recovery beds

Snuggling my Aggie this afternoon in the hospital bed, made me think of another hospital bed, when I curled up with newborn Aggie, praising God for the miracle of life.

There was some pain mixed with the joy of that day. Aggie’s labor was definitely the hardest . My body ached from 11hrs of back labor with no drugs, and my heart ached for Josh who was in Iraq instead of there snuggling her with me.

When Aggie was born, the medical world that she was born into seemed almost irrelevant. I felt like really, I had done all the work getting her here. The midwife caught her and cleaned her up, and it seemed like that was about it. Most of the credit went to God who made her, and who made my body in such a way that it could keep her safe and fed while she grew, then get her out when she was ready.

And when it was over, I know every mother understands this feeling- I felt like we had just gone through the hardest thing ever, my little one and I … yet there in that recovery bed, it was nothing but the sweet smell of newborn skin, warm snuggles, relief, and the sleep of happy exhaustion.

In this bed, we also have exhaustion, joy and relief. The pains of brain surgery and everything that went with it were far greater than a mere eleven hours of labor. And so, the recovery will be slower, for my little one and for her mother.

This time, the world of medical professionals is anything but irrelevant. We lay here in an enormous hospital (19000 employees!) We have to be careful how we move in this recovery bed- there are wires everywhere- wires that help her care team monitor her heart, lungs, blood pressure, oxygen level, tubes that keep her hydrated and medicated as needed- wires and tubes that are making her recovery from epilepsy possible.

Fifty years ago, Aggie’s story would have been so much different. The technology that pinpointed the problem and made it possible for them to get the tumor out of her simply was not there. Fifty years ago, we would have had very little hope for her future. It is likely that we would have been helpless as she got progressively worse and finally died.

Here in this recovery bed, I do not feel responsible at all for the miracle that took place. I am praising God not for the way my body works, but for the way this hospital works, for the medical professionals of all kinds who devote their lives to research and healing. I am praising God for the gifts and skills he gave to these people, and for their willingness to use them to serve others. I am praising God for people who can handle giving screaming children IVs, emptying bedpans, and drilling into skulls, so that my baby can have a future.

There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit. There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord. There are different kinds of working, but the same God works all of them in all men. I Cor 12 4-6