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Not My Ways

By Carrie Daws

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OCTOBER 1990

TWENTY-EIGHT-YEAR OLD KUMI (Koo' mē) Etheridge lay exhausted on the stiff bed, listening to the sounds of Methodist Healthcare North Hospital in Memphis, Tennessee, come to life. Machines beeped, babies cried, and nurses bustled with great purpose as the end of the night shift neared. She carefully sat up and ran fingers through her ebony hair, still damp from the shower they’d allowed her soon after giving birth. She held out her hands before her, uncertain what to do with them, and finally wrapped herself in a hug, rubbing her hands up and down her chilled arms. She wanted her baby.
Nana, her mother-in-law, shifted in the chair near her bed, eyes closed. Although she could just be resting, Kumi suspected the woman was praying. When her husband had first told her that his mother would be flying in from Virginia for the birth, Kumi had been excited. She loved her in-laws. Now, as more time passed and no one came with news, she was even more appreciative of Nana’s presence. Her gentle face showed signs of the long night and concern for what she had seen when Mika was born.
Nana opened her gingerbread-colored eyes and looked into Kumi’s dark brown ones. “I’ve been praying God would fix her eye.”
Her right eye. Kumi hoped Nana was wrong, that another explanation would be offered for the deformity Nana was certain she’d seen. Maybe it was just the angle of Mika’s head or compression from traveling the birth canal.
Doubts prickled, and Kumi forced back negative thoughts. She would not give in to fear. And she would offer Nana grace and appreciation.
“I know, Nana.” Kumi sighed deeply. “Thank you for praying for Mika. What do you think could be taking Jeff so long?”
Her husband, Jeff, had followed the nurses who had whisked Mika out of the delivery room. She had no idea how long ago that was, but it seemed like an eternity.
A nurse fluttered in with a notepad in hand, her blonde ponytail bouncing from side to side. “Good morning, ladies. I just need to check your vitals so I can get your chart updated before the day nurse comes on duty.” She wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Kumi’s right arm, and it began filling with air. “Just lie back and relax for me.”
“Can you tell me anything about my baby?” said Kumi.
“You haven’t seen her yet?”
“No,” said Kumi, shaking her head.
“We know there was something wrong with one of her eyes,” said Nana. “Do you know anything about that?”
“Anything you can tell us would be helpful,” said Kumi, her eyes pleading. “We’ve not heard anything.”
The nurse paused, placing her hand over Kumi’s. “I don’t know much because my job is taking care of you. But I know that your baby is in the NICU, and the doctor should be in shortly to tell you what’s going on.”
Kumi’s eyes filled with tears. Words would not come as fear overwhelmed her. Chicken pox. Why did God allow her to contract it back in April at just four months’ gestation? Her doctor had monitored Mika throughout the rest of the pregnancy. Every ultrasound and lab test looked normal. Every single one.
The tears flowed as Kumi’s mind focused on and expanded her last thought. Everything had looked normal—until the moment of birth.

