Judah's Corner

Judah was not a planned pregnancy.  I always did want babies close together, but since I had just suffered a miscarriage, I was not ready to be pregnant again.  Even though I am not pregnant now, I still feel as though I have been pregnant for four years.  Jason and I have felt loss and pain only understood by a mother who has lost a baby to a miscarriage or stillbirth before.  More about all of that another time...Judah was a miracle from the start.  I found out I was pregnant a week after getting home from a vacation in the mountains.  I had mixed feelings since we had just celebrated my daughter's first birthday, and she was starting some therapy for developmental delays.  It's one of those mother's guilt things.  I was excited about a new baby and worried that I wouldn't have time to give to my precious firstborn.  The week after I found out I was pregnant, I had a strange bump come up on my skin.  I thought it might be hormone related, but after a day it became painful.  It was on my thigh, and after three days, I could hardly walk.  Jason rushed me up to urgent care to be checked.  They drained it (the most painful experience of my life, even more than childbirth), I found out it was MRSA, and it was spreading into my bone.  I was put on a round of antibiotics.  The pain had been so unbearable at the doctor that I was literally screaming as they lacerated me.  The numbing meds had been so weak to protect my pregnancy that they had not worked.  Yeah.  I felt the knife cutting out the MRSA.  Like I said, most painful experience ever.  With a mix of the trauma I had gone through as well as antibiotics, I just knew the poor baby had not survived.  With my previous three babies, only ultrasounds let me know that there was anything wrong.  It was almost impossible to wait for my ultrasound this time as I prepared for the worst and hoped for the best.  I was six weeks along when I had the MRSA: the same time as each of the previous miscarriages.  I amazingly kept my pregnancy a secret from my mom.  I wanted to surprise her if things were good and let her down gently if things were not good.  I went to a 10-week ultrasound and saw a healthy little life moving around.  I heard a heartbeat, and my own heart was glad.  I took the picture, wrote my mom a poem, and mailed them to her.  She was shocked and excited.  And, of course, worried.  Who knew what the baby had suffered during that sixth week.  We waited for another ultrasound with trepidation.  The next one would reveal the gender.  My tummy swelled, though I stayed smaller than I had with Lizzie until I hit 5 months.  Then, as a church member put it, it was 'go, go gadget baby!'  Anyway, my mom and Jason were with me at the gender ultrasound.  Everything looked good.  Good heartbeat.  Good measurements.  They caught a clear picture of the gender for us to see for a gender reveal.  I went back to the doctor only to hear that something called 'echogenic bowels' showed up in the ultrasound.  I was to go to a specialist for a clearer ultrasound just to 'rule out any problems'.  Jason and I chose not to worry about it.  The doctor sure didn't seem worried.  Besides, we were heading home to find out our precious baby's gender.  And here it is:

Time to add a boy to our family!  Yay!  I did not think I could even carry a boy.  That in itself is a miracle.  I have a genetic disorder in which I am a carrier of translocated chromosomes.  There is a 50/50 shot of conceiving a baby with the disorder, and a small chance that a boy could survive due to the layout of chromosomes.  What good news that the baby within me was a boy!  

Within the next two weeks, I was at a specialist getting not-so-good news.  After a very long ultrasound and some concerned grunts from the doctor, our news was frightening.  Our sweet boy had multiple issues including a cerebellum that was too small and deformed, half his heart being too large, too little of amniotic fluid, bright echogenic bowels that usually mean a genetic disorder, and fluid on the brain.  The doctor threw out a lot of words like 'trisomy 17', 'Downs Syndrome', 'late-term abortion', 'severe abnormalities', and definitely a lot of others that I couldn't even repeat because I have no idea what they mean.  They wanted to go ahead and do an amniocentesis to check my son's genetics, but the doctor mentioned the possibility, though slight, of a miscarriage.  I cringe today to think of what I might have risked had I gone ahead with all the testing they wanted to do.  They let me go without pushing me toward anything since I was devastated from the news.  I mask my feelings well for the most part, but I cried a lot after doctor appointments for the last 4 months of my pregnancy.  On our way home, I told Jason that I felt like God wanted us to name our son Judah.  I felt in my heart like my baby would bring glory to God and give praise to His might.  Jason agreed that the name seemed fitting, and so we decided on Judah Lloyd, giving him my Dad's middle name.  The full name means 'I will praise the Lord for His wisdom'.  After praying, Jason and I decided not to go back to the specialist for a time.  We weren't going to abort Judah, and knowing too much too soon would only make for a stressful pregnancy, which isn't good for mother or baby.  We opted to put Judah in God's hands.  I spent many days in tearful silence, letting my heart plead to God for things I could not ask Him for with words.  Judah was put on prayer lists and requests were sent all over the world for prayer for our son.

