Against All Odds
I was only seventeen when my husband and I learned something was very wrong with our unborn baby. The ultrasound revealed gastroschisis—a congenital disorder that keeps the unborn child’s abdominal cavity from correctly closing, allowing for a large portion of the intestines and possibly other internal organs to protrude from the abdomen through a small hole.
When the doctors first told us about the deformity, they strongly encouraged us to end the pregnancy because the prognosis for our child’s survival and quality of life were grim. They stressed that the child would probably have severe cognitive defects, which would cause developmental delays and a lack of adequate physical mobility—that is, if the baby survived birth and post-birth surgery.
Despite the desperate warnings, my husband and I chose to continue with the pregnancy, knowing God was ultimately in charge.
Not surprisingly, I prayed fervently during the rest of my pregnancy and faced my fears that God’s answer to my pleas would be one I did not want to hear. I knew God could work miracles—I had experienced unexplainable answers to prayer many times. But I also knew His ways are not our ways (Isaiah 55:8–9), and that in His omniscience, sometimes His bigger plan includes our walking through dark valleys and not seeing the answers we want.
Thankfully, my husband and I were part of an extremely supportive church community, which committed to pray not only for our child’s miraculous healing, but also that God would keep His hand on that precious life, bringing all of His plans for her to fruition.
When every weekly ultrasound showed the mass of intestine still outside the abdominal cavity, causing my hopes to plummet, my church family’s continued faith and prayers provided the support that kept me believing for a miracle.
At week thirty-two of my pregnancy, my baby stopped moving, so an emergency C-section was performed. When the doctors lifted my daughter’s flailing body, enraged cries emanated from her tiny lungs. I knew that even though God had not healed her before she was born, He had given her a fighting spirit—one she would need to survive the challenges ahead.
Although we had been cautioned that it could take months for all of the intestines to be placed back into our daughter’s abdomen, the surgeon was able to place the entire mass—which spanned our daughter’s shoulders down to her knees—back inside her underdeveloped body in one surgery. The surgeon said he didn’t know how to explain what had happened; he could only say that it was a miracle.
The prayers did not stop for our daughter’s continued well-being, health, and safety.
Even though her intestines had been placed inside her body during that one surgery, our daughter still needed to stay in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) for an indefinite length of time to give her the best chance at healing and thriving. Every single visit included prayer for God’s angels to continue to protect our daughter, and for all of the potential physical and developmental concerns that the medical professionals still had to address.
Our daughter had been in the NICU for about a month, slowly and steadily healing and growing stronger, when I noticed that fewer babies were around my daughter each time I visited. At first, I thought they had improved and were simply being transferred to a level of less intensive care.
However, I knew something was wrong one day when I saw a man with a canister on his back with a hose leading to an instrument in his hand. As he scanned the NICU, he talked in low tones with a worried-looking nurse. When I asked the nurse later what was going on, she said it was part of the hospital’s normal procedures.
I didn’t buy it.
The next morning, a staff member met me outside the NICU doors to tell me my daughter had been moved to another floor. I was so excited that she could leave the NICU that all thoughts of the mysterious man fled from my mind.
Two weeks later, as I was getting my daughter ready to be discharged, I ran into a NICU nurse. After we chatted about my daughter’s improvement, I mentioned the man I had seen in the NICU. The nurse nervously told me that she wasn’t supposed to talk about it.
But then she told me something that floored me.
When I left the NICU the day that I had seen the man with the canister on his back, she had just started her shift. Right after I left, she noticed a nurse she had never seen before, so she assumed she was a new hire. That nurse cared solely for my daughter, hovering over her through the entire night, softly singing to my baby.
The next morning, as soon as my daughter was transported to the other nursery, the nurse disappeared. When the NICU nurse checked the security cameras to try to identify the disappearing nurse, there were no images of any nurse near my daughter all night.
Around a month later, I learned that a pathogenic bacteria had been introduced into the NICU and had been responsible for the severe illnesses and even death of some of the other babies. As a precautionary measure, the remaining babies were moved to another section of the hospital.
That fateful night, some friends from church had felt urged to go to the hallway outside of the NICU and pray for God to send His angels to guard my daughter. These sweet people faithfully prayed all night long for my daughter’s safety.
My daughter lived and thrived while those around her became ill and some died. I truly believe God honored the prayers of our friends by sending an angel—the nurse who was invisible to the NICU’s cameras—to guard over my daughter, protecting her the last night she spent in the NICU.
That is not the end of the story, though. My daughter is now eighteen and is more vivacious than anyone I have ever known.
Despite the medical staff repeatedly cautioning that she would suffer developmental delays, my daughter met each milestone early. When she not only walked but also ran at the age of ten months, I knew God truly had miraculously healed her.
Despite warnings that she would suffer ill health and would probably have to return to the hospital many times, she did not even develop as much as a sniffle. She has retained that imperviousness to pathogens throughout her entire childhood, only requiring annual well-child checkups.
Despite predictions that she would not be able to perform activities requiring excellent gross motor skills, she won the Presidential Physical Fitness award many times, has excelled in any physical activity she has attempted, and recently toured in Ireland with her Irish Step Dance group, performing intricate and challenging footwork.
Despite concerns that she would be cognitively challenged, she has excelled academically, completing an advanced high school course load and learning to speak and read Hebrew—for the fun and challenge of it.
Despite the warnings that she would not be able to exhibit high-level creativity, she has won awards for her art, plays the guitar, and oozes thespianism. Despite counsel that the dual factors of prematurity and being raised by very young parents would stunt her emotionally and make her unable to relate to others, my daughter tenaciously pursues justice and has a sacrificially compassionate heart.
Looking at this beautiful young woman, I know for a fact that God answers prayers and works ongoing miracles.