Libbie McKenzie

We’d been in the hospital nearly 24 hours when I watched them wheel my wife down the hall to an O.R. 

A “C” it was to be. 

 The day had not been kind to us and the Little One was not in an any mood to come on its own.  Sally had been out of it most of the day, delirious and seriously ill from the medicine that was supposed to bring relief. So as I watched her being moved by bed from L&D to OR2, I knew that the first relief of the day was about to arrive… our first born.

Would it be a boy or a girl?  At that point, only God knew.  Our doctor, an amazing Christian man whom was about to head on a mission trip to South America, was with us all the way.  Bill McKenzie.  It was only the week before that we had finally settled on that as our middle name for a girl.  The first name was to be a combo of the most most amazing women in our lives:  our moms Linda and Debbie.  Hence, Libbie.  (and it sounded better than Denda).  Were the Little One I was about to meet in moments turn out to be a boy, he would have been called “Baby Boy Young” for at least several days… we never landed on a name we both felt ‘fit’.

I scrubbed in and met my wife in the OR, the first time I’d been away from her side all day.  There she lay, stretched out and looking at me with eyes that were both blank and full of love.  I knew that she was barely with me… awake, but not very coherent.  I took her hand and asked if she was ok, continuing to encourage her and whisper in her ear.  Reminding her everything was ok and that it would all soon be over.

I could hear the doctors and nurses talking on the other side of the sheet that was a barrier between my eyes and the carnage they were inflicting on my Love.  But I leaned over once or twice to see the proceedings and be sure everything was ok.  Within moments the doctor was saying… “Almost there”… then moments later … “It’s a little baby . . . ”

Dr. McKenzie trailed off for dramatic effect.  The pause was forrrrrrever.  And then,

“. . . girl!”

The pause was long enough for Sally to go back into unconsciousness and missed the announcement.  I leaned over and said, “Sally, its a girl… and I am so happy!”  I couldn’t help but cry.

The following moments happened in seeming slow motion as they cleaned her, clipped her, weighed her, and put her in my arms.  I left with her, removed from the room so they could put my wife back together again and so I could go celebrate with family friends.  It seemed all too unfair that the one who had carried our child for months, suffering along the way, was not able to share in the joy, tension, and celebration of the moment.  But such is the curse, I suppose.

Five weeks later, there’s nothing less to say than that she’s changed our lives…. and every day we try to give her back to God.