Testimony:[1] Seeing Beyond the Medical Report
No one from the medical community had expected Anna to live. I do not remember talking to Tony during the hour trip to the hospital, but our cries to God were constant. We checked into the motel directly across from the neonatal center, not realizing that we would live there for the next twenty-one days. My sole reason for coming was to be with my daughter to help her fight for her life.
By the time I first entered the high-risk unit, evening had arrived. Six levels of nurseries awaited me, rated by the severity of the children. Anna lay in Preemie One, the most critical of all. Eight other babies close to death filled the room. I could not stop the tears when I saw my little one fighting for every labored breath. She lay on her back with tubes connected to her arms, legs, and head. Because of the tubes, they had shaved some of her beautiful thick, dark hair on the sides of her head making her look as if she had a bad Mohawk haircut. Already, many of her veins had collapsed. She wore patches of cotton taped on her eyes to protect them from the bright lights combating her high level of jaundice. The soles of her feet were black and blue because of the nurses drawing blood from them every two hours. Her abdomen was distended and her breathing rapid. I bent over her isolette and whispered, “Anna, Mommy is here to help you fight. Live, my little one. Live.”
We had to scrub our hands and put on gowns, masks, and hairnets before staff permitted us near our infant daughter. God was good to cover us with grace as we absorbed the shock of the condition of our baby. The surrounding heart monitors seemed to beat in rhythm as every heart rate and pulse were being watched by skillful teams of physicians. My arms longed to hold Anna, but I knew she must remain unmoved as she now rested under the Great Physician’s care. He was near and had heard our cries.
When we were not with Anna for the few moments of visitation, we would sit in the waiting room with other troubled parents who longed for a word of hope. I, like most of the other parents, did not want to carry on any shallow conversation for we all were distracted from the routine of our normal lives. Nothing interested me except the well- being of our daughter.
One night, I vividly remember our walking down the hall to enter Preemie One. A dark heaviness filled the air and sent cold shivers down my back. I breathed deeply, fearing what faced us at the end of the hallway. The background noise of heart monitors beeping and ventilators running created a symphony of sounds that disquieted the hearts of waiting parents, sending many to their knees. I knew we all needed a healing Savior. After only moments of standing near our daughter, the nurses ushered us out of the room as quickly as we had entered. Within the hour, every baby in that Critical Care Preemie Unit had died, except Anna. The Death Angel had been present, stealing away his victims in the night without permission. When I returned to Anna’s side, I declared over her, “You shall LIVE and not die and declare what God has done forever.”
From the very start of the battle, I wrestled with a decision I had to make. Everything around me looked hopeless, and the doctors never gave us any reason to hope. I scrambled to find a solid place on which to stand as I braced myself for this new, unexpected battle. I was well aware that the outcome could be death. My final recollection was to focus on what Job of the scriptures said, “Though you slay me, yet I will trust You.” I was confident that He alone could be trusted, and His grace would enable me to stand, no matter what the result. However, my vision was set on fighting while Anna had breath. The battle would not be over until then. Once again, the Word of God became my survival manual. I was comforted, as well as encouraged, by Ephesians 6:13, “Having done all—stand.” I anchored my feet on the side of life.
In the heart of any battle is where the hope and life-giving counsel of the Bible become clear. The Psalms calmed me when I read, “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my heart, of whom then shall I be afraid?” I read the 23rd Psalm, reminding me, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil for He is with me.” Though darkness surrounded us, I began to take comfort in knowing that mere shadows of death are harmless which God told me not to fear.
Tony read the chart at the end of her bed and saw seven major complications listed. Anna had a swollen septum in her heart. She had a liver condition, and any time she cried she turned blue. Anna’s blood glucose level at one point was two, a level that should have put her in a coma. Her abdomen was distended due to a blockage in her bowels. She had a heart murmur. She was severely jaundiced and was placed under intense phototherapy. And she had “parent-infant separation.” Tony and I also suffered from “parent-infant separation.”
After talking to the cardiologist, we realized that God in His mercy helped prepare the medical staff. One month earlier a little boy at the high-risk center had the exact heart condition Anna had. Because of this young man, the doctors were able to identify the problem with her septum more quickly and, consequently, knew to prescribe the precise medicine she needed. Time was of the essence. The experienced neonatal team had already had a dress rehearsal before Anna’s arrival.
Of the six “Preemie” nurseries, Preemie Six was for the nearly recovered babies who might be going home soon. Slowly, Anna made the progression through the preemie units. Somewhere between Anna’s stay at Preemie One and Preemie Three, I was in the hotel room late one night with the television tuned to a Christian network. A prayer line with a toll-free number was displayed across the screen. I decided having more people praying would be a comfort to me. When I finally got through to the volunteer counselor, he asked me a question. “Tell me; is there any hope for your daughter?”
