Birthing Caleb was one of my proudest moments in life, but the anticipation of taking him home was crushed when it hit the 49hr mark and he still hadn’t passed any stool. The x-ray of his digestive tract showed normal and he was passing gas just fine, but the pediatricians were still concerned that at this point, a risk of infection was on the rise. My spirit was at peace knowing that my son was perfectly fine, but how could I convince the physicians with faith? They started him on antibiotics and transferred us to St. Christopher’s Children Hospital for more tests. Even though he finally passed stools within the first two hours of us being there, they had to keep him for monitoring. It was the hardest, most frustrating thing to see unnecessary tubes and needles coming in and out of my baby while knowing all was well with my son!
In the meantime, the doctors had him fast in case of any sort of obstruction being the cause. I planned to exclusively breastfeed him, so I had to begin pumping in order to ensure my milk production wouldn’t slow down. He could smell my milk every time I’d pump and would wail and cry, which broke my heart, even more, knowing I couldn’t feed him.
As time passed, the nurses and doctors wouldn’t give us a straight answer as to when we’d get discharged in a best-case scenario. The hospital room wasn’t very accommodating for overnight stays and there was no shower or private bathroom. My husband and I had to leave him there to go home to shower and try to rest. On top of that, while the doctors made their rounds each morning, we would always be updated last, considering our case was the least severe. This made everything even more stressful.
At midnight, leading into the third day in the NICU, I walked back into the hospital wearing my YASHA t-shirt, as a last plea and act of prophetic faith that God would deliver us out of the hospital to finally be home as a family. Later on that morning, the doctor finally came and let us know we were being discharged that afternoon! My deep sigh of relief was followed by uncontrollable tears of gratefulness. The culture they took to see if he had an infection came back negative; he had finished his antibiotics and was feeding and giving us enough dirty and wet diapers. I really felt at my wit's end and what gave me that extra ounce of strength, was putting on that tee, knowing that if God was faithful enough to give me a beautiful delivery, and an even more beautiful son, He would give us a beautiful homecoming!
There is no power in the tee shirt, of course, but more so, in the reminder of the promise that God is our Great Deliverer! When we rely on Him to be who He says He is, He does not disappoint.