Little Wild Flower Book Two

by Samantha Jillian Bayarr

  ****

  The following morning, Elijah brought with him the news of Nadine’s new daughter, Asher.

  “She’s a big baby. Almost ten pounds!” he said.

  “That’s the biggest any of us has had yet.”

  “Last I heard, Hannah’s labor has started too,” he added.

  “Already? But it’s too soon.”

  “Doctor Beiler left Nadine and went straight over to Hannah. David told me that the doc didn’t seem to be worried, so don’t worry about her, she’ll be fine,” he comforted me.

  All I wanted to hear was that my baby would be fine. I knew it wasn’t right to feel bitterness about the others having their babies, but I was jealous of their healthy babies, and only wanted the same for my own baby.

  We walked into Simon’s room together, and I clasped his hand tightly. I had been in the baby’s room a few times throughout the night, but it felt somehow safer walking in there with my husband by my side.

  “What is the new tube in his nose for?” Elijah asked.

  “They put that in at midnight, and it goes all the way to his stomach to feed him, since he can’t eat with the breathing tube,” I said. “The nurse asked me to use a breast pump to get my milk for him. She said they didn’t wanna give him baby formula because if he had an allergic reaction to it, it might make things worse for him,” I added.

  “A pump? You mean like the ones your papa uses on the cows?”

  “Not really, it only gets milk from one side at a time. It wasn’t fun—and it hurt. If it wasn’t to help Simon, I wouldn’t have used it,” I admitted.

  “I’m sorry. This must be difficult for you, Jane,” he said as he pulled me closer to him.

  “I’m not in as much pain as our baby,” I said, feeling a little selfish for complaining.

  ****

  Doctor Connor was Simon’s new doctor. The tall, young-looking doctor entered the room and greeted us both. Then, four more doctors entered the room and stood beside him. They all wore crisp, white coats, and carried charts and papers in their hands, and each of them had a cold, blank look on their faces.

  “These are my associates, Doctor Anderson, Doctor Stuart, Doctor Ainsley, and Doctor Westfield,” he said, pointing to each of them when he introduced them.

  I recognized Doctor Westfield as the man who had been ready to give up on Simon’s life the night before. He had also been rude to me as he exited the room and I felt uneasy about having him tending to my baby’s care. I held Elijah’s hand tightly and he seemed to sense my agitation so I tried to look hopeful. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning to my husband unless the problem became worse.

  “I have asked them to assist me in the diagnosis of your son’s condition,” Doctor Connor began. “As it stands now, your son is in a coma. Since we don’t understand why, we would like to take some pictures of his brain to make sure there isn’t any brain damage.”

  The words pricked my heart like a hot fireplace poker. I imagined they would find that he would be underdeveloped or a slow learner, or worse—brain dead. I ran from the room, wanting time to consider his statements a little before making such a big decision. Elijah came out after me and held me tight. We both cried for several minutes, until Doctor Connor put his hand on Elijah’s shoulder.

  “Mr. Zook, we don’t think we are going to find anything wrong with your son’s brain, but we do need to run that test so we can rule out any damage. His heart stopped several times the night before when you brought him in here. That, coupled with the lack of oxygen, could have caused some slight damage—enough damage that could have caused this coma. We need to see what we are up against so we know how to treat his condition,” the doctor advised.

  Elijah took my arms and held me away from him so he could look me in the eye. I knew the question he was asking, even though he didn’t say a word. I nodded agreement to my husband.

  “You have our permission. Run your test on Simon,” Elijah said to the doctor.

  It would be two long days before the test results would be ready, and the wait seemed to drag on for an eternity. Meanwhile, I sat at Simon’s bedside listening to the constant rhythmic sounds of the machine that was breathing for my son. The beeping of the heart monitor was a reassuring sound, but I still continued to pray heartily for Simon’s recovery.

  ****

  When Elijah came to the hospital shortly after noon on the fifth day of Simon’s stay in intensive care, I could see that he was worn out. He had been working in the fields from sun-up until noon every day trying to get the land plowed for planting, then arriving at the hospital after and staying until near dark every night. It wasn’t easy for my mother and Lucy to be taking care of my household duties as well as their own, plus helping tend to two other new grandchildren.

  I had only seen my mother twice since Simon had gotten sick, and with the birth of the new babies, I hadn’t seen much of my family. Elijah had brought Eli and Abigail as a surprise for me, and I was very happy to see them. My father had offered to pick them up in a few hours and take them back home with him and my mother, where they’d been staying. That way Elijah could stay late at the hospital with me.

  “Have the doctors been to see you with the test results yet?” Elijah asked.

  “They were here early this morning, but I asked them to come back when you arrived so we could get the news together. They did start him on a medicine to keep his heart going strong,” I informed him.