•••

JEFF PAUSED OUTSIDE HIS WIFE’S hospital room door. The weight of his family lay heavy across his shoulders, and he had to pull himself together. In his training at Mid-America Baptist Theological Seminary, he’d received instruction on the Bible, including verses that would help in times of stress, pain, and uncertainty. He knew that his life as pastor would include heartbreaking diagnoses and funerals, but those problems were supposed to come from the congregants—not his own family. His training felt woefully inadequate.
He’d given up the Navy for the woman God had brought to him while he was stationed in Hawaii. Sure, he’d hung on to sea life by enlisting in the Reserves, but that was more about a regular paycheck to support his family while he went to school than because he was ever going to go back on active duty again.
Jeff shook his head slightly as he prayed, his short, coffee-colored hair motionless as he leaned back against the wall, his eyes focused on the floor. “God,” he prayed, “we’ve given up so much already to follow You to Tennessee. We left family and friends and sacrificed to pay for school. We’ve worked to stay active at Bellevue Baptist, and I’ve studied hard to learn from my professors and Pastor Rogers. We’re trying to do the right thing, to follow You.”
A man in green scrubs walked down the hall pushing a cart full of food trays. Breakfast was being served, and Jeff didn’t know how much Kumi had been told. He stood, straightening his spine to his full five-foot six-inches and squaring his shoulders before turning the corner into her room. If he’d ever needed the façade of control the Navy had trained into him, it was now.
Kumi leaned back in the bed, which was raised almost to a sitting position. She faced the door, so when Jeff entered, her eyes immediately met his. “Jeff!”
His mother turned from the window where she stood looking over the parking lot, her short, thin frame highlighted by the sun that dared to shine. He walked to Kumi’s side, trying to put together a coherent sentence.
“What’s going on?” said Kumi. “Where’s Mika?”
His mother stepped closer to the bed. “Have they told you anything about her eye?”
Jeff grabbed his wife’s hand, trying to choose his words carefully. “Mika’s very sick, and there’s a lot they still don’t know. They are running tests, and the doctor is waiting for one in particular to come back before he comes to speak to us.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “We know her right eye is underdeveloped. It just didn’t grow like it should have.”
Kumi nodded. “Okay. That’s not good, but it’s not so bad.”
“What else is wrong, Jeff?” his mother asked. “You’re too upset. You must know more.”
Jeff looked out the window away from his wife and mom’s questioning stares. “She has to stay in the NICU for now. She’s been spending time under an oxygen hood to help her breathing. She . . . she, umm . . .” Jeff swallowed to try to regain control of the quivering in his voice. “Some of her fingers don’t look quite right, and she has some scars down her side.”
“Scars?” said Nana.
Jeff looked at Kumi, tears threatening to spill over in both their eyes. She leaned back against her pillows.
Nana took a couple steps to sit in the chair still positioned by the bed. “Is there more?”
Jeff looked at his mom, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I think so, but they aren’t telling me anything yet. They keep saying they are running tests.”
“Is it the chicken pox?”
Jeff barely heard Kumi as she whispered her biggest fear into the room. He didn’t have an answer for her. He struggled to hang on to hope but knew his wife had fought to take this thought captive for five months. “We’ll know more soon.”
“And we will pray in the meantime,” said Nana, looking at both him and Kumi steadfastly for a moment before bowing her head.

•••

THE NICU DOCTOR STOOD AT the end of her bed. His tall height, thin face, and serious demeanor reminded Kumi of the grim reaper. Thankfully he communicated somewhat well in layman’s terms, but she couldn’t take in everything he was throwing at them. Tests were beginning to come back, but the initial diagnosis was clear: congenital varicella.
“The chicken pox you had, Mrs. Etheridge, attacked the baby’s body in utero. It’s very rare, but when it happens, there’s a lot that goes wrong. Quite honestly, if I had known about this, I would have recommended you abort the fetus.”
Kumi gasped. “No! Mika is God’s blessing no matter what she looks like.”
“That’s right,” said Jeff. “We would never have con-sidered abortion, no matter what you think her medical problems will be.”
The doctor cleared his throat, and Kumi saw a look of disdain cross his features.
“Be that as it may, you need to be prepared. She may not survive today. I have concerns about her breathing and feedings, the virus clearly stunted the growth of the fingers on her right hand, and a plethora of other problems will likely begin presenting themselves over the next few days if she lives.”
Kumi leaned against Jeff’s strength as he stood beside her bed. Lord, she prayed silently, let her live. Give us a chance to know this child you entrusted to us.
“Her weight is just 5 pounds, so we’ll closely monitor both that and her food intake. An IV may become necessary to give her body the nutrition it needs to function.” The doctor cleared his throat again. “If she lives . . .”
“Can you please stop saying that?” said Jeff.
The doctor looked confused. “Saying what?”
“If,” said Jeff. “If she lives. We understand the reality of the situation. You’ve made it clear. We don’t need you to reemphasize it. But until God takes her home, we will live in the moment, and her current situation is that she is alive, and she needs our help.”
Kumi’s heart flooded with thankfulness for her husband. It was hard enough hearing all the possibilities they faced without being constantly reminded that Mika may die before leaving the hospital.
The doctor grimaced as he returned to his enumeration of worse case scenarios. Growth limitations and mental retar¬dation. Malformations and skin scarring. Brain and nervous system malfunctions. Blindness. Deafness.
Kumi felt the world closing in on her. This doctor was full of bad news, and she needed hope. She needed to be reminded with her own eyes that Mika was alive. God had blessed her with a precious baby girl. “Can I see her?”
The doctor just looked at her, and Kumi felt like she’d asked something odd, out of place, crazy. Maybe she was closer to losing her mind than she’d previously thought.
Jeff grabbed her hand, and she held on tight, drawing from his strength. “Please,” she said. “They took her away straight after her birth. I’ve not even seen her yet.”
“You won’t be able to hold her,” said the doctor.
“That’s fine,” said Kumi. “But I’d still like to see her.”
The doctor nodded briefly.

