Little Wild Flower Book Two

by Samantha Jillian Bayarr

  Seeing Elijah crying made me feel weak and helpless. My husband was my strength, and without that strength I suddenly felt very vulnerable.

  With Elijah gone, I paced the floor, jostling Simon so he wouldn’t fall asleep. Tears ran down my cheeks as a prayer poured from my heart. I remembered the sparrows from the day before, and I prayed that God truly had a purpose for what was happening to my baby. Simon uttered a weak cry, then, went limp again.

  “Lord, help me save my baby,” I cried out.

  I adjusted Simon so he was on his back in my arms, then, I lifted him up and breathed small puffs of air into his mouth, determined that I would breathe for him, but when I put my ear to his chest, I could hear nothing. I didn’t know what else to do, so I patted him rather briskly on the chest in the same fashion that I burped him after he nursed. I continued to breathe into his mouth. After a few minutes, he let out a cough and began to cry a weak cry.

  Elijah returned from my parent’s home where he’d reached the doctor by phone. As he checked the baby, I relayed to him what I’d done to help his son.

  “I thought that if I imitated the rhythm of his heartbeat by pushing on his chest, it might help. I don’t know if I did him any good, but he’s okay for the time being. I think the breathing for him was what helped him,” I said over the baby’s crying.

  “If it happens again before the doctor gets here, show me what to do so I can help,” he offered.

  We both took turns pacing the room for half an hour with Simon in our arms. Eli rushed into the room and said the doctor was riding down the hill toward the house. Both Elijah and I breathed a sigh of relief. I thought it amazing that he could get to our farm so quickly, but I thanked God silently, not wanting to take any blessing for granted.

  Just as Doctor Beiler entered the room, Simon fell limp in my arms again. He grabbed the baby from me and laid him on the rug on the floor. While kneeling over our newborn, he compressed his tiny chest with his fingers and breathed lightly into his mouth, almost the same as I had. He developed a routine with it until Simon whimpered a little and cried.

  “How often has this been happening?” the doctor asked.

  “Several times over the last two days,” I spoke up, causing alarm to show in Elijah’s face.

  “We need to get this little one to the hospital so he can be monitored,” Doctor Beiler advised after Simon caught his breath.

  “Is that really necessary?” Elijah asked.

  “I think it would be wise. This is a serious thing that is happening to your baby,” Doctor Beiler stated.

  “Get some things ready for him, Jane. I’ll get your papa to drive us,” Elijah said before leaving the room.

  Through the open window, I could hear Elijah rattling around in the barn, and I assumed he was getting his horse, Eli to take him up the hill once more to my parent’s home, so they could take us to the hospital. Within a few minutes, my suspicions were confirmed by the sound of the horse’s hooves. I hurried to put together some things as Elijah had asked because I knew it wouldn’t take my husband long to fetch help.

  Doctor Beiler appeared nervous and seemed to panic more than I did when little Simon had another episode. The doctor went through the same routine as before to revive the infant, but I knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet. I prayed steadily, trying to wait patiently for my husband to return with my parents. I didn’t care too much for hospitals, but I wanted my son to get the expert care that he needed to stay alive. It did frighten me, however, when Dr. Beiler informed me that he would not be in attendance with our son at the hospital. He explained that we would have doctors who worked at the hospital taking care of our son, and that made me feel uneasy. I knew the community didn’t rely on the hospitals or modern medicine, but I knew deep down that Simon needed more than Dr. Beiler’s care if he was to survive whatever was trying to claim his life.

  Relief washed over me when I heard my father’s van pull into our long dirt drive. I took my crying baby from the doctor’s arms and walked swiftly toward the front door, eager to get Simon the help that he needed.

  ****

  At the hospital, he was put on a heart monitor and watched very carefully. But after having a few more episodes, he was admitted into intensive care where he had his own nurse who introduced herself as Mrs. Jones. She explained the monitoring equipment to Elijah and me so we would understand what they were doing with our son.

  After some time, Simon’s nurse asked Elijah and me which one of us would be staying overnight with the baby. Without giving it a second thought, Elijah said I was the logical choice since I was needed for Simon’s feedings. I looked at my husband, not wanting him to make such a decision to leave me alone in this foreign place with our son who could, at any given moment, breathe his last breath. But he looked back at me very firmly. He had never looked at me that way before. It was almost as if with the same authority as with the children, and I didn’t like it.

  I pushed aside the urge to rebel against my husband’s decision, nearly turning a cold shoulder to him in that moment. I didn’t want to be left alone in this place. I’d not been separated from Elijah since the day of our marriage, and it didn’t feel right at this moment. I felt weak and unprotected at the thought of staying there without my husband, but Elijah was quick to decide for me, so I would stay alone.

  Mrs. Jones offered me some hospital scrubs to sleep in and showed me to the parent’s waiting room where there were five beds, each separated by a curtain. The sleeping arrangements made me nervous. The thought of sleeping in the same room with other adults without the protection of my husband was enough to make me want to run from this place. Mrs. Jones assigned me to bed four, then, offered me some coffee. I kindly accepted, even though I knew I was weary and in need of sleep. We had already been there for over three hours, and I was very tired. But I was determined to stay awake rather than sleep in a room with a bunch of strangers.