At around 30 weeks gestation, at a routine ultrasound, Judah's heart showed up as problematic again.  His bowels were also still bright.  I was sent once again to a specialist, though I saw a different one the next time.  Hearing that word 'abortion' from the first one churned my stomach.  Listen well, young mothers: all life is precious and worth fighting for.  Don't let a doctor tell you to murder your precious baby.  Your story could end like mine, and you would have missed it.

The new specialist had bad news again: the heart looked malformed.  Strange shadows were on the machine that wouldn't allow a clear look at Judah's heart, so I would have to go to a pediatric cardiologist to have a closer look.  There were also three enlarged veins in the liver, which could point to more problems.  The good news was that his cerebellum looked better, though still not as large as needed, and I had more than enough amniotic fluid.  The echogenic bowels didn't show up, either.  Here's Judah from that ultrasound:

Hi, Judah!

They spotted hair in this ultrasound.  Yes.  I did have heartburn, though not severe.  The doctor and nurse left the room, and God's peace settled down on me.  I was still and emotional wreck, but I felt like God was saying that the shadows were His Hand over Judah.  God was still knitting him together in my womb, just like the Bible says, and we were trying to spy on things He wasn't done with yet.  Judah was and is God's child first.  He loved him first.

On to the pediatric cardiologist.  Dr. Ohmstede of Presbyterian Hospital in Charlotte was the doctor.  He is great, by the way.  I was 33 weeks pregnant and huge.  People were praying for us once we shared the newest news.  We got encouragement from people we rarely saw.  God was at work.  Dr. Ohmstede had a hard time seeing Judah's heart.  He was a squirmy baby, and those 'strange' shadows were still there.  After an hour of having to hold still for the ultrasound, the doctor told us he would study the photos over the weekend.  He didn't see pulmonary veins, which he thought might be the cause of the swollen veins in the liver.  That, and the aortic arch was too small, meaning that one side of Judah's heart was having to work harder than the other side, which would explain the enlarged heart on one side.  The immediate diagnosis was devastating.  The lack of pulmonary veins meant a life-threatening, seconds counting, immediate surgery after birth.  Judah's lungs could fill with fluid, then collapse after birth.  Teams of specialists would be needed.  Dr. Ohmstede recommended that I switch all my doctors to Carolina Medical Center's emergency delivery doctors.  That meant that at almost 34 weeks, I would be seeing completely different doctors.  The doctor I had picked to deliver Judah- who had delivered Lizzie- would not be an option.  That was a let-down, but I had no choice.

The weekend was long, but at 5:02 Monday afternoon, Dr. Ohmstede called.  He had studied the pictures and videos all weekend.  He had spotted the pulmonary veins, praise God!  Judah would not need immediate emergency surgery, but he would still need surgery no more than 4 days after his birth, which the doctor recommended be by c-section at around 38 weeks.  Dr. Ohmstede set me up with an appointment to see CMC doctors and told me the Sanger Clinic, which is part of Levine Children's Hospital would be performing the surgery.  They are the best of the best here in the south.  Dr. Ohmstede told me surgery was definite, but he hoped he was wrong and would be 'pleasantly surprised' in the end.  I had to bid farewell to all the doctors I had seen during both my pregnancies and start over.  I did like the CMC doctors, and especially Dr. Blaha from Eastover OBGYN.  He was just so kind and understanding.  I probably looked like a scared kitten waddling into a new office that had none of my records.  They just knew I was a high-risk pregnancy.  To make a long story short, I requested that Dr. Blaha perform my c-section only to find out that he would be out of town the week I was supposed to have Judah.  The doctors actually wanted me to carry Judah as long as possible.  Dr. Blaha set me up for a tour of NICU and the maternity ward at CMC Main.  I was also given a scheduled time to meet the Sanger Clinic surgeon.  