•••

THE NEXT MORNING, JEFF ENTERED the hospital prepared to take his wife home. Taking her to see Mika the day before had been both difficult and rewarding. Numerous wires flowed from her tiny body, but the nurses encouraged them to talk to her and to touch her.
At one point she’d opened her left eye and looked at them. At that moment, everything within him rushed to the battlefield for her wellbeing. She might not have a great chance at a normal life, but she was God’s child entrusted to him for this time. She needed him, and he would not let her down.
Jeff entered his wife’s room to see Mika’s doctor standing there, the grim reaper as Kumi had dubbed him the day before. Kumi sat in the chair with a look of horror on her face.
“What’s going on?” said Jeff.
“Mr. Etheridge. Your daughter’s lungs collapsed last night. I was able to insert a chest tube, so she’s on a ventilator today, but doing well with it.”
“So she’s okay?” Kumi asked.
The question burned in Jeff’s chest as he worked to understand the doctor’s answer.
“The ventilator is helping her to fully open up the lung sacs. We’ll watch her over the next day or two to see how she progresses.”
“So she’s hanging in there?” Jeff understood doctors tried not to insert false hope, but this guy took that caution to the negative extreme.
“Yes,” said the doctor.
“Well, we’ll take that and be thankful for it,” said Jeff.
The doctor grimaced, his usual expression whenever Jeff or Kumi mentioned anything close to faith. Clearly this man believed more in science and medicine than God.
“Thank you, doctor,” Jeff said, extending his hand. He was determined to be gracious no matter what the doctor thought of their faith.
As the doctor left the room, Jeff looked at Kumi. She was dressed, and her small bag sat open on the bed. Taking Kumi home without Mika was heartbreakingly hard. “Do you have everything packed and ready to go?”
His wife just nodded.
“Come on,” he said, grabbing the bag with one hand and holding out his other toward his wife. “We will stop over and see her before we leave.”

