Tomorrow is a year since the day my daughter underwent surgery required to keep her alive. It's a year since the most difficult time in my life. The surgery itself had a 50/50 survival rate. She had a 10% chance of coming home altogether though ....
These things were far too difficult for me to say in that time. Was it fear, or wisdom that prevented me from sharing these statistics. The tongue is a powerful weapon.... I desperately tried to ensure that nothing but life was spoken over her.
She was born with a hernia so serious that by that time I actually met her (many hours after giving natural birth - a story for another day) she was on life support where she remained for weeks.
My mind keeps going back to that morning... 8 March 2017.
We arrived at the hospital at the first light of day to spend what we knew may be our last moments with her. I sang to her. My husband read with her, and we prayed and prayed and praised and praised. The song "Even when it hurts, I'll praise You" took on a whole new meaning in that time .
The two hours she was in surgery we spent with our closest prayer warriors in the lounge on the same floor as the hospital theatre. It felt like an eternity to me. Each minute was sheer agony. Yet, there i sat praising, hands raised in the air, surrendering to God in my weakest and most vulnerable state.
When they started wheeling her cot down the corridor I ran after them and the nurse caught sight of us and said "All went well. It's ok. She made it"
Even as I write this tears fill my eyes as I recall the relief. I let out a gasp, as though I'd held my breath the entire two hours and wailed "Thank you Jesus!" as we hugged each and every single member of the operating team.
I felt like I could climb a mountain after that, as though absolutely anything was possible. I would later realize that her most fragile moments lie ahead and the euphoria was short lived.
I still remember the way the sky looked, the quiet streets that morning, the smell in the air, the look on the staff's faces when we entered the hospital. I remember the songs we played, my faded blue tomy takkies and candle burning while we prayed.
I'm watching her sleep at home where she belongs right now. My heart is bursting I'm so thankful.
What a year it's been.