I awoke within the night to seek my husband, Marty, gently rocking our baby son, Noah.
I stood for a flash within the doorway, watching this amazing man with whom I used to be so blessed to share my life, lovingly stroke Noah’s fat pink cheeks to comfort him.
I felt in my heart that something was seriously wrong with Noah. This was one in every of several nights Noah had been up, burning, with a high fever.
Tears filled my eyes as I watched my beautiful husband move Noah’s little cheek up against his own chest, in order that Noah could feel the vibrations of his voice. Noah is deaf. Learning to comfort him has brought on a fully new way of thinking for us. We relied on our voices, a soothing lullaby, audio toys, and music to comfort our other children. But with Noah, we want to use touch, his soft Frankie, sight, the texture of our voices, and the use of signing to speak emotions and a way of comfort to him. My husband made the sign for “I love you” together with his hand, and that I saw a tear descend his cheek as he placed Noah’s tiny, weak hand on top of his.
We had taken Noah to the doctor more times than I can remember. It had been per week and a half and Noah’s fever remained very high and extremely dangerous, despite everything the doctor, or we, had tried. I knew in my soul the way only a mother can know, that Noah was in trouble.
I gently touched my husband’s shoulder, and that we looked into each other’s eyes with the identical fear and knowledge that Noah’s wasn’t getting any better. I offered to require over for him, but he shook his head, and yet again, I used to be amazed at this glorious man who is that the father of my children. When many fathers would have gladly handed over the parenting duties for a few much-needed sleep, my husband stayed stubbornly and resolutely with our child.
When morning finally came, we called the doctor and were told to bring him in again. We already knew that he would probably put Noah within the hospital. So, we planned for the opposite children, packed bags for all three people, and tearfully drove to the doctor’s office once more. Our hearts stuffed/ with dread, we waited in a tiny room, different from the standard examining room we had become accustomed to. Our doctor finally came in, looked Noah over, and told us the news we expected. Noah had to be admitted to the hospital. Now.
The drive to the hospital in a very neighboring town seemed surreal. I couldn’t specialize in anything, couldn’t think, couldn’t stop crying. My husband reassured me he felt in his heart that Noah would be okay. We admitted Noah and were taken to his room immediately. It had been a torturous night, stuffed with horrible tests that made my son’s tiny little voice echo through the halls as he screamed over and over.
I felt as if I were shattering from the within out. My husband never wavered in his faith. He comforted me and Noah, and everybody who called to test on Noah. He was a rock.
When the primary batch of tests was done, the nurse informed us that somebody would perform soon a spinal puncture. Meningitis was suspected. Marty and that I had prayed along with Noah. Our hands intertwined, we held our son and therefore the love of my life lifted his voice to the Lord, telling him how grateful we were for this outstanding little spirit with whom he had entrusted us. With tears streaming down his face, he besought the Lord to heal our son. My heart is full of comfort and gratitude.
A short time later, the resident doctor came in. He told us that Noah’s first results were back, which he had Influenza A. No spinal puncture was needed! Noah would recover and shortly be back to his zesty, tornado little self. And Noah was already standing up within the hospital crib, bouncing like he was on a trampoline. My husband’s talk with the Lord was already being answered.
Marty and that I grinned at one another through our tears and waited for Noah to be released from the hospital. Finally, within the middle of the night, our own doctor came in and told us it absolutely was fine to require Noah home. We couldn’t pack fast enough!
A few days later, I used to be cooking dinner. Noah was healing, slowly but surely. I felt at rest and knew my husband was the best father I could ever want for my children. I glanced around the corner into the lounge and chuckled at the image I saw. There was my husband, sitting in his “father chair”, Noah in his lap. They were reading a book, dad taking Noah’s teeny hands to assist him to form the signs for the words within the book. They both hunted and caught me watching them, and my husband and that I simultaneously signed “I love you” to every other, then to Noah. And so Noah put his little arm up, trying to shape his tiny hand in his own effort to sign “I love you” to his father. I watched with tears as my husband carefully helped him from his tiny fingers into the sign along with his own gentle hands. Daddy’s hands.
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