•••

THE TEMPERATURES OUTDOORS had been cooler than normal all week, but Kumi barely noticed as she and Nana headed to Methodist North to visit Mika. In some ways, she couldn’t believe she was the mother of a three-day-old baby, because life seemed to be just a series of visits to the hospital. How she longed for the day she could take Mika home.
“She’s doing better today,” said Nana, breaking the silence.
“Do you think so?” said Kumi.
“Yes. The hospital hasn’t called about any emergencies, and I can just feel it. She’s going to come home to us.”
Kumi valued her mother-in-law’s faith and knew that at times she leaned on her for support as much as she did Jeff. The woman had a calming influence, likely from her vigilant prayer life.
“Well, we’re almost there, so we’ll know for sure in a few minutes.”
Nana parked as close as she could, and they made their way to the NICU, donning the required hospital gowns over their clothes before approaching the crib. A nurse was standing over Mika, watching the machines and making notes. She turned toward Kumi, the bottom of her braid swinging around to her left shoulder. Their eyes met, and she smiled.
“Hey there,” the nurse said. “I just returned from lunch and was checking on my patient. She’s doing much better today.” She moved to the end of the small, open crib so Kumi could get closer.
Kumi bent down to look into Mika’s face. “Hi, Mika. Nana and I came to see you.” She stroked the child’s cheek, and Mika turned her face toward her. “She’s still off the ventilator,” said Kumi looking at the nurse. “That’s good.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the nurse in her Tennessee drawl. “That’s very good. She is breathing on her own and doing a beautiful job of it.” She clicked her pen shut and put it into her hip pocket. “Would you like to hold her?”
Kumi straightened, looking at the nurse in great surprise. “I can hold her?” She caught Nana’s eye. She smiled back at her, nodding like this was exactly what she’d been expecting all along.
“Well, sure, honey. You just get yourself settled there in that rocking chair, and I’ll hand her to you. That usually works better so we don’t get the IV and wires tangled up.”
Kumi obediently sat in the chair, doing her best to control her anxiousness as she waited for the nurse to put Mika in her arms. The moment the nurse released her, an emotional bomb exploded in Kumi’s heart. Her precious girl, the child she’d spent the last three days terrified she’d never hold. Thankfulness overwhelmed her, and her eyes filled. Tears were so common these days.
The nurse lovingly patted Kumi’s shoulder. “My name’s Stacy, and you just call me if’n you need anything.”
Kumi reached over to stroke one of Mika’s hands as she whispered to her, trying to etch every moment into her memory so she could share it with Jeff after he got out of class. “We love you, sweet girl. Daddy will be here tomorrow to see you. He has a lot of school to do today and work tonight, but he misses you.”
Nana moved closer to look at Mika.
Kumi didn’t want to let go, but she knew Nana must want to embrace the baby as badly as Kumi. “Do you want to hold her, Nana?”
Nana smiled. “You enjoy this moment. I’ll get to hold her soon enough. She and I will be great friends. You’ll see.”
Enthralled, the room around Kumi faded and time stopped. Her mind ignored everything as her heart flooded with love for her precious Mika. It seemed like only seconds before Stacy was standing in front of her again.
“I hate to tell you this,” Stacy interrupted, “but we need to get her back into her bed for now.”
“Okay,” said Kumi, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. Looking at the clock, she realized that she’d held her baby for fifteen minutes. Rather than focus on the shortness of it, she would celebrate the preciousness of it.
“Don’t worry, Momma,” said Stacy. “As long as she keeps up this good progress she’s been makin’, you’ll be able to hold her a little more each day.”

•••

THINGS WERE LOOKING UP. When Jeff had escorted his wife to the hospital Thursday, they’d each received a few moments to hold their daughter. Today, as Kumi finished tying her protective gown around her clothes and he helped his dad do the same, Jeff couldn’t wait for another opportunity to hold his baby. He thought the difficulty would be sharing Mika, as his dad only had a couple days before he had to fly home again, but as they walked into the room, they saw Mika under an oxyhood. Jeff’s heart sank.
As they approached Mika’s crib, a nurse came over.
“Is she having trouble again?” Kumi asked.
“She had another pneumothorax,” said the nurse.
“What’s that?” said Papa.
Jeff hadn’t realized at first how tall the nurse was until she stood beside his dad. The top of his head barely reached her chin, and they all had to look up at her.
“In simple terms, her lung collapsed. It’s probably just leaks from her air sacs into her chest wall.”
While this nurse was professional, Jeff liked the Southern-speaking nurse from yesterday better. This one talked more like the doctors.
The nurse straightened a cord connecting Mika to the monitor. “The oxyhood will remain in place for several days to give the lungs a chance to heal.”
“So that cake-plate-looking thing is helping her breathe?” said Papa. Leave it to Dad to get straight to the bottom line. It was a trait he admired in both his parents, although some¬times their blunt analysis was tough to hear.
“It is enriching the oxygen she’s breathing and allowing her to stay here in the open crib rather than forcing us to move her to an isolette.”
“That’s one of those covered cribs?” Jeff asked.
The nurse nodded. “Yes.” She turned and pointed to a baby across the aisle, his bed completely encased in a hard, plastic cover. “That is an isolette.”
Jeff struggled with the nurse’s choice of words. When he looked in the direction she pointed, he saw a baby that happened to be in an isolette, not merely the isolette itself. But perhaps he was sensitive.
“What about her feedings?” said Kumi. “She was doing well with bottles.”
“We’ve stopped that for now as well,” said the nurse. “We’ve switched her to IV nutrition, although the goal is to get her on a nasogastric tube within three or four days, as long as she doesn’t re-accumulate air in her chest.”
“I see,” said Kumi. “Why the tube and not back to bottles?”
“The doctors have determined this is what is best for her.”
“I think she’s asking you why the tube is better than the bottle feedings,” said Papa.
The nurse bustled slightly like she was offended by the question, and Jeff wished again for the easygoing nurse from yesterday. Maybe it was just the woman’s personality, but he sensed that she didn’t like this part of her job very much.
“The nasogastric tube will allow us to not only feed her but also give her medicine. It also allows stomach contents to be removed and analyzed if the doctors so choose.”
An alarm sounded a few cribs away, and the tall nurse turned her head. Jeff saw another nurse appear, who turned off the noise and leaned over the baby. Tall nurse turned back to them.
“If that answers all your questions, I have other duties to attend to.”
“Thank you,” said Kumi to the nurse’s back as she walked away from them.
“I liked the nurse yesterday better,” Jeff said quietly to Kumi.
“Yes,” said Kumi. “Stacy was much friendlier and easier to understand.”
“That one needs to find a new job,” said Papa. “Maybe in billing.”
Jeff chuckled, thankful his dad had made the trip from Virginia to see them. “I’ve missed you, Dad.”

