It Wasn't Luck it was the Lord
By Sherlynn Lowry
Our missionary boy asked me to write up the story of his near death experience as a baby. Since Jess turns 21 this week I thought I would get it done for his gift. I love reading the real stories of the people that send stories to you. I've often wanted to send this to the Ensign, but never got to it. Perhaps there's a place in your website for it.
It was February. Our fifth son was 2 weeks old. We'd spent Sunday at my parent's for Dad's Birthday. Our little Jess didn't seem to feel too well. A little cough like a cold was coming on. He slept through our whole visit. He wasn't very hungry, but he had no fever. He didn't wake to eat through the night, but when I checked on him he was just sleeping, so I thought the family day had been a bit hard on such a little fellow.
My husband, Rod, was substitute teaching while looking for a full-time position. He was called in early that morning and was off before the boys were up and moving.
As I was getting our oldest ready for kindergarten I got the strong impression to check on the baby. Still sleeping. It had been over 10 hours since he'd eaten. I called the Doctor. The nurse booked an appointment for 11:00 that morning and told me to wake the baby and try to feed him because he could get dehydrated.
I got him out of bed and tried to get him to wake up while I was dressing the older boys. He was very lethargic. I called my sister for a ride to the doctor later since our car was gone with my husband. I told her I wished I could go now and not wait 3 hours. Later she told me she hung up the phone
and felt that our need was dangerous and ran out into the yard in her night gown with her own baby in her arms and called for our father who lived in the same yard. He came out of his shop and she told him that I needed him "Right Now" the baby was sick.
They lived 7 miles away. He was at my door in minutes. He just said
"Do you need me?" I was so relieved. I had him take our oldest to
Kindergarten and then come back and take us to the doctor's immediately. While he did I had the boys bring their clothes to the chesterfield in the living room and sat down to nurse the baby. He seemed chilly,
not at all feverish, but something was really wrong. He didn't seem starved like he normally was in the morning, and he was barely awake, like he couldn't come to.
I got him to latch on but he had no strength to suck. The milk gurgled out of the side of his mouth and his eyes rolled back into his head. His skin
turned grey.
I SCREAMED and jumped to my feet. I literally prayed in a scream as I ran with my baby to the kitchen all 3 little boys at my feet like a dust
cloud. A calm thought told me to breathe for my baby. I took first aid as a 15 year old in swimming lessons. I saw it in my head. It was so long ago, and my baby was so teeny. I pinched his little nose and blew a little puff into his mouth. I heard a pop and he inhaled. I pushed my boys out the door -I'm sure I was too loud. I put something over the baby and my unbuttoned shirt.
My Dad pulled into the driveway and we hurried to the hospital as I did mouth -to- mouth. The hospital was only minutes away. And the nurses
were running as we came in the door and I shouted "my baby's not breathing."
Our Doctors took turns at our town hospital and the hospital in the town 15 minutes away. That morning they were all in surgery here. A nurse ran to get one. Doctor Mark Dahl came running and took over from my efforts to keep my baby breathing. The oxygen masks were way too big. I let them do their thing, but I could not let go of my baby's hand.
Within minutes a strange Doctor came in and took over. The nurses had
called the city and a specialist was called. Doctor Metcalf was there before the ambulance arrived. It took him about 10 minutes to make a half hour trip.
My little town upbringing made this specialist seem to be a rough character. He had a British accent and every 3rd word seemed to be a swear word, but he was so gentle with my little one. And talking to him in a constant and tender way even though the situation was intense.
Perhaps those shocking words were startling my heart to keep it going with my baby's. I relinquished my baby's hand and had moved back out of the way when the new group started in on my baby.
The nurse kept telling me that all was going well. Her hand on my shoulder kept me together. Everything was a blur. It was very difficult to get an IV into my boy because he was very dehydrated and so very tiny.
They tried many different sites. When the needle finally went in the doctor
patted my baby and said "oh good ,you good little @#$%" in the sweetest and most sincere voice I could imagine.
We were rushed to the waiting ambulance and as we sped away I had a moment of quiet as I watched the big hands of the ambulance attendant holding my baby in the isolet. He had the baby all settled and apologized that this was the only way to restrain such a small baby in an ambulance. Doctor Bevans was a very big man, not fat, just really big. His hands covered my baby totally.
It was surreal in the speeding ambulance I didn't really register that we were moving at all. Doctor Bevans asked me if I was a Mormon, and told me this little guy was going to need a blessing right away.
My dad had stayed with my boys and I think I'd told him where Rod was teaching that day so I suppose my parents called him. He met us at the hospital later.
The doctors and nurses were all over my little guy. More wires and tubes were attached to him. More tests and assistance. The list of his ailments grew till I didn't think I could add another without breaking. The main problem was RSV, respiratory syncytial virus, which causes apnea. His core temperature had dropped terribly low-no fever, almost hyperthermia. They told me it was the body's way of preserving the vital organs. The pop I'd heard when breathing for him was probably a mucus plug that was suffocating him. They also diagnosed double pneumonia, and his Bilirubin had risen dangerously, so his little liver was in trouble. He was so cold that they put him in a superheated isolet to bring him up to normal.
When I finally was allowed near him again, Rod and my dad were there to
give him a blessing. As I put my hand in the isolet to touch my sick little baby, my skin turned instant red. It was hot in there. The nurses assured me that he was fine and in fact his skin was not as red as mine. His little toes and fingers had been blue. They told me that his body's reaction to drop the core temperature had saved his life, and he was a very lucky little
boy.
I knew it wasn't luck. It was the Lord. My sister felt inspired to send my dad. He was there when we needed him, even with 2 flat tires and an empty tank
of gas. The Lord whispered to my mind to remember my teenage swimming lessons and breathe for him. Our Doctor was at the hospital, and we had an infant specialist within minutes of our need. It wasn't luck. Our Jesse was seriously ill. 2 other babies came in that night, one did not go home. We spent a month in hospital. When the first IV failed they could only get
one in his boney head. He slept on a water inflated rubber glove attached to a machine that would jar it every few seconds to jar his body into breathing. He needed extra oxygen till his lungs could heal.
The shock of the day had stopped my milk but the good nurses promised I would be ready to nurse him again when he had the strength to do it. With their help we were able to supplement with mother's milk long before
he was able to nurse again.
At the time I was attending university myself and would leave only to attend classes. I did a lot of homework in the quiet of that hospital room as Jesse
regained his health and strength.. He was only 7 lbs. 8oz to begin with and lost a lot of weight those first few days. When he got to drink his Mom's milk he
flourished and gained weight faster than the other baby there. It was a long month and the whole near death ordeal really set him back. He seemed to stay a newborn for a long time after we got him home. Not even his hair grew at first, but by the time he was 6 months old he had golden curls everywhere and was the happiest most active baby, and caught right up with
the babies his age.
It wasn't Luck, it was the Lord that saved my baby's life that day. I have always told Jess there is a purpose for his life and he had better be sure to fill
it. He has grown in truth and light. His choices bring us joy. Today he is serving as a missionary for the Lord in the Texas, McAllen, Spanish speaking mission.
It wasn't luck, it was the Lord and I am continually grateful for His active participation in our lives.
Sherylin Lowry -mother (and author)
