The room was filling with chaos but time slowed down when I saw the nurse raise her foot and disengage the brake on my wife’s hospital bed. So began the hardest seven minutes of my life. Let me back up.

Early in the pregnancy, Brenna and I learned we had a complication called “2-vessel cord” which meant that the umbilical cord was missing one of the arteries that delivered blood and nutrients to our baby. Most often this leads to a early delivery and/or low birth weight, so it wasn’t a big surprise when we went to the hospital 2 weeks early to induce delivery on our tiny little guy.

The process started at 2am (in hopes of having a convenient afternoon birth) and we rested in our room listening to our son’s heartbeat through a monitor. Things were progressing well, and in the early afternoon Brenna sat up and hunched over a pillow while the doctor placed an epidural near her spine. After hours of listening to his heartbeat,  we immediately recognized a change in the rhythm and the monitor began beeping as our baby’s heart rate dropped dangerously low.

The nurses immediately stopped the induction medication and switched to a different fetal heart rate monitor that replaced the sound of his heartbeat with just a constant beeping. Our doctor (Dr. Martin) reassured us saying, “something made him mad so we’re going to wait for a bit and see if he calms down.”

After a few tense minutes, his heart rate returned to normal and we breathed a sigh of relief. Time to get back on track! The medicine was restarted and we laughed nervously about the sudden drama in an otherwise calm day. But the drama wasn’t done with us…

What happened next is mostly a blur. The heart rate monitor again sounded an alarm and I watched the number drop from 130 beats per minute to 60. Nurses rushed in and tried to get Brenna re-positioned to relieve whatever was putting stress on the baby.

Someone outside the room said, “I called Dr. Martin; she’s fifteen minutes away.”

“Then call Dr. Moore,” was the urgent reply.

I was still not comprehending what was happening when someone we’d never met appeared and said a couple of things I don’t remember. Then I saw the nurse raise her foot and take the brake off the bed. The reality of what was happening hit me as I watched them wheel my wife and unborn child away saying, “Follow us, Dad.”

My future had stretched out before me like a highway – I could see for miles – but in that moment it shrank to a twisting hospital hallway and I couldn’t see what was coming next.

They pushed my wife into an operating room and the swinging doors closed behind them. Someone handed me a stack of paper scrubs and told me to get ready and wait. I wasn’t ready for a crash course in how to dress like a doctor but I got the hat, shirt and pants on quickly. The booties proved to be too complicated for me so I kicked off my shoes and stood in the hallway in my socks.

I could hear orders being barked out that I didn’t understand. I saw people rush over to a sink and scrub up then walk backwards up against the door with their sterile hands in the air. It was so familiar because I’d seen it on tv but it was so out of place because this was my life.

I remember praying but I don’t remember what I prayed. I’d locked away any worries about Worst Case Scenarios but now that door was opened and my imagination took over.

In that moment I felt the fear of losing my wife and son. I looked into my future and saw only darkness. But in that moment I still called out to the Light. I was out of control but I did not feel helpless. Standing in that hallway I never once felt alone but

Then I heard Joshua cry.

Darkness fled from the sound and light washed over me. The door opened and I met my son. He was small, had been through a lot, but he was perfect. He had been tangled in the umbilical cord that was so damaged it wasn’t providing him the necessary nutrition needed to endure the birthing process.

Only seven minutes had passed since they wheeled Brenna out of our hospital room. The nurses called it a “crash and dash” – there was no time to localize the anesthesia so they put her under, splashed her with iodine and made the incision. As it turns out, Dr. Moore has a reputation for being one of the quickest at C-sections and I thank God she was on duty that day. As the surgeons finished working on Brenna, I looked back at the wide-eyed silent miracle holding onto my finger and the only words I could speak came out in a song:

You’re just too good to be true.
Can’t take my eyes off of you.
You’d be like heaven to touch
I want to hold you so much.

At long last love has arrived
and I thank God you’re alive.
You’re just too good to be true
Can’t take my eyes off of you.