A Treasury of Miracles for Women (5 page)

“No. I was sad at the thought of losing you, but I wasn't scared. I knew God would do what was best. And even though no one else believed, I knew in my heart you were going to live.”

Isabelle's mother continued the story: minutes had be come hours and Isabelle's father had fallen asleep. About that time the medication took effect and Lucy's heart began to race.

“Suddenly I couldn't draw a breath. I tried to stay calm, but when I opened my mouth to yell I couldn't force out enough air to make a sound. Finally I found the nurse's but ton. While I waited for help, I pinched off the intravenous line to the medication. About that time your father woke up and realized the crisis. He shouted for someone to come quick.”

Lucy shuddered at the memory. “Nurses came immedi ately and realized I was having a rare side effect to the med ication.”

One of the nurses had placed an oxygen mask over Lucy's face and ordered her to breathe. In ten minutes the danger had passed for Isabelle's mother.

But not for Isabelle.

“Without the medication, my labor pains grew worse. An hour later they flew me to Chicago where the hospital would be better equipped to deal with that type of extreme premature birth.”

A technician had performed an initial examination and checked Lucy's labor. Afterward, a neonatologist met with her and did an ultrasound. On the screen appeared a small body, perfectly formed. It appeared to be a girl, wig gling and even swallowing.

“I fell in love with you then and there.” Isabelle's mother wiped at a tear. “I begged God to let you live. ‘Let me have my precious little girl.' ”

Two days later, despite the doctor's efforts, Isabelle was born. Doctors were clear in their warning: at that stage of gestation, there was a strong chance the baby might die at birth. Isabelle was too fragile to undergo a regular birth and had to be delivered by C-section.

“I was awake through the whole thing. I wanted to see you.” Lucy's voice broke. “Even if it was only for a few min utes. I did nothing but pray throughout the operation.”

Twenty minutes after the surgery began, Isabelle Suzanne Sims was born. She was fourteen inches long and she wiggled furiously, trying to draw her first breath.

“The doctor took one look at you and said, ‘She's a fighter.' ” Lucy uttered a sound that was part laugh, part sob. “After that I believed that somehow you'd survive. It was almost like watching a miracle take place before my eyes.”

Isabelle's heart swelled with love as she pictured her mother, staring at her in those early moments and praying for a miracle. She felt her present disappointment ease as her mother resumed the story.

“Even though you were long for such a young baby, you weighed just over one pound. The doctors were very worried. They immediately sent you to the neonatal intensive care unit and put you on a ventilator inside a small, sterile covered bassinette. Your skin was so translucent, we could see the capillaries underneath. You were red!”

Three days later, when Lucy was released from the hos pital, Isabelle was still gaining ground.

“I knew you were going to make it.” Lucy grinned through her tears. “God had made it clear that he had spe cial plans for you.”

For the next three months, Isabelle had grown and gained ground in the hospital. A brief sponge bath in her bassinette and the holding of her tiny hand was all the con tact Lucy was allowed for weeks on end.

“You would kick at the wires and tubing around you.” There was a distance in Lucy's eyes as she saw again the image of Isabelle at that age. “I was so proud of you. ‘Keep fighting, Isabelle, baby. Keep fighting.' That's what I told you every day we were together.”

Isabelle and her mother had been surrounded by death during those three months. Because of its skilled staff, the hospital typically had sixty premature babies in its care at any given time. And one of those died every day while Is abelle struggled to survive.

“They wrapped you in plastic wrap until your own skin began to grow. It was truly amazing to see you survive a lit tle more each day.”

Finally, after four weeks, Lucy got to hold her daughter for the first time.

“It was the most emotional five minutes of my life.”Fresh tears filled Lucy's eyes. “To have you in my arms, where you belonged. I couldn't do anything but thank God for the miracle of your life. You were working so hard, too, to fight off infections and lifethreatening illnesses. Every-one I knew was praying for you.”

Isabelle felt cushioned in the blanket of love that had welcomed her into the world. She locked eyes with her mother and listened.