  Nurse Jones gave Eli and Abigail some crayons and a coloring book, and pointed them to the waiting room after they had seen their brother briefly through the glass window of his room. They weren’t permitted to enter the room since he was still in intensive care. I left my husband with his son and went into the room where my other children were coloring quietly. I watched them adoringly, realizing just how much I had really missed them. Tears welled up in my eyes and my throat began to swell as I walked over to them and hugged them both generously.

  “Papa let you play hooky today, I see?” I said to Eli.

  “What does that mean, Mam?” he asked with a puzzled look on his face.

  “That’s what they called skipping school when I was a kid,” I told him with a chuckle in my voice to mask my aching heart.

  “That’s a funny thing to say,” my oldest son said, joining in my laughter.

  Abigail was quiet—much too quiet for the rambunctious three-year-old that she was. She continued to color as Eli chattered for several minutes about nothing.

  “Miss Miller is teaching the class how to read, but since I already know how, she’s letting me help her,” Eli said excitedly.

  I knew that this made my son feel important, and I knew that Leah was a good and supportive teacher. She happened to be Elijah’s second cousin, and she had always been good with children.

  “That is wonderful,” I praised Eli. He had done very well so far, according to the progress reports that had been sent home.

  Abigail continued to color, even though she didn’t seem too interested in what she was doing. She looked almost disturbed by her surroundings, but kept to herself.

  “Papa let me milk the cows all by myself this morning. And Grandpa Jack showed me how to work the milking machines,” Eli continued to chatter.

  “What’s the matter, baby,” I said to Abigail as I smoothed her curly hair away from her face so I could look at her.

  “Is baby Simon dead?” she asked innocently.

  Her question took me by surprise, and my answer stuck in my throat a little. She and Eli looked to me to give an answer that would make everything make sense to them, but I wasn’t certain that I could.

  “He’s not dead. God saved him, but he is very sick. We have to keep praying that God will make him good as new again so he can go home—so that I can come home and take care of you two again,” I explained.

  “He looks kinda like he’s hooked up to grandpa’s milking machine,” Eli stated.

  Abigail shook her head in agreement.


  “You know how the machines get the milk faster than milking them by hand?” I began. “Well, those machines are gonna make Simon get better faster,”

  “I understand,” Eli said, sounding like a grownup.

  Abigail shook her head once again as though she agreed with her brother. I felt relieved that they seemingly understood for the time being, but the stress of explaining was wearing thin on my nerves. I stood up and walked over to the coffee machine in the corner of the room and poured myself a cup. It was fresh, and its warmth helped me to relax a little before I had to return to the baby’s room

  In the hallway, stood the doctors that were working on Simon’s tests, and my heart leapt when I saw them. I walked past them with downcast eyes, entered Simon’s room and stood beside my husband who had been sitting in the chair beside the baby’s bed.

  “Would you like the chair?” he offered.

  “No. I’m kinda tired of sitting. Maybe I’ll just stand here and help Mrs. Jones change Simon’s diaper.”

  The nurse removed the paper diaper to reveal a plastic bag that was stuck to Simon. It was full of urine, and she pulled it away from his skin, sealed the bag and put it on her moving cart filled with needles and bandages.

  “Why are you saving that bag?” I asked the nurse.

  “We need a urine sample from the baby so we can run tests on it to make certain his kidneys and everything are functioning the way they should,” she explained.

  I didn’t understand what she was saying, but I pretended to so she wouldn’t think I was dumb. A lot of the things that were being done intimidated me to the point that I was beginning to question my own intelligence. None of it seemed to bother my husband, but he had never been insecure like I had been most of my life. Plus, I didn’t like it when people talked over my head.

  When the doctors finally gathered in Simon’s room, I kept my attention on the baby, rather than looking at the men in the room. I allowed my husband to greet them, deciding that I would listen intently to what would be said about Simon’s condition.

  “Mr. Zook,” one of them was already saying. “After careful review of the scan on your son’s brain, it is our understanding that he has suffered minimal damage. This is the sort of damage that will affect his social skills later in life. This is not something to be too concerned with because you probably won’t even notice anything unusual. He might display a certain level of immaturity compared to other children his age. This does not mean retardation on any level. There is also a possibility that he could be a slightly slower learner than most children his age, meaning that his grades might be slightly below average. Do you understand so far?” he asked my silent husband in a demeaning tone.

  I turned my head around to see that it was Doctor Westfield that had been speaking to Elijah. It angered me that he had spoken to him as though he was incapable of understanding him. Being Amish did not mean he was incapable of comprehending the English language. In my opinion, this doctor seemed to act as though we were below him in some way.

