, was severely constricted. Because of the location of the stricture, her upper body was receiving oxygenated blood, while very little blood was making its way to her lower body. She was experiencing severe congestive heart failure. He went on to explain that this problem was not discovered at birth because a baby's heart uses the ductus to bypass the lungs while it is in the womb. When a baby is born the heart should stop using the ductus, and then it closes when the baby is about a week old. When Abigail was born, her body recognized that it couldn't circulate blood normally, so it u
sed the ductus to bypass the narrowing in her aorta. When her ductus began to close, blood could no longer circulate blood effectively. He explained that she would need surgery as soon as possible, but that since many of her internal organs had been effected by lack of circulation, she probably wouldn't be able to survive surgery if they tried it immediately. They would have to wait and stabilize her before they could operate. In the meantime, they would use a drug to re-open the ductus. That would allow her heart to operate well enough to get her ready for surgery. They also decided to take over as many of the functions of her body as they could, so that her body could recover. It would be awhile before they knew if permanent damage had been done to any of her other organs. She would remain in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU) until surgery.
He lead me back to the ER. I would walk with the team as they transported her to the PICU. I stared wide-eyed at the tangle of tubes and wires that was my child. A nurse said, "Go talk to her, touch her. Let her know her momma is with her." I had trouble finding a place on her little body to touch. I stroked her head and cooed in her ear. Soon we were traveling through the hospital with a nurse "bagging" air into her. When we reached the PICU, I was told that I would have to stay in the waiting room while they started some additional IVs and got her set up on the ventilator. As Abigail disappeared behind the automatic doors, I turned to get acclimated to where I was. I felt so alone - I wondered if Kyle would be able to find me here. Staring back at me was a familiar face, a friend of my husband's from seminary - also the brother-in-law of our neighbor. Not realizing the circumstances, he approached me with a huge smile. "How are you? It's been so long since I've seen you. How is Kyle?" I immed
iately burst into tears and explained what I was doing there. He hugged and consoled me. He wrote down Abigail's name and assured me that his church would be praying for her.
Soon Kyle arrived with our lunch. Usually it is my favorite fast food, but that day it tasted like cardboard. I could hardly choke it down. A cardiologist arrived to explain Abigail's congenital heart defect in greater detail. Our friend, Bruce, took our girls to the hospital play room. The doctor assured us that he would be repeating many of the same things over and over to us so that it would eventually sink in. He drew us some diagrams to help us understand Abi's heart defects. We still had not been able to see her. They were still working to establish IV lines and get medications started. We were shocked to see one of our friends, Dave Crandall, turn the corner and enter the waiting room. We were so touched by his presence that Kyle and I both began to cry. "I came as soon as I heard," he said. "Soon Joan will be here, we'll take your kids - they can spend the night with us tonight," he said. And that was only the beginning. Slowly, but surely that waiting room began to fill with friends
and relatives. Since Kyle is a pastor, we are used to being the ones doing the comforting. It was hard for us to graciously receive help from so many.
When we finally saw Abi, she looked wonderful compared to when we had last seen her. She was so pink. And so peaceful. She was being given morphine and a paralyzing drug, so that her body could recover more quickly. A doctor explained the monitors and IV's. He noted that it may take as many as two or three days to get her stabilized enough to undergo surgery. A nurse was assigned exclusively to her care. Since she was in the "Coronary Corner" we would be permitted to come in and see her at any time, but not to sleep in her room. A lot of our time would be spent in the waiting room.
In another consultation room, the social worker informed us that our stay in the PICU would be more like running a marathon than a sprint, and that we needed to pace ourselves. This was the best advice we received. She encouraged us to let our friends help and even gave us some ideas of things people could do to help us.
The next few days passed slowly. Abigail continued to recover well. We spent days and evenings at the hospital and went home at night to sleep. She slept on and on peacefully. The nurses tenderly turned her every few hours, using rolled up blankets to prop and position her tiny arms and legs. The silence in her room was haunting - she never cried, because she couldn't cry. The only sound we heard was the whoosh of the ventilator. One morning we came in to find that Abi's 8 month old roommate, who had undergone heart surgery the week before, had died during the night. This distressed us, but the staff continued to stress that his situation had been much different from hers. Many visitors passed through the waiting room to encourage us. We were touched to see small groups spontaneously huddle together in prayer. We left the doors to our home unlocked, so that people could drop things off even if we weren't there. Every day we were touched by many kindnesses. Whatever we needed was graciously provided
.
We were pleased when Abigail's surgery was finally scheduled for early Thursday morning. The surgeon would remove the blocked section of aorta and sew the ends together. At least the waiting would be over, and the timing couldn't have been better. Many churches hold prayer meetings on Wednesday nights. We asked everyone we could think of to have their churches praying for Abi. Word went out from our friends to their friends and relatives. Hundreds of people across the country were praying for Abi on
that Wednesday night and Thursday morning.
Kyle and I tearfully commended Abigail into God's hands early Thursday morning as we watched her enter the elevator . A nurse came back up sooner than we had anticipated to report that Abigail had done very well during the surgery. Soon we saw her again. We praised God that she had made it safely through the surgery.
Friday, the PICU staff began the process of weaning her off the ventilator. They made a small downward adjustment which she tolerated well. Saturday they continued to turn the ventilator down all the while checking her blood gases to see how she was adjusting. They soon had to stop. Her body could just not tolerate the extra work. Her lungs were still "wet" or containing too much fluid, the doctor explained. The nurses encouraged us, "She could breath on her own before she came in, she'll do it again. We just have to wait until she's ready." In the meantime, we saw two children that had surgery the same day as her off their ventilators and leave the PICU. It was hard to just wait. On Sunday, Abi seemed even worse. They raised the ventilator setting again, almost back to where they had started. The doctors decided to try a different drug treatment to "dry" her out. Her progress was amazing. On Monday morning she even looked like a different baby. All of the fluid she had been retaining was gone
. An x-ray revealed that her lungs were dried out. They began the weaning process again, more confident that it would work this time. This was great news, but it came with a price. To aid in the process, they stopped giving Abigail the morphine she had been on for pain. For the first time, she looked like she was suffering. Also, for the first time I was able to do something for her. The nurse had me sit at her bedside and pat her to calm her down when she tried to cry and get the ventilator tube out of her mouth. The nurse also let me take a sponge and wet Abi's parched lips. She smiled at me. That afternoon the ventilator tube was finally removed. What an overwhelming joy to finally be able to hold her in my arms!
On Tuesday, Abigail was moved to the regular pediatric floor. She spent another three days there before going home. We were thrilled to bring her home. She still has a slightly diminished blood flow through her aorta, and a defect in one of her heart valves. This will always give us reason to trust God for her well-being. But she is thriving and appears to be a normal, healthy, happy baby. When we look at her we see the merciful hand of God. Finally the Sunday came when her father held her up during the morning worship service. "Do you believe in the power of prayer? I believe God gave Abigail to us, and to you, to show the power of God." God used Abigail's suffering to take our newly formed fellowship and mold us into a community and family that cares for one another. Now when our friends introduce us they say, "And this is Abigail, the miracle baby."
Lori Austin
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