When Isabelle's weight had climbed to five pounds, the doctors gave her permission to go home. At that point her body systems were also functioning on their own—a neces sity before a premature baby can leave the hospital.

“The doctors told us the risks were far from over.” Lucy's voice grew softer. “Cerebral palsy was the primary concern. When a baby is premature, even a slight jarring motion can cause the brain to bleed. When that happens, cerebral palsy is the result.”

In Isabelle's case, a sonogram had detected a low-grade bleed during her time in the hospital, so the Sims knew to look for cerebral palsy. Once she was home, a physical ther apist monitored her condition weekly.

The months passed and became years. Until she was two, Isabelle had numerous incidents where she stopped breathing—a common condition with premature babies. But each time she was able to start again on her own.

“Each time your father and I would thank God for saving you. And each time we reminded ourselves that you were a fighter. You wanted to live; and that was the great est part of the miracle.”

When Isabelle was a toddler, it had become obvious that she struggled with her gross motor skills.

“The doctors told us that though it was a miracle you were alive, you definitely had cerebral palsy on your left side.” Lucy began to cry and put her hand over her mouth. Isabelle reached for her hand, tears stinging her own eyes. After a moment, Lucy found her voice once more. “The doctor said you would never learn to walk.”

Isabelle's parents had talked over the diagnosis and de cided that only God could determine whether Isaballe would ever walk. After all, he'd brought her this far. Certainly he'd see her through to whatever plans he had for her life.

As Isabelle grew, she encountered numerous chal lenges. But with every obstacle, she fought to overcome. She and her brothers developed a close friendship and never did her cerebral palsy keep her from playing with them.

Suddenly Isabelle remembered something Lucy used to tell her when she was little. “Remember what you used to say?” she said, squeezing her mother's hand. “You'd tell me I was special, and that cerebral palsy wasn't a restriction or a problem. It was a reminder of how blessed I was to be alive.”

“Yes.” Lucy wiped her tears from her cheeks. “You learned to walk by the time you were three and when you turned six, you began to dance.”

At that point in the story Lucy hit the play button on the remote control and again the image of Isabelle as a young dancing girl lit up the television screen.

Isabelle could hardly see the picture through the tears in her eyes.
I wasn't supposed to walk,
she thought.
Yet there I was, dancing across the stage. Dancing. And no one in the world could have made me stop.

When the segment ended, Lucy leaned over and hugged Isabelle close. Then she tenderly touched a single finger to the area over her daughter's heart. “The fighter is still in there, honey. No matter what happens with the job, keep fighting. Because all of life is a dance.”

Isabelle clung to her mother's words while she waited for word about the position. During that time, God worked in her heart as she hadn't allowed him to work in years. No longer was she discouraged by her limitations. Rather, she was reminded that every day, every breath, every step in the dance was a reason to celebrate.

And that attitude made it all the better two weeks later when she received a phone call from the art school.

“Isabelle,” the caller said, “we'd be honored if you'd ac cept our offer of a position at the school. We think you'll make an outstanding dance instructor.”

It was the very best dream come true. Isabelle imagined how her mother would take the news, the way it would prove her right again that Isabelle was a living miracle. In that moment, Isabelle knew without a doubt that her mother was right about something else, too. The music still played; indeed, it would always play.

And never again would Isabelle stop dancing.

Rescued by an Angel

I
t was Easter Sunday and Lola Randall had much to be thankful for. Times were hard and most people were still trapped in the throes of the Great Depression. But Lola's husband, Jeffrey, had a job in Phoenix and his in come provided a small home and plenty of food for their young family.

They even had enough gasoline money to make the trip north that Sunday afternoon to Flagstaff, where Jef frey's parents lived.

“Sure is a beautiful day to celebrate Easter,” Jeffrey commented as they drove through the scenic mountain roads and eventually into Greeley.

Lola smiled and gazed out the car window. Then she turned toward the backseat and checked on Bonnie. The child was two-and-a-half with golden-red hair, green eyes,and fair skin. She slept as they drove and Lola resumed her position in the front seat, allowing herself to enjoy the drive.

Not long afterward they arrived at the home of Jeffrey's parents, Jeffrey Sr. and Bonnie Randall.