I shed a lot of tears and dealt with a lot of fears during the last few weeks of my pregnancy.  Jason and I often left our appointments with me breaking down into tears in the car.  There is no worse feeling than the weight of guilt in a situation like this.  I, as the mother, am the only protector for my baby.  My body is supposed to be a safe haven for a baby to grow and develop.  Everything I eat and do affects my babies, and yet I was totally helpless in this situation.  I only felt the crushing guilt of not protecting my innocent baby.  I felt responsible for his condition.  His sad little heart in the ultrasounds burdened my own heart with a deep sense of sorrow knowing the pain he would suffer as soon as he entered the world.  I feared Downs Syndrome due to the echogenic bowels.  I feared death during surgery due to a condition in my family known as malignant hyperthermia.  I feared a chromosome abnormality that would forever doom him to dependence.  I feared the pain I knew he would suffer due to his multiple surgeries.  I know fear is not of the Lord, and after my chat with Dr. Ohmstede, God gave me Psalm 43:2-5.  I clung heavily to those verses during the final weeks of my pregnancy, still trusting God that I would praise Him in the end, no matter what that end may be.

The day of my NICU tour and meeting with the surgeons came.  It was May 23, 2013.  I had a morning appointment with the doctor.  I was HUGE.  I had accumulated a lot of amniotic fluid in response to the problems my body detected with Judah.  I gained 40 pounds of pure baby weight with Lizzie (now how's that for a weight loss plan?  Lose 40 pounds in two days.), and I had already gained 34 pounds with Judah with three weeks still to my due date.  The surgeon was nice and to the point.  There was absolutely no avoiding surgery.  It would be necessary to save Judah's life.  He would have two subsequent open-heart surgeries, as well.  One was needed at 6 months of age, then another at 2 years.  They would take his pulmonary artery and put it where the aorta should have formed.  They would then take a cadaver pulmonary artery to replace Judah's.  It would have to be replaced at 6 months and again at 2 years as Judah's heart grows.  He would also require another open-heart surgery in his teens or early adulthood, but the doctor didn't want to worry us with that information.  Jason asked if Judah would be normal after the surgery.  The doctor replied that he would tire faster, not being able to physically keep up with other children his age.  He would have no terrible, crippling effects, but we would see a difference between him and other children.  How can a mother love and treasure her unborn child and yet wish that that child was not coming into the world?  I wanted to keep him inside me and just be pregnant forever if it meant no surgery for him.  I had a painful pregnancy.  Due to my huge weight and an injury from a prenatal massage, I could barely walk on my left leg.  I couldn't even move in bed to roll over without waking up from the immense pain.  Yet, a part of me wanted to just live with the pain in order to protect my son.