  I held my tongue, as was expected of me, but waited eagerly for my husband’s response.

  “What will you be doing to get him well again, and off of these machines that breathe for him?” he asked firmly. “We want to take our son home where he belongs.”

  Elijah’s tone was stern, but cordial. I had never heard him talk that way before, and it gave me a newfound respect for the man that I loved.

  “We will be turning off the machine tomorrow. Starting now, we would like to begin weaning him from the machine so that by the morning, we can turn it off completely,” said Doctor Westfield.

  “What if Simon doesn’t start breathing on his own?” asked Elijah.

  “We won’t revive him,” Doctor Westfield said coldly.

  I couldn’t keep quiet any longer. This man had been willing to let my son die ever since he had first worked with him, and I wasn’t going to stand by and watch my child die.

  “No!” I yelled at the doctor.

  I knew I was not to act out in such a manner in public. No matter how lax the elders had allowed the community to conduct themselves, I was strictly forbidden to show such an enormous display of emotion. The look on Elijah’s face, however, showed me he understood my pain.

  “What you are saying is that you are gambling with our son’s life as to whether he will breathe on his own or cease all breathing once the machine is turned off?” my husband inquired of the doctor.

  “That is basically it, in a nut shell,” Doctor Westfield commented. “We cannot let this child remain on this machine indefinitely. If he is incapable of breathing on his own, then he simply will not survive,” he finished.

  What is wrong with you? Doctors aren’t supposed to let people die, especially not a helpless baby.

  I began to cry, and Elijah held me as my body shook with fear for my baby.

  “Mr. And Mrs. Zook, we’re not trying to be harsh. The medication we’ve put your son on has seemed to stabilize his heart rate. Now we need to see if he can breathe on his own. As long as he’s hooked up to that machine, we will never know what he is capable of.”

  I didn’t want this doctor anywhere near my baby; I wanted him to leave us alone and keep the machine on. Before he left the room, he turned the machine down so it would dispense less oxygen into Simon’s lungs. Terrified, I buried my face in Elijah’s neck and allowed myself to cry heartily. I wanted to turn the machine back up. I didn’t want my baby deprived of oxygen, and felt hate for Dr. Westfield.

  ****

  When morning came, I hadn’t slept more than an hour or two, but had tossed about in the bed that was provided for me. I’d been in Simon’s room several times throughout the night, watching as the nurse turned his oxygen down further per Dr. Westfield’s orders. I could see in her eyes that she, too, was unsure of the outcome.

  Elijah had my brothers take care of his morning chores so he could arrive at the hospital early. I was happy to see him, but I wasn’t good company. Neither of us really talked more than a few sentences here and there about the farm or the children.

  In spite of all my prayers, I was not truly ready for the arrival of the doctors when they made their rounds. This was the moment of truth. Either he would breathe on his own or I would be burying my infant. My heart ached, and nothing seemed real to me. I didn’t dare look any of the men in the face when they entered the room. My eyes remained downcast as they explained the procedure once more to Elijah.

  “Could we have a few minutes alone with our son before you turn off the machine?” Elijah asked politely.

  They promptly agreed and went out in the hall to wait. I didn’t like them standing out there like vultures, waiting while we borrowed time in vain. It was inevitable that they would turn the machine off and leave my baby to fend for himself. I didn’t understand why Elijah had asked them to wait.

  He took the tiny hand of his son in his, and I looked at him through tears that blurred my vision. I allowed tears to roll down my face as I put my hands around the strong hand that held Simon’s.

  “Father in heaven,” Elijah began. “We come before you to plead for our son’s life. We are so grateful that you saw fit to bless us with such a frail child. We love him, Lord, and we know that you love him more. We dedicate Simon to you right now to do whatever your will is with him. Please give us the chance to bring this boy up in your word so he will love you as much as we do. If it is your will that this child go to heaven to be with you, heavenly father, then bless us with enough strength to endure the hardship that will come from missing him. In Jesus name, Amen.”

  “Amen”, I whispered.

  I wasn’t sure I liked Elijah’s prayer, but I knew it came from an unselfish heart. I had spent so much time pleading with God for my own desires to be met that I had not taken into consideration what God would want for my baby’s life.

  I kissed the top of Simon’s head as Elijah beckoned the doctors back into the room. Fear rose up in me again and I silently prayed it away
. Like before, peace flooded my heart letting me know that whatever happened, our child was in God’s hands.

  I held my breath while Doctor Westfield turned off our son’s life support equipment. He removed the tube from Simon’s mouth, yet he still lay there lifeless. I gasped, fully prepared that he would not breathe another single breath. The beeping of the heart monitor magnified its sound in the deafening stillness of the room, as we waited for some sign of life from our baby.