I remember standing in front of the mirror feeling disgusted and outraged at his question. “What do you mean is there any hope?” I replied indignantly. “Of course, there is hope. Jesus is our hope.” That night I found the verse that became my manna each new day. “I will take refuge in God and not man.”
The words in Psalm 42:5 reassured me by asking, “Why so downcast, oh my soul? Put your hope in God.” I found myself lovingly embraced by the God of comfort and hope, reminding me to trust Him. We revisited Psalm 118 time and again declaring over Anna, “You shall live and not die and declare what God has done forever.” Prayer had become our lifeline in this tumultuous storm as we desperately worked to anchor our lives to His Word.
Sometimes, though, my confidence would waver because Anna’s hold on life appeared so fragile. For the first time I boldly asked myself, “What if she does die? Will your love for God be the same? Would you ever trust Him again?”
Each day I struggled to find my balance between the thin lines of surrender and aggressive faith. Death’s shadow had not been a stranger to us. Early in our marriage when we were traveling on the road in a full time ministry, I vividly remember calling my parents on a pay phone in Florida to announce that their first grandchild was expected. Only two short weeks later, however, Tony called my parents back from a suburb outside Atlanta, Georgia, informing them that I had lost our first baby. Ironically, the angel of death visited us at a church named the River of Life.
I remembered the short hospital stay in Georgia where a doctor had convinced me that I must have a D&C. During my recovery, my husband temporarily left my side one night to fulfill his preaching commitments at a church. Lying in my bed, I looked out over the inner courtyard as I cried. I felt alone, confused, and uncertain; both Tony and I longed for a family. While I stared into the courtyard through a stream of tears, I saw a small bird. It seemed as if he were looking in each and every window in pursuit of something or someone. Then it flew to my windowsill as if satisfied to find his assignment. As I watched, I realized that the bird was a sparrow. In that moment I heard comforting words deep within my being. “Do not fear; you are of more value than many sparrows.” Jesus’ words in Matthew 10:31 assured me that I was not alone.
Now I stood once more facing the potential intruder of death who threatened to rob me of my firstborn daughter. I sat on the edge of my motel bed contemplating my choices as I asked, “What if?” My weary mind practiced what I would say and how I would respond.
I knew the passages that reassured me that the sacrifice of Jesus at Calvary had made death’s sting powerless. Why then did I feel the threat of more pain and disappointment? What could a godly man of long ago have based his resilience on when he boldly declared that even if death came he would still trust? On what basis could I fight for Anna’s life? My mind raced as I gathered data from scriptures I had buried deep in my heart over the years. One thing I knew—this battle could be won only with God’s help and intervening hand. I decided not to focus on death but life. Anna was still breathing, and that was enough to cause me to hope in a new day. I resolved to trust and not waver. If death came, then I would meet it head-on with the grace and ability that my Father would give to me. I was confident that I would not be alone but accompanied by One who had victoriously dominated death’s grip. In the meantime, I knew that the battle was intense, and I would need every faith arsenal that I could find in His Word.
Passages from the scriptures flooded my mind and soul that said, “You shall live and not die and declare what God has done forever.” Proverbs 4:22 reminded me that “The Word of God was life and health to our flesh.” I already had an understanding that the literal meaning of health in that verse meant medicine. Of course! My strategy became clear from this point forward. As long as Anna was living, I remained hopeful. I would apply the medicine of God’s word while the medical profession applied their best treatment.
I would couple every physician’s report with God’s word, seeing the HOPE in Christ. In the midst of the hopelessness of the situation, I had to choose whom to listen to each day. As I watched the doctors and nurses administer their finest medicine to our sick little girl, I would apply His medicine with every visit. Whether I was standing by Anna’s isolette or, on rare occasions, holding her, I would speak the Word of God over her. My constant declaration to Anna became Psalm 118:17, “You shall live and not die and declare what God has done forever.”
The skilled medical team worked meticulously to care for Anna those three long weeks. Tony and I diligently bathed our daughter in passages of scriptures and endless prayers as we held on, believing that God could do the impossible. At times, I saw the nurses express amusement while I sang the Word to her and prayed, but I was not deterred.
