Today's a special day at our house. Kyle, our younger son, turns 25 today. Like most parents, I guess, I remember twenty-five years ago today in minute detail. Neither of our boys made coming into the world easy. Kyle's entrance was particularly troublesome. His brother, Blake, was six and had had his own problems getting here. We had lost a child between the two of them and thought we had lost Kyle a couple of times before he finally got here. As he arrival came closer, Deanna was in and out of the hospital a couple of times. On the third trip, we finally convinced her doctor to go get him instead of sending us home again. After several tests and lots of wide-eyed wonder, the doctor finally schedule a C-section, and off to surgery we went. I remember that "Ghostbusters" was playing on the OR's sound system and that the doctor sang along as he did the Section. I remember the Pakistani anesthesiologist who kept telling Deanna, "If you have pain, I have drugs!" We convinced her when she came by to visit a day or two later that that probably wasn't something she wanted to say outside the OR. I remember that Kyle was black from anoxia when the doctor lifted him out. About that time, I remember asking that anesthesiologist if she had any drugs for me. (She had already put Deanna under.) She didn't. So I remember watching that little boy pink up when the nurse held the oxygen mask over his face and then turn gray again when she pulled it away. I remember the days when I tried to be three places at once: in the nursery with that gray and pink little boy, in Deanna's room with her (convincing her that he was OK because she couldn't go see him), and at home with Blake (convincing him that no, we were not going to name his new brother Jabba the Hut). I am grateful for a good friend who came that weekend to reassure Deanna in ways no one else could. By the end of the day twenty five years ago today, we knew we had some rough times ahead.
We have friends in Arkansas going through the same experience with their newborn this week. We've tried to reassure them without scaring them to death--we know they can do that for themselves.
Obviously, our story had a good outcome. At twenty five, Kyle is healthy, active, and a joy to share life with. Sure, there's still school to finish, a career to choose, relationships to figure out, and all the other things that lie ahead. But just as surely as God was with us twenty-five years ago today (and would have been regardless of how that day turned out) God is in the midst of our joy as we celebrate a quarter century of life with Kyle. Happy Birthday, son. I love you.
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