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Against the tide

Life, Death, and Resurrection&all in the first day

Posted by: Rhonda Robinson

Saturday, September 16, 2006 12:25 AM

After two years of intertwining hope and miscarriages, punctuated by 40-hours of labor, she arrived–blue and lifeless.

That is how my newest granddaughter made her entrance into the world last week.

We knew her mother could be in line for a cesarean, there had already been talk of it; a first time mother laboring with a posterior baby. (The baby is turned backward, with her spine on the mother's spine; this produces an extremely long and very painful labor.) So, she stayed home and labored for the first 22-hours before checking into the hospital.

The plan worked. She progressed enough to show she could have her baby without surgery, but not without help to endure the hours of intense labor ahead.

With six sisters, her mother and husband around her bed (as well as a concerned mother-in-law doing her best imitation of a fly on the wall.) My Sarah gave birth to her first child, and Pearl made her entrance.

A girl! A baby girl! Her Daddy's side of the family averages boys 10 to 1; seldom more than one girl per generation; she was truly a special gift. I was thankful that the nursing staff did not throw us all out when the room erupted with shouts of joyful surprise.

Within seconds, my joy turned to concern when normal procedures and customs began to change, and the Doctor graciously placed herself between Pearl and her mother's anxious gaze. Without words, I began gave orders to the young sisters to leave the room immediately, reading the grave expression on my face, they quickly filed out of the room.

The room began to fall silent, as we waited for Pearl to breath, or show any sign of life. Sorrow began to over take us one by one.

As new faces began to enter the room, those of us who loved her most, could only pray through silent tears. Our prayers must have sounded to God more like cries for help, demands, and defiance, in the face of the unthinkable.

My daughter turned to me with terror filled eyes, and all she could utter was "Mommy!" Her eyes said it all. My children, let alone grown children, never call me mommy. The pleading message in her eyes was clear in that one word said, "Help! You have to make it all right. Make this not be happening." Sorrow washed away my voice. All I could offer was a mother's embrace for her to cry.

Then it happened. A small squeak was heard, followed by a nervous exhalation from her fearful family. Quickly hushed by those who were trying to hear more than a squeak, we fell silent again, this time with hope, waiting for another sign of life.

That sign came eight minutes after her birth. The longest eight minutes this family has ever endured...and we welcomed our tenth grandchild; our precious little Pearl.