•••

ESCORTING HIS BROTHER INTO the NICU, Jeff hoped for better news than they’d received yesterday. Jack had flown in from Ohio for the weekend so he could see both Mika and their parents, and Jeff hoped to send him off Monday morning with more than memories of Mika covered in tubes and wires. But she looked the same.
At least the Southern nurse was on duty this morning. Now if he could only remember what Kumi told him her name was. Susan? No. Stacy? Maybe.
“Hey there!” she said.
“Hi,” said Jeff, thinking he’d just keep his ignorance to himself. “I brought my brother to see Mika. He hasn’t met her yet.”
“Oh, sure,” said the nurse. “Take your time.”
“How is she doing today?” Jeff asked, looking at his daughter sleeping on her belly with her knees pulled up underneath her.
“She’s holdin’ her own, which is good stuff. She didn’t lose any ground overnight, and we’re pleased with that.”
“So the added oxygen is working?” Jack asked. He stood four inches taller than Jeff, but people frequently forgot that as his friendly demeanor engaged their attention.
“Well, we won’t know for sure for a couple more days yet, but it seems to be. She’s at least not havin’ troubles, which is a blessing. That’s exactly what she needs to give her little lungs a chance to heal good.”
A sensor went off a couple of beds over, and Stacy looked toward the monitor near that bed. “Excuse me,” she said before she walked over to the little one lying there and thumped the bottom of his foot. “Come on, now,” Jeff heard her say. “We can’t be stoppin’ breathing today.”
He returned his attention back to Mika. She looked so tiny under the oxyhood. So fragile.
Jack stood quietly by his side for a moment, then said, “Is the name Mika from Kumi’s heritage?”
Jeff nodded. “In Japanese it means beautiful blossom.”
Jack quietly watched Mika for a moment. “She certainly is beautiful.”

•••

KUMI LOOKED AT THE BABY calendar in front of her as she considered what to write for the last entry of the month. She never knew what tomorrow would hold for Mika, so she wanted to record everything she could, to remember every precious milestone her daughter reached.
Things were looking better, though, and Kumi embraced the hope that Nana was right. Mika would come home. On Monday, the doctors had switched Mika to feedings through an NG tube, and yesterday she and Jeff had been able to hold her again.
Memories of the adorable white bear Jeff’s mother had brought for Mika filled her thoughts. About twice Mika’s size, he wore a black, Halloween-themed shirt with the words “Boo Bear” on it.
“He’s so soft and cuddly,” Kumi wrote on the calendar. “Perfect for our baby girl.”

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