He Spared My Son

by GfG on June 27, 2008 · 12 comments

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I sit here before my computer screen wondering how to tell you this. How to share with you something that has affected me to the deepest part of my soul. Something that rocked me to the core and is still doing so. I feel you need to know for several reasons: 1) you care about our lives 2) I may not be ‘normal’ for quite awhile and, for my IRL friends, knowing why may help 3) you can pray for me and my family

Last night my world came crashing to a halt. Wee Babe almost died.

I found him with part of a blanket over his face. He had vomited. He was incredibly pale and his eyes stared straight ahead. He was only grunting. It was like I could feel the nearness of death in the room. Since HB and I both had found him in this state, we both began screaming. I sent her to go get her dad. She left, near hysteria.

As I paced in the living room pounding Wee Babe on the back and crying, almost all knowledge of how to treat a baby who is choking evaporated. All I could think of was pounding the back and getting him to breathe better. He was technically breathing. I knew this because he was making little grunting sounds. But his eyes were not focused and he would not respond to me. I honestly thought he was past the point of any choking treatments. I was calm enough to talk to the 911 operator, but just barely. Finally, his dad got here and took over the rescue of our son. At that point, I lost it.

Let me tell you that any movie you have seen, any book you have read, or any play you have watched does not convey the true hysteria a woman displays when she thinks her child has or is dying. Not one. The pain and fear and panic and hopelessness I felt to the very core of my being screamed to God. I fell on the ground. I prayed aloud, “Dear God, spare my son.” Over and over. Louder and louder. I truly felt like it was to the point that my sweet, precious baby was going to die and only a move of mercy would spare his life. I begged for it. I’ve never been in that place where I saw that something was almost inevitable and I was beseeching with all my strength for it not to happen. It felt like I was begging for my life.

My Sweetie asked me to go wait outside for the ambulance. I screamed. I wept. I paced. I wondered what was taking them so long. I shouted. I was scared to go back into the house because I feared my husband was going to have to tell me that my son was gone. It felt like I was out there for eternity.

When a truck pulled up I shouted, “Where’s the ambulance? We need an ambulance!”
He calmly told me they were on the way, but he was the First Responder (TFR) and was closer, so he came.
All I could say to him over and over was that we needed oxygen and he needed to get my baby breathing better. He was sooo calm. He told me that he had brought oxygen and for me to take him to the baby.
I did.
TFR talked to My Sweetie, who calmly told him all he had been doing. I heard the words: lethargic, unresponsive, shallow breathing, aspirated… TFR encouraged My Sweetie saying that he had been doing everything right and that the baby looked really good. I didn’t believe him. He gave him “blow by oxygen” while holding him.
Then the ambulance got there. The ENTs were calm. They looked over Wee Babe, calling him by name. Confirming that he now looked very good. Derek (one of the EMTs) talked me down. He showed me that Wee Babe’s coloring was good. He showed me that Wee Babe was now focusing on things and moving some. He showed me that he was breathing on his own. Then he told me that *I* needed to take a deep breath. I was starting to feel a tiny bit of hope that my son might live. Finally, after listening to My Sweetie, TFR and the EMTs, I realized he had been spared.

Then I immediately became concerned with his neurological health. During the ambulance ride to the hospital, Derek continued to show me the all the ‘good’ things Wee Babe was displaying. But all I could see was that he was not responding normally. He was not reacting like his typical self. I was scared he was brain damaged.

Not until we had been in the ER for ten minutes or so, did Wee Babe seem to become himself again. I finally realized that his life had been completely spared. All of it.

After Wee Babe had been declared ‘fine’, we transferred to the hospital our doctor practices in. We spent the night for observation and to get a second Xray this morning (aspiration sometimes does not show up on Xrays until later).

Dr. R declared him just fine. Dr. Mole (who came to the hospital at midnight) declared him perfect and said, “I’m not worried about this baby at all. He’s just great.” She came again this afternoon before we went home from the hospital to doubly confirm her belief for me. She also brought me an apnea monitor, a video monitor and an incline pad for Wee Babe (she says these are all gifts for my peace of mind, not for necessity).

So, now we are home. Wee Babe is fine. He is great.

His mom is a mess. Over and over in my mind, the first ten minutes of the horror story replay in my mind. I see his face looking like death. I see him slipping away. While I know he is now fine, I can’t seem to get past the truth that he almost left us.

I thought the last two years of trials have been overwhelming, but they were nothing compared to the horror I walked through last night.

The children seem to be doing fine. HB is doing well. A wonderful counselor was here with her last night and really ministered to her. We have talked several times today about things. She is doing pretty well. The others are just happy Wee Babe is fine and we are all home. Papalou stayed the night and day with them and he is a calming presence for them. Two dear friends came to be with us (one at each hospital plus Dr. Mole and Mr. Mole) and their presence was like a balm.

Praise God with me. Send up a prayer of thanks for the mercy he showed our family last night. He moved His hand and it saved my son’s life. The psalm that ran through my head in the ambulance over and over was “When I am afraid I will trust in you, in God whose word I praise”.

And I could use prayer for my emotional healing for this time. I know that only God can do this for me. I trust He will.


He spared my son. I’m beyond grateful.


{edited Nov 2012:  If you are just reading this and don’t know the back story, Wee Babe almost died at birth and was life flighted to a hospital, put on a ventilator, sedated for almost a week into a no movement, and was in the NICU for 17 days.  Also, my mother died from aspiration a bit over five months from this incident, making the moment all too familiar.

I am not fully healed from this.  I still start crying when reading this or remembering this horrific first ten minutes and I can still break out into a cold sweat, wide eyed with fear if I think a child of mine is choking, aspirating, or their airway is closing, but I’m much better than I was that first year.  I trust God to continue to heal me.  To Him be the glory!}

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