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Bringing Up Ziva
Trinity Sunday
Click here for the full installment.
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| Sandra Herrmann |
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Contents
"Bringing Up Ziva" by Sandra Herrmann
"Peace with the FHP" by Timothy F. Merrill
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Bringing Up Ziva
by Sandra Herrmann
John 16:12-15
She was born early, by about 10 weeks. She was a tiny little thing, under two pounds. Her lungs weren't quite developed and she was jaundiced to boot, so instead of being in her mother's arms, she was in an isolette in the Newborn Intensive Care Unit. The nurses had put soft gauze pads over her eyelids, to protect them from the brilliant bililight (a light intended to bleed away the bilirubin in her blood so the jaundice would go away). Because her lungs weren't fully developed, she was on special medications, a machine that breathed for her, and the isolette rocked gently to help her along. She was incredibly fragile and vulnerable to any infection, so both Debbie and John had to wear gloves in order to touch their daughter.
"We cannot guarantee that you will ever be able to bring her home," the doctor had said, "and even if you do, she'll need lots of therapy to learn to breathe and eat on her own." Debbie thought he was being brutal. John thought the doctor was preparing them for the inevitable death of their first child. Both of them were in shock, but they were each determined to be strong for the other, so they didn't talk about it much. Holding their emotions in check took all of their strength, so they had little left for anything else. Even choosing a name from their short list of favorites had become too difficult, so a week after she was born she still was labeled "Baby Girl Staunton."
Although she still had many problems and more tubes and wires than they could count, when the bililight was removed they gained hope and named her Ziva Marie. The nurses cautioned them not to think