Each day I would ask the doctors for a report of Anna’s condition. Up until the day we carried her home from the hospital, they never gave us any hope of her recovery. During the twenty-one day marathon, I pored over the Psalms. I found more scriptures to declare in prayer, comforting words that helped undergird my personal faith. I was grateful to know that in the center of crisis, I didn’t need to be convinced of God’s love. I had already come to know and believe it. I remember some distinct things that changed her course and ours forever. He had been my welcomed Father for many years, and His goodness motivated me to trust Him more. I was familiar with the price that Jesus Christ, God’s only Son, had paid for my salvation and peace. I reflected on Psalm 107:20, “He sent His word and healed them and delivered them from all of their destruction.” Nahum 1:7 assured me, “The Lord is good, and a stronghold in the day of trouble; and He knows those who trust in Him.”
In the middle of quoting scriptures and declaring them in prayer, I was often tempted to wonder, “What if it doesn’t work?” Instead, I found that the heart of my Savior was touched by our infirmities. The battle was to trust.
The following day I walked through the now familiar hospital doors with a holy determination to administer medicine of a heavenly nature that the professionals didn’t know about. When Anna was moved from the most intensive high-risk unit to the next level, I was permitted to hold her more frequently. Even though the moments of bonding with my daughter were short, I maximized our time together. I would warmly tell our little girl of my love and the Savior’s love for her life. I commissioned her to fight the good fight and live. Each day I would quote over her my theme verse for this war zone. I stated it, prayed it, and sang it. “Anna, you will live and not die and declare what God has done forever.” The nurses watched my every move, and I could see that some continued to snicker at my determination. Every day I would ask the doctors if there was any hope, and they would shrug their shoulders. No wonder God had previously given me the scripture, “I will take refuge in God and not man.” Apparently, they had not seen the reports I had seen from the Great Physician. His medicine would make a difference in time.
At one point there was a major change in direction as we prayed for Anna’s recovery. One night my fasting husband paced the floor praying for Anna’s heart, which we thought was most critical. However, Tony felt an urgent prompting of the Lord to focus on her abdominal area. In addition to listening to this instruction, he called others, and a network of prayer support went to work.
The next morning, following my usual routine, I phoned the hospital to talk to the night nurse before the shifts changed. I always asked, “What is the status of Anna McWilliams, and how was her night?” This particular morning I was especially interested in her condition because I knew that a surgeon had been scheduled to do exploratory surgery. The nurse would typically reply, “There has been no change.” This morning’s answer included nothing different, until the nurse suddenly remembered, “Oh, wait one moment. Anna passed a cork of a substance in the night. We’re canceling this morning’s surgery.”
“YES,” I screamed when I hung up the phone. Our first ray of sunshine, and our hope was rekindled. We became ecstatic over every messy diaper after that. Thank God for a praying husband who was not afraid to heed his Father’s instructions.
From that moment Anna grew increasingly stronger. Each major problem began to improve over the ensuing days. The doctors were amazed and yet did not feel confident enough in her improvement to ever give us a hint of optimism. The battle for me waged between what I could see and the unseen hand of an intervening Great Physician. I struggled with the medical information because it conflicted with His written reports in the scriptures. I felt a rushing undercurrent constantly tugging at me as we trudged upstream in the river of impossibilities. I felt the imperative mandate that my arms be linked with my husband’s as we firmly held to the hand of our experienced Guide and Protector.
With no notice, the day came when the doctors announced they were going to release Anna. We could take her home. Her health had stabilized, and all threatening conditions had disappeared, except for one. She still had a heart murmur that would have to be monitored for the rest of her life. Astonished by her abrupt release, we quickly began to pack for home. God had answered our cries.
Anna was discharged from the hospital the day before Tony’s twenty-fourth birthday. What a gift to be given to a new daddy. On the birthday morning, we sat Anna in her infant carrier on our breakfast counter. Tony and I sat on stools and watched our miracle for hours as she slept in peace. We laughed, cried, and reflected on the awesome mercy of a God who could do the impossible. Tony’s birthday was celebrated by new life that had come to bless our home.
Three months after Anna’s release, we returned to the hospital for heart tests. The attending heart technician remembered Anna and her physical battle. In the middle of his observation he blurted out, “Oh my! Oh my!” Fearing one more trial, I anxiously thought, “Oh dear, now what?” He kept testing her heart, and listening to every sound in her chest cavity, and then once again he said, with more drama in his voice, “Oh my! This cannot be the same child.”
Her heart was normal. The murmur was gone.
[1] From Seeing Beyond: Choosing to Look Past the Horizon by Gail McWilliams; foreword by Zig Ziglar. Copyright 2006 by Gail McWilliams. Brown Books, Dallas, Texas. Distributed by Generations Global. Used by permission.
http://www.GailMcWilliams.com.
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