Delivery
Be patient in afflictions, for thou shalt
have many, but endure them, for lo, I am with thee, even unto the end of thy
days.
Doctrine and Covenants 24-8
My mother and I
arrived at UCLA at 6:30 am. My brother, Richard, had just arrived. Since I was
to be allowed in the operating room, I was instructed to change into the
hospital surgical clothes and then wait in the waiting room until called. But
at 7:38, a nurse brought me an urgent message.
The operating team
was alarmed by a sudden drop in Evan’s heart rate. The delivery was being
performed immediately. They wanted me there as soon as possible. By the time I
arrived, Evan was born, and at that moment, I was face to face with my
concerns.
Evan was a tiny
baby, at four pounds, eight ounces. He had a full head of dark hair. His face
reminded me of John, when he was a newborn. His head was slightly enlarged, the
sure sign of hydrocephalus. On his lower back, there was a reddish purplish
lump. Nerves were plainly visible through breaks in the skin. This lesion was
immediately covered to prevent a fatal infection.
His weak cry was
heart breaking. I had been present at the births of four of my older children.
Their cries always seemed to scream, “Why have I been disturbed? I don’t want
to be here.” Evans whimper was different, as if to say, “I don’t understand why
I’m here. But I hurt. Please help me.” At that time, I almost broke down
crying, but I decided to stay strong for Cindy’s sake.
As the doctors were showing me my newborn son,
they pointed out he could move his hips. He could also move one of his ankles.
The promise was there that Evan might walk someday. They then said, “Congratulations,
Dad, you have a new son.”
In the New
Testament, James 5, verse 14 says, “Is
any sick among you? Let him call for the elders of the church: and let them
pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord.” As an Elder
in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, it was my privilege to
perform this ordinance for Evan. Giving a sick or hurt person a blessing is a
spiritual challenge. You can’t just say what you want to say, you have to
listen to the Spirit. Afterwards, self-doubt can enter into your heart. “How do
you know what you just said is not the result of a frenzied mind?”
As the nurse took
Evan to the neo natal intensive care unit (NICU), I asked the nurse if I could
give him a blessing. “Sure,” she replied, “We do that all the time. But please
give me ten minutes.” My mother, brother and I spent those ten minutes praying.
Richard anointed
Evan with consecrated oil. I then pronounced the most important and most
powerful blessing I had ever given. I commanded his body to heal well, that his
recovery would be deemed to be excellent by the surgeons. I then felt prompted
to say “Evan, you have a purpose to accomplish in this life. You will not be
taken back until you have accomplished it.” That was my first promise that Evan
was not going to die very soon. With that, my optimism and confidence was
strong.
By 11 am, my
youngest son was in the operating room. The spinal cord was placed more or less
where it belonged and the lesion was surgically closed. To address the
hydrocephalus, a temporary system was installed to drain excess fluids. The
doctors told us the surgery went well.
For the next few
days, his back healed well. The major concern was the hydrocephalus. Hydrocephalus,
or water on the brain, is very serious.
Forty years prior
to Evan’s birth, medical science had developed a treatment. One end of plastic
tube, called a “shunt,” is inserted into the brain. It is then inserted under
the skin into the abdominal cavity. The spinal fluid is absorbed. When this
works, the patient’s brain is protected. Prior to this life saving advancement,
babies born with this problem always died a painful death.
For the next few
days, excess spinal fluid would be removed from a temporary reservoir on top of
his head. His head would swell and he would get tense and grouchy. A nurse
would insert a needle and remove the fluid. His head would shrink and he would
relax, as if relieved from a pain. I watched this process several times.
While I visited
Evan in the NICU, Evan responded to my voice more than the voices of any of the
nurses. We all used the same tone of voice, saying the same things, but the
difference in his response was truly remarkable. I shared my observation with
one of the nurses. She said, “Yes, we see that every time. The babies recognize
their parents’ voices.”
After a few days,
they finally gave Evan his shunt. But after this second surgery, the poor child
was hungry, but could not eat until the next day. Cindy and I
managed to comfort him. I told him that the worse will be over soon. I was
right. He ate very well the next morning and he seemed relaxed.
Meanwhile, Cindy
and I were exhausted. At the urging of the doctors and nurses, we
returned home for a few days of rest. When we went back to UCLA, we really
wanted to bring Evan back. After a few more days of ups and downs, Evan was
discharged.
However, before we
left, a new group of doctors had a sobering conversation with us. They were
kidney specialists. Without telling us the name of the condition, they explained
that parts of the kidneys were not functioning properly. They explained that
everybody’s blood has a certain amount of sodium and a certain amount of
potassium. If the potassium is too low, his heart would not work well. If his
potassium level was too high, his heart would go into fibrillation. If that
happened, nothing could be done. Evan’s potassium level was elevated. We would
have to carefully monitor this threat. That would mean frequent pokes with a
needle to draw a blood sample. Later, we would learn the name, “Renal Tubular
Acidosis, Type 4.” RTA type 4 is very rare. Most doctors have never heard of
it.
Never the less, it
was still a joyous day when we brought Evan home.
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| Mike and Evan |
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