  Before Elijah left, I begged him not to leave me there alone. He sleepily kissed me on the forehead and told me he would pray for me and Simon, but assured me I had no choice in staying with our son. Then, he and his parents, along with my parents, piled into the van and headed home after promising their early morning return. I cried as I watched them leave me there alone with Simon in such a strange place as the hospital. I knew that their rules would only accommodate one parent to stay overnight, but that didn’t make it right.

  I hate rules. Especially when they prevent me from feeling safe.

  My father had tried to calm me by pointing out the guard station, but even that didn’t ease my fears.

  Returning to the third floor of the hospital, I went into Simon’s room one last time before retiring to the sleeping room as instructed. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t sit in the chair all night in the room with Simon, but Mrs. Jones said visiting time was limited in the Intensive Care Unit. I was happy to see that my baby was sleeping peacefully, but I knew he would be awake soon wanting to be nursed, so I left the room as was expected of me.

  Once inside the sleeping room, I adjusted the scrubs that felt foreign to me, and laid my aching head on the pillow provided for me, determined to force the fear from my heart. Unwilling to yield to sleep, I went through the day’s events over and over in my head. I tossed and turned until midnight, when I finally dozed off against my will.

  Suddenly, I felt someone jostling me to a semi-wakeful state. I looked wearily at the clock on the wall and it read one-fifteen.

  “Mrs. Zook, I need you to come into your son’s room. Are you awake?” Mrs. Jones was asking.

  I had only been asleep for a little over an hour and I was unable to comprehend what was going on. Forcing myself to sit up on the bed, I asked her what was wrong.

  “Ma’am, we really need you to go to your son. He’s gotten worse and the doctor doesn’t think he’s going to make it through the night. I’m sorry.”

  I was still half asleep, struggling to understand the message she was conveying to me.
/>   Wait a minute. I’m at the hospital. Is she telling me something’s wrong with Simon?

  “What’re you talking about?” I asked.

  “The doctor wants you to see your baby because he might not make it. He is getting weaker and his heart has stopped several times in the last hour,” she said soberly.

  I jumped up from the bed. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

  I ran to the room where my baby lay surrounded by two doctors and four nurses. Simon was covered with wires and they were in the process of trying to revive him. I stood at the back of the large room, barely able to breathe around the lump in my throat.

  “Is there a number where your husband can be reached?” Mrs. Jones asked me.

  I wrestled with my thoughts, then, struggled to tell her my parent’s number. I knew they would bring Elijah quickly, but even so, I feared it might be too late. I held my hands over my mouth in disbelief of what was happening to my baby, as I cried out to God.

  “Please God, don’t let my baby suffer. Please don’t let him die—I love him. Please God, please. Let Elijah get here in time,” I begged.

  Mrs. Jones returned and informed me that my family was on their way. I watched in my frightened state, as a nurse placed an instrument over Simon’s face, then, squeezed the bulb to press air into his lungs. Then a doctor placed a metal blade down his throat to hold it open so another doctor could put a tube in to breathe for him. Before they were able to get the tube into position, Simon stopped breathing again, so they had to remove the blade and use the bulb-like instrument on him again to force the air into his lungs. When he let out a weak cry, they made another attempt at putting the tube down his throat. No sooner had they gotten the blade down his throat, than he stopped breathing and his heart stopped. The monitor on the wall displayed flat lines where it had previously boasted a steady heart rate.

  “Maybe we should let him go. This isn’t working,” one of the doctors said quietly.

  “No!” I screamed.

  I ran to Simon’s bedside.

  Seeing him up-close and lifeless scared me.

  “Save my baby!” I demanded.

  “Maybe you should say good-bye to him, Mrs. Zook. We aren’t having much luck in reviving him. We can’t even keep his heart beating long enough to get the tube down his throat and the blade is cutting his throat,” said the doctor.

  The sight of blood dripping from the side of my baby’s mouth horrified me.

  “Please save my baby. God please make them save Simon,” I cried.

  Tears poured from my eyes uncontrollably as I stood back so the doctors could make another attempt at saving Simon’s life.

  “Lord, I know that my baby has a purpose in your kingdom, and I know you love him. I love him too, so please let me keep him,” I prayed aloud.

  Mrs. Jones stood next to me and held me tight as we both prayed for God’s will for the helpless baby’s life. Her prayers were beautiful and strong, much stronger than my own. In the midst of her prayer, I felt relief wash over me, and peace filled my heart.

  Just then, the doctor was finally able to position the tube in Simon's throat and turned the machine on to breathe for him. The monitor above his head gave a steady rhythm of beeps, filling my heart with relief.

  “He’s out of the woods for now, but he’ll need more than your prayers,” said one of the doctors bitterly as he snapped off his rubber gloves before exiting the room.

  Maybe I should pray that God will bless you with some manners. And while he’s at it; a dose of compassion.

