"We have a son."

It wasn't the belt.  That became alarmingly evident after a few minutes with the internal fetal monitor in place.  My baby's heart beats were almost imperceptible after each contraction.  They would drop dangerously low and not come back up as high or as quickly as they wanted.  After eight and a half hours of labor I wasn't going to be delivering my baby on my own.  They had to move fast to save him.

If people were bees and that room a hive you could picture what happened next.  Someone went to the door and yelled out "I need a C team stat."  Someone else shoved a paper under my nose for me to sign - to this day I wonder what that signature looked like.  Since I was pretty loopy at the time.  They hurried my husband out and saying we have to do a c-section and you can't go.  All the while nurses were putting blood pressure cuffs on me, hooking up new IVs and moving me to a gurney and moving me out.

I am told that from the second they asked for a C team until my baby was delivered a grand total of nine minutes elapsed.  Nine minutes.  Minutes that could have turned out so differently. 

There is a movie with Kevin Bacon and Elizabeth McGovern entitled "She's Having a Baby".  There is a part where they are in the hospital getting ready to welcome their new baby, she is in labor, he is in his cute little scrubs and all is well with the world, until something goes wrong and it is like watching us on the screen.  My husband cannot watch that part of the movie without getting upset.  He says it hits too close to home.  He said he sat in that waiting room not knowing what the outcome would be.

So, at 8:59 am on that Wednesday morning, after the hours of labor our baby came into this world and I missed it.

The next thing I remember was my husband standing over me in a recovery room and saying "We have a son."  A son.  Really?  Since for some reason I thought I had a girl.  I kept thinking poor thing, he is so confused!  But no, we did have a son.  A wonderful, beautiful, perfectly healthy although small son.  Since he was early he weighed just under 6 lbs.  But he was here, he was safe.  He made it through all the trauma and delivery. 

We were told the placenta had separated during my labor and he was smothering.  He was fighting to breathe and for every heart beat.  I often think how glad I am that I didn't take the heavy drugs for pain or have the epidural.  

But, thanks to the quick work of the doctor and those wonderful nurses I had him.  My easy, normal pregnancy had turned into something else.  It was not the plan, but it was God's plan and we had a little boy to hold and love.

I wasn't a Christian when all this happened.  I attended church, always had.  But I had never given my heart to Jesus.  After I was saved I could see the hand of God on my little one that night.  I had held off taking anything for pain, I had refused the epidural.  If he had the drugs in him from me taking them he would have been lethargic and would not have fought so hard.  The right people we there at just the right minute when it became critical.  Otherwise our story would not end as it did.

We along with his grandparents celebrated his arrival.  I had to stay in the hospital longer than expected because of minor complications with me.  But one week later we took him home.  Home to his Peter Rabbit nursery.  Home to his own bed.  Home to meet friends and other family members.  Home so we could love him and watch him grow. Home.