How My Son Helped Strengthen Me
When he was born, he was a bluish color and not breathing. We found out about 30 minutes later that he had an infection in both lungs. His oxygen level was only half of what it should have been. Kyle and I were by his side every minute we could be. We prayed over him and rubbed his feet and hands. I knew God was going to take care of him, but I was really scared. We named him Jeremiah Cayden, after the prophet Jeremiah, given the gift of prophecy in the womb, and Cayden means fighter.
Twenty-four hours after he was born, there was no change in his health and in the next twenty-four he started going downhill. His oxygen level dropped further and he was very yellow. Family and church members came in and prayed over him. The ones not allowed in the NICU stood out looking through the glass, praying for him. With so many people praying, I knew God would take care of him, but I was still scared.
When he was three days old, a doctor walked into my room to talk about what needed to be done. I had never met her before, but I will never forget her. She told me Jeremiah had taken a turn for the worse in the last hour and that if he did not improve he would be moved to the level 3 NICU. Things were really not looking good for him. I started to doubt. I started to think maybe God was not going to save my son. I even had a moment of thinking maybe God is not listening to my prayers. I am just one of many people praying for Jeremiah, and maybe I am just not important. The doctor had a stack of paper work that she wanted me to sign to transfer him to another hospital. His oxygen level was just above a third of what it should have been. When it hit that point, he was going to be transferred. In that moment, I prayed to God to only transfer him if it were truly necessary, to please heal my baby, to give me strength, and to give the doctors wisdom.
She told me, “I am a mother first, and a doctor second. What your son needs is his mother.” Then she hugged me and added, “Let’s go hold your son.” I burst into tears and called Kyle to come up to the room. He had been at home getting extra clothes so we could stay in an overnight room. Kyle was there in less than ten minutes. The doctor spoke with the nurses and let us have time with him, just the three of us. He looked up at me and I knew he was going to be okay. I knew God had him in His hands. While I held him, his oxygen dropped to 28, and 30 was the transfer number. I looked at Kyle and he just started praying. The doctor rushed over when the alarm went off. All eyes were on the flashing 28. Then 29, and we watched it go up to 31. You could hear the collective sigh of relief. The doctor watched it continue to climb and then told us to “Let daddy have a turn.” I don’t think I have ever seen Kyle so happy; he was made to be a daddy. Watching Kyle with Jeremiah, I knew that in time all of us would be home together soon. As the hours went by his oxygen continued to rise, slowly, by the hour. The difference was amazing. Every day he grew stronger and we were able to help him more and give him bottles of milk. I knew God, no one else, had healed my son. A week later, we brought him home. Looking at him, you would never have known this little baby had to fight for his life. Now he’s a happy, smart, and God-loving nine-year-old boy. And still climbing.