A couple of months ago I decided there was a need to have a separate blog for my homeschooling information. I had been wanting to create a Word Press website for a while so it was the perfect opportunity for me to combine both of these into a new site. You will see some of my older posts from this page on the new blog as well as a bunch of new information as well.
I'm keeping this blog up as a personal blog and place to share the funny and cute things that happen in our lives, but 99% of all homeschooling stuff will be on the other blog. If you enjoy reading about our homeschooling journey or want to find out more information join us. You never know what you might be missing out on. My latest post is, "Why Do People Underestimate Children?".
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
The day I was born I almost died. The doctor told my parents that he didn't know how I had survived, but it was certainly a miracle and the first one he had ever seen. My dad says angels were watching over me that day and that God had answered his prayers.
I was born a bluish-gray, the color of death, or so I've been told. At some point before birth the umbilical cord had wrapped around both my chest and my neck, so with each contraction the cord had squeezed around me tighter and tighter. Upon my blessed arrival when I should have been taking my first breaths, I was limp and lifeless. I remember my mother once told me how she held her breath and watched in disbelief as the doctor suctioned out my mouth and nose all the while demanding me to breathe. He then breathed into my tiny mouth and nose and gently shook me trying to stimulate life back into my body. I don't recall my mother ever making it past this part in telling the story. She would become quiet and I could tell she was trying not to think about it.
My dad, however, seems to enjoy telling the story. He goes into great detail about how the nurses scurried around me hooking up monitors while the doctor tried to get me to breathe. He says at one point the machines which had given a few soft beeps went eerily quiet and then the only sound in the room came from the doctor who would occasionally yell out, “Come-on, BREATHE!” while performing CPR. A long time passed without any change and my dad says he prayed over and over for me to live. Right about the time it seemed the doctor was giving up on CPR and was going to stop, my dad says that I took a deep breath. I then continued to breathe and within a few seconds my color began to look a little more healthy. He claims it was the happiest moment of his life.
Obviously I don't remember that day, but I'm sure there was an angel there with me. I keep hoping that one day I'll get to meet him or her. I'd like to ask them if they somehow gave me my gift or did they already know that I would be special? I have no doubt that my gift comes from God, but I'm curious if I was born with it or did an angel bring it to me on the day my life was saved. I guess it doesn't really matter though. Either way the outcome is the same, but that doesn't stop my questions from coming. Why do I have this gift? Why was I saved when other infants would have died at birth? How am I ever going to fit in with 'normal' people when I can't help but act differently?
This is an excerpt from a book I've been writing. Comments welcome.