  I kept my opinion of the harsh doctor to myself, though his comments disturbed me greatly. The rest of the nurses and doctors stayed in the room adjusting instruments and monitoring Simon. I whispered a heartfelt thanks to God for saving my baby and asked for a blessing over the ill-mannered doctor.

  Over the years, I had overcome a great deal of trauma, but nothing could compare to my emotions as I walked hesitantly toward Simon’s bed. I was almost too afraid to get too close to him. Mrs. Jones waved her hand to beckon me to the bed. The child that lay before me did not look anything like Simon. He was pale, with tubes protruding from his mouth and nose. Three wires clung to snaps that stuck to his chest, while his right arm lay in a splint to keep his intravenous tube from being disturbed.

  Tears poured from my eyes as I placed his tiny hand in mine. I smoothed back his sweat-laden blonde hair, and began to sing a hymn from the Ausbund. Although I sang the song in German, Elijah had taught me the meaning of the words just before we had married. For several minutes, I blocked out the tragedy and enjoyed the peaceful feeling I had for the time being.

  Minutes later, Elijah walked in the room and stood beside me. He picked up my hand that held Simon’s hand and held on as though he were slipping away from us.

  “One of the nurses told me about the baby’s condition. I’m sorry that you had to deal with this on your own,” Elijah said quietly, as he held me tightly in his strong arms.

  I leaned my weary body against my husband where I felt safe. It was good to let him shelter me momentarily from the reality that lay before me.

  Elijah broke the silence.

  “Our families are out in the waiting area. They have some news to share with you. Why don’t you visit with them and fill them in on what’s happening in here with Simon. I’ll sit with him so you can take a break,” he said lovingly.

  I don’t wanna leave you or Simon. I don’t wanna talk to anyone right now.

  He kissed me on my forehead and urged me to go out in the waiting area to see the family that had gathered for the support of our tragedy. I looked at Simon again, not wanting to leave him, but Elijah urged me to go.

  The thought of facing all the questions that I knew were sure to come worried me to the point that I dragged my feet. I just wanted to catch my breath before the reality of the situation came along and knocked the wind out of me again. Nadine spotted me first and threw her arms around me. Before I realized it, the adults in the family had taken a turn at hugging me—all except Mitchell and Rebekah.

  “Where’s my brother?” I asked my father.

  “Rebekah had her baby just before we left the house—a girl this time. Named her Gabriella, after my mamma,” my father said proudly. “Her middle name is Anne, after her great grandmother on the Zook’s side of the family.”

  “What time was she born?” I asked, not fully comprehending what was being said to me.

  “Oh, just about an hour ago, now,” he said as he looked at his watch.

  I struggled to listen to what he was saying, but my mind was not on it. I didn’t want to hear about my brother’s new baby when my own baby was clinging to his very life only a few feet from where I now stood with my family.

  “How’s my grandson?” he asked hesitantly.

  My unsteady voice cracked under the pressure.

  “The nurse said that he died several times,” I said, bursting into a new set of tears.

  He held me, and my mother put her arm around us both. Elijah’s mam squeezed my hand, while her husband stood nearby with a distressed look on his face. I knew that Abraham Zook had always been a practical man who never allowed emotions to cloud his judgment, but I needed him to show me that he cared for his grandchild.

  “One of the nurses told me to let him go. The doctor was ready to give up on him,” I continued.

  Abraham wrung his hands and paced the floors.

  “Are we permitted to see the child?” Abraham surprised us by asking.

  “Yeah, but only one at a time,” I said to him.

  “Why don’t you go in first,” my father offered to Abraham as he patted him on the shoulder.

  Elijah’s papa nodded his thanks, then, walked out in the hall toward Simon’s room.

  “All of you need to know that he’s covered with wires and tubes. He doesn’t even look like a baby anymore,” I sobbed as I slumped onto the sofa next to Nadine.

  She put her arm around me, and I rested my head on her sh
oulder, letting out a distressed yawn, sucking in the breath with spasms of left over sobs.

  One by one, each family member took a turn going into my son’s private room, and they all exited with the same expression on their faces.

  “I’m not sure I can go in there,” Nadine nudged me.

  “If you don’t think you can stomach it, then don’t go. I don’t want you to get sick,” I offered.

  “It’s not that I’m worried about getting sick. I think I’m in labor,” she whispered hesitantly.

  I could tell by her expression that she was unsure of how I would react to her news. I wanted to be excited for her, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t even happy for Mitchell and Rebekah. I dreaded the thought that my best friend was also due to have her baby within a week or so. Suddenly the thought of all four of us women having our children around the same time didn’t seem like such a happy occasion anymore. I wasn’t sure how I would handle being around them if anything were to happen to my own baby. In spite of my feelings, I forced a smile and promised that I would keep Nadine’s secret as long as was necessary. At least until she and Benjamin could get home so she could give birth in private; the way the Amish did things. We both knew she had plenty of time and she didn’t want to make the family leave to take her home just yet. I kissed my sister’s cheek and went into the room where my husband waited for me at our son’s bedside.