I was put in a wheelchair and taken to NICU for a tour.  We went through the area where Judah would be recovering from his surgery.  We went through the maternity ward where I would be delivering in a few short weeks.  The tour was stressful.  Seeing where Judah would be staying in recovery and where we would be staying with him was stressful.  Imagining a month at minimum, living apart from Lizzie at the Ronald McDonald House in Charlotte was stressful.  I'm an internalizer.  I didn't show my stress while touring, but I could feel it building inside.  The tour ended, and I was wheeled to the parking lot to walk to my car.  When I stood up, I felt Judah drop.  I hobbled awkwardly to the car, feeling like he was dangling between my knees.  I should have said something, but I didn't.  I didn't want to feel like an overly paranoid mother.  Of course he would start moving downward.  I was getting close to delivery.  Ten minutes after we left the hospital, my contractions started.  Painful, sharp contractions.  Not light cramps.  I had been experiencing Braxton Hicks contractions for a couple of months.  This felt like hard labor.  Jason and I kept heading home, but I called the doctor's emergency line twice.  I told him I didn't feel like it was a real labor.  It was just too soon.  Plus, three days earlier Judah was high, and I was completely closed at my routine appointment.  The doctor recommended drinking plenty of water and getting off my feet.  I had some pain medicine so I could walk with less pain, and he told me to take some more of that.  Jason and I reached home, and I laid down.  The contractions started out and continued at 5 minutes apart.  I called the emergency nurse one last time before bed.  She said that since my contractions weren't getting closer, I should just go to sleep and see how I feel in the morning.  Try to sleep.  Yeah.  Right.  With hard contractions every 5 minutes.  At about 4:30 AM, I discovered I was bleeding.  I got Jason up in a panic.  Once again, I was on the phone, and once again I was told to wait it out until morning.  There was no way I could go back to sleep, so I just laid in bed waiting for morning.  At 8:15 AM, I called the number one last time and was told to get to the office 30 minutes from the hospital ASAP.  We had partially packed a hospital bag.  I was still three weeks out to the day from my scheduled c-section, so we weren't totally prepared.  We threw all our things in the car, got a confused Lizzie loaded, and took off for the doctor.  My contractions were so hard I couldn't talk through them, and they were still coming every 5 minutes.  The doctor was one I had never met, so I had to quickly fill her in on the last two weeks.  She checked me and ordered me to the hospital.  She could feel Judah's head, and I was 4 cm dilated.  My in-laws took Lizzie, and Jason and I booked it to the hospital.  I had eaten before we left the house, so they refused to do my surgery until 8 hours had passed.  They gave me meds to cope with the pain and made me wait.  On our way up, Jason saw a sign of a stethoscope with the phrase, "You have been Heard".  He told me about it, and assured me that God had heard our prayers.  Everything was in His control.   At 4:20 PM, and at 8 cm dilated, they wheeled me back for my emergency c-section.  The epidural went in wrong the first time.  They must have been in a hurry.  It sent a shock wave through me and made me involuntarily lurch.  I am still having complications from that.  It was a rough surgery, and I had to be on oxygen during the procedure.  It literally felt like my chest was being crushed during the procedure.  I could hardly breathe, and I was only getting more anxious and afraid.  No one was sure what we would find.  A random doctor, whose name I don't even know, performed the c-section, slicing my stomach in the same place that had been cut for Lizzie.  I may only have one scar, but I will probably never have feeling in my lower stomach again.  I had muscle and nerve cut through. A mother truly sacrifices her body for her baby, but it is totally worth it.  Judah was rushed to the NICU team area and put on oxygen.  He seemed okay, so we were given a moment for a family picture while I was being sewn up.  Here we are with the NICU team in the background:

Judah looks just like Lizzie did, just more boyish.  I loved him instantly.  He was a healthy 6 pounds 14 oz despite being born three weeks early.  Judah was whisked out of the room for a series of tests, a sonogram being the primary test.  I was taken to recovery.  The cardiologist came to our room after about an hour.  The sonogram had been completed as well as other tests.  I will have to paraphrase since I was still on drugs, but the news went something like this:

Doctor: Mr. and Mrs. Myers, we just performed a series of tests on your son.  We checked his head, heart, lungs, and liver since those were focus points during the previous ultrasounds.  I don't know what happened.  We have no explanation for what we have seen.  The previous ultrasound photos do not match our current scans.  Your son is perfect.  His heart is whole.  His aortic arch is perfect.  He has no problems with any of his major organs.  It is very rare that something like this happens.  Typically, a baby who has so many problems in utero have even more complications upon birth.  To find none of the existing problems as well as no new ones is nothing short of a miracle.  Congratulations.  You have a miracle baby.

Jason: So, there is no need for surgery?

Doctor: No.  No surgery is needed now or ever.  His heart is perfect.  We are keeping him in NICU for monitoring since he was born early.  He has a little jaundice, but there are no major issues.  He is already being called a miracle baby.  We will continue running tests on him, and I cannot guarantee a release date from NICU, but he definitely does not need open-heart surgery.

