Miracle

It was 4:30 when we pulled into the parking lot of Providence hospital in downtown Portland. Like every hospital in America, the grounds were under construction and we were forced to hunt for a space in which to park. Finally, after what seemed like hours of searching, we pulled our large SUV into a compact spot. My grandma, mom, and I then walked into the lobby of the hotel--I mean hospital. The lobby boasted an open ceiling to all floors of the hospital with a statue and fountain and plants and chairs. It was quite impressive. "Mom," I said as I did a 360, "We aren't in Douglas County anymore."

Leaving the striking entrance of what proved to be an all-around impressive hospital, we took the elevator to the Family Maternity Ward, where my aunt had been admitted since 7:00 that morning. She was overdue and it was only a matter of time before the meat thermometer popped and the baby was cooked. To further matters along quickly, the doctors had induced her, and she was guaranteed to give birth that day. And so there we were, waiting.

At 5:00 the doctor came in to check her and discovered that she was dialated to 10 cm., meaning that it was time to push. It was uncertain as to how long she would have to push, so we, the cheering section, waited outside in the hallway until the baby got closer to coming out. During this anxious moment in an otherwise calm labor, I discovered that maybe Portland isn't so different from Douglas County after all. At the window where I sat hung a soup can connected to a string. Following the string, I realized that it stretched across a vast courtyard outside and connected at another window of a neighboring building. Apparently it was used when the communication system was not working. I felt very safe then, in such a technologically advanced healthcare facility.

In the midst of my disbelief of the string system, the nurse poked her head outside the door. "It's time," she said. At this point, I was unsure whether or not I would go inside during the delivery. However, the nurse said, "Jessica, your aunt said you can come in if you want." I thought about it for a split second and then decided that someday I was going to go through this, and it might be good to know what I was going to get myself into. And so I went.

The delivery room was dim. The TV played soothing music, which I thought to be a joke considering the turmoil that surrounded the hospital bed. I was prodded up to the top of the bed by my aunt's head among the chords and wires that connected the machines. The doctor sat at the foot of the bed and two nurses ran frantically around the room preparting all that needed to be prepared.

Now, I had been through this once before. My mom had my little brother three years ago. However, my mom was not as drugged as my aunt was at the moment, and I could only take so much of seeing my mom in pain. So during my brother's birth, I was in the delivery room up until he started coming out. This time, I was in it for the long haul. The long haul, however, didn't prove to be so long at all.

In what must have been minutes, the doctor was announcing that he could see a head. The nurse asked me if I wanted to go down and watch. Wearily, I did. And what I saw blew my mind away. I could see the top of the head. It was like some scene from a science fiction movie. "Keep pushing," said the doctor. "You're doing great." Well, my aunt was so drugged that she couldn't feel a thing. My heart jumped as the doctor reached his hands aroundn the babies head and pulled her out. First the top of the head, then the face. Finally, the body emerged along with a spillage of fluid. The umbilical chord tagged behind. I was so full of emotion seeing this baby breathe her first breaths of air. I was dazed. I was amazed. I was awestruck. I was incredibly happy, and at the same time wanted to cry. There's something almost sacred about bringing life into the world.

Riley Nicole Young was beautiful. She was healthy at 9 pounds 2 oz. She had all of her toes and fingers with long nails. She had a full head of hair. She was perfect. She was innocent. She was untarnished from the world. The delivery couldn't have gone any better.

Following the birth, the baby was placed on my aunt, where my uncle cut the chord. Riley was with her new family. How wierd, I thought. One minute there is three. The next, four. The whole situation was mind-boggling.

To sum up the whole experience, I am adopting. Just kidding. Well, it's not a bad idea to have at least one kid who is adopted, considering all the millions of children without families. But after having a one-on-one anatomy lesson on the placenta as the doctor explained to me the functions of it, stretching it and flipping it like a pancake, as well as witnessing how exaclty a baby exits the mother's womb, the thought of complete adoption did cross my mind. However, I also witnessed the pure love and joy that a mother can have for her child as she holds it close to her breast, knowing that the child came from within her. And that can't be adopted.

Miracle. It's the only word thick enough to describe the process of birth. And as sappy as this whole post sounds, everyone understands it at some point in their lives.