Welcome back! When we left our heroine yesterday she was. . . oh, right, that was me. Okay, when we left off yesterday, I was sitting on the edge of my bed, little understanding the u-turn in progress. I was seven months pregnant and my husband was not only out of a job for the second time in a year, we were now without health insurance. Yet God was asking if I was ready to trust Him. It seemed like the best idea. (Okay, it was the only idea.)

As it turned out, our church was in the midst of a building program (not the same one from “A Legacy of Giving”) and we held an auction. Everyone one offered something of value and we auctioned it off with all proceeds going to the church. Our Sunday school teacher’s husband was a doctor and he offered a complete obstetrics plan. My mom purchased it and gave it to us thus providing where the insurance had left off. My brother-in-law decided to sell his lawn business and move his family to New York. My husband bought the business and we had income. God continued to meet our needs.

About two weeks before our son was due, our doctor (and friend) explained he had added a partner to his practice. “You could go into labor at any time. I’m going to be gone for about a week. You’ll like Dr. Smith.” Not funny.

Sure enough, early on the Sunday morning my doctor was due back, I went into labor (ten days before my due date) and our son Ian arrived. Dr. Smith was nice, like my doctor promised. As time went on, I noticed things were different with this baby—and not just because he was a boy. He didn’t nurse well, he projectiled formula, and he was slower putting on weight. (Projectile vomiting will do that.) We were scheduled to see Dr. Smith instead of my friend with the check-ups and Dr. Smith didn’t think there were any problems. Finally, due to the long drive, we changed doctors and I saw several others, not satisfied with any of them. At one point I asked if Ian could have cystic fibrosis and was told no. “It’s an expensive test and in my opinion he doesn’t have it.” I later learned the test was only $75 but I would have needed a doctor’s recommendation to get the test.

When Ian was twenty months, he stopped trying to walk or play. A friend recommended another doctor (doctor number five) who decided to do some testing, beginning with the sweat chloride test for CF. The hospital she wanted to send us to was booked until the next week. Our new doctor didn’t want to wait so she sent us to another lab. I watched carefully as they prepared the copper plates that would have electric charges sent through them to mottle Ian’s tender skin on the back of his calf. I was assured repeatedly that although he might feel something, it wouldn’t hurt.

They started the machine and Ian yelped. “It’s hurting him,” I told them.

“Naw, it doesn’t hurt.”

But when they took the copper plates away, there was a black blister, the size of my little finger nail, on the back of Ian’s leg. We were rushed to the ER where the head of the department gave us some salve for the burn and pushed us out the door. “I wouldn’t worry. Babies with CF sweat a lot and he didn’t so he should be just fine.”

However, Ian’s doctor didn’t agree and scheduled another test at her first choice hospital. Our family faced the longest weekend of our lives and I turned to my Abba, positive He would give us a negative report.

I was wrong.

Come back tomorrow when I share how God turned what was considered to be a death sentence in to victory. Until then . . .

Abundant blessings,
Jenny


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