Jason was openly weeping and left me to tell his dad, who was there visiting another patient.  My mom happened to be on the phone with Danny when Jason told him that Judah was perfect.  In Jason's words, "God stole the show".  I was put into a room overlooking the Sanger Clinic, a God-wink of what could have been.  I didn't get to see Judah until late that night.  He had a full head of hair.  He was beautiful.  My perfect son.  My son whose life had literally been spared by the God whose hand cast shadows on his heart.  My son whose story brought literal applause and amazement from many fellow Christians who had been praying for him.  My son who has an amazing testimony of God's goodness from his birth.  My son who should have had a major surgery that would keep me from being able to even hold him.  I'll never forget that fourth day when he should have had his surgery.  Jason and I were checked out of the hospital, and we were told that Judah would be out the next day.  Due to his jaundice and a slight weight loss, Judah stayed in NICU a total of one week.

On the day after his birth, a NICU doctor came to my room.  He told me that my blood platelets and Judah's blood platelets were very low.  Judah would most likely need a blood transfusion during the night.  My family had come up from Georgia to be with me, and they were present when I got that news.  We all prayed for Judah.  We prayed for another miracle.  We prayed that his platelet count would go up.  The next morning, I found out Judah's count had more than doubled on their own.  He did not receive and did not need a blood transfusion.  Isn't God awesome?

Judah came home with a scarless chest, a big appetite, and an even bigger personality.  As with Lizzie, his hair got him a lot of attention, and his story captivated people.  He has brought joy to complete strangers when I have been out and told his story.  I called Dr. Ohmstede and told him what happened.  I have to say, I think he was pleasantly surprised.  By the way, Judah also was genetically tested and came out with perfectly normal chromosomes.  He smiles easily, laughs sweetly, and truly has brought a whole new level of praise into our home.  I have never been so directly involved with a miracle.  Only God could have done the healing that Judah received.  We have pictures as proof of his once malformed heart.  We have a scarless baby as proof of God's matchless grace.  I don't understand why He chose to heal Judah, and He doesn't choose to heal other innocent babies.  I don't believe it is because any child is less precious to Him.  I do believe that God is completely good.  Jason and I were prepared to see Judah through his multiple surgeries.  The problems did not make God any less good, but the healing He gave Judah did make Him all the more real to me.  He has answered my prayers before.  Sometimes the answer is 'no'.  Sometimes it is 'yes'.  This time it was a big 'yes', and I am still in awed gratitude for what He did.

I don't know whether or not you believe in God.  He's not some imaginary friend.  He's not some big, uninvolved, friendless, and violent deity in the sky.  He is personal.  He calls Himself "I AM" because He literally is whatever you need when you call on Him.  If you need a Comforter, God says, "I AM".  If you need a Healer, God says, "I AM".  If you need a Friend, God says, "I AM".  Don't reject God because you think He is some heartless, violent Being waiting to destroy your life.  No one loves you more than He does, but remember that He is also just.  I may be God's child, but my bad choices result in consequences.  God does not always let you escape your consequences.  Any good parent lets their child sometimes learn the hard way so they learn.  God is the same way.  Judah's story is only uncommon because God does not often get the credit for healing.  We could say that Judah was misdiagnosed, but we have pictures that say he wasn't (as well as the observations of four different doctors during the course of 18 weeks).  We could say that Judah just got lucky.  I don't believe in luck.  I believe in God, and Judah is proof that God is still very much at work on this earth.  Here is a more recent picture of my boy from his first Christmas:

Merry Christmas 2013!

Since he's just so cute, here's another one from his 5-month photo shoot. Yes.  His hair is real.
He's already received his first haircut by this time.

I promise you this: giving your life to Jesus is the best decision you could ever make.  You will never regret it, and you will be completely changed for the rest of your life.  Judah will one day tell you: God heals.  God loves.  God FORGIVES.  God cherishes your life.  Leave it in His capable hands.  The hands that we saw casting a shadow on Judah while he was in my tummy.  The hands that will hold you...