“Happy Easter!” the senior Randalls exclaimed as they met the young family in the driveway. “Couldn't have asked for a more beautiful day, now could we?”

“Hey, Dad, good to see you,” Jeffrey said, climbing out of the car and stretching. “Mmmmm. I can smell Mom's cooking from here.”

The group made its way into the house and settled into the family room. Lola found a chair near the corner of the room and glanced around. For more than a year after she and Jeffrey were married this had been their home. Jobs were scarce and there had been no way they could survive on their own. Especially with a newborn child. Even now, two years later, Lola was thankful that Jeffrey's parents had been so generous with their home. She loved them as if they were her own parents and she was glad they lived only an hour away.

The others were deep in conversation and Lola looked across the room to where little Bonnie was playing with building blocks. This had been the child's first home and she was still very comfortable in it. Lola remembered bringing Bonnie home from the hospital and how thrilled she had been with the newness of motherhood. For the most part, Lola's memories of this house were happy ones.

But there was one memory that always sent chills down Lola's spine. Bonnie had been just three weeks old and had shared a room with her parents. A curtain hung across a slim rod separating her crib from her parents' bed. One afternoon, the rod slipped for no apparent reason and shot down into Bonnie's crib, grazing her scalp and the un formed soft area of her skull.

The baby had cried fiercely and Lola and Jeffrey had taken her to the hospital to be sure she hadn't suffered a se rious head injury. The doctor examined the slight bruise carefully and then stood up, shaking his head in amazement.

“The rod was traveling very fast when it hit her,” he said. There was awe in his voice as he continued. “If it had hit her a fraction of an inch in either direction, it would have pierced the soft spot on her head and she'd be dead right now.”

Lola had clutched the tiny infant girl closer to her chest and closed her eyes, muttering a prayer of thanks.

“But she's okay?” Jeffrey had asked the doctor, his eyes full of concern.

“Yes. She's fine. All I can say is the good Lord must be looking out for your little one.”

The doctor's statement had proven true dozens of times since then but never as dramatically as that day when the curtain rod fell into Bonnie's crib. She was a healthy, active child and for the most part she stayed out of trouble.

That Easter Sunday, as the day wore on, Lola joined her mother-in-law in the kitchen and helped with the dinner preparations while the men talked about the war and Bonnie played in the house. Hours passed uneventfully and after dinner, the family wandered into the front yard to enjoy the last bit of afternoon sunshine.

The senior Randalls' backyard contained a man-made fishpond that was five feet by eight feet in diameter and four feet deep. A flagstone walkway surrounded the pond, which had rounded, sloping edges, and contained several brightly colored, oversized goldfish. The pond was a fa vorite for young Bonnie, but she knew better than to play near it. Bonnie did not know how to swim and for that rea son the fishpond was especially dangerous. There was no way for a child Bonnie's age to climb out of the pond if she ever fell in. Even if she could somehow swim to the side of the pond, the wide, rounded edges would prohibit her from grasping the side and holding on until help arrived.

“You can watch the fish swim,” Lola and Jeffrey had warned on a number of occasions. “But never, ever go near the water. Understand, honey?”

Bonnie would nod dutifully. “Yes, Mommy. Yes, Daddy.”

The rules were the same that Sunday and for the duration of the visit Bonnie stayed inside or on the front porch but was not allowed to play in the backyard around the fishpond.

The adults had been talking in the front yard for ten minutes when Lola began scanning the yard, checking over her shoulder toward the inside of the house. “Has anyone seen Bonnie?” she asked. There was concern in her voice and she stood up.

Before anyone had a chance to say anything, there was a shrill scream from the backyard. Racing toward the sound, Lola tore around the house with the others close be hind her.

“Bonnie!” Lola screamed as she turned the corner.

The child was standing in the middle of the stone walkway, dripping wet. It was obvious to Lola and each of the adults that the child had fallen into the pond.

“Oh, dear God,” Lola said as she raced to her little daughter and pulled her close. Bonnie was crying hysteri cally and Lola rubbed the drenched back of her Easter dress in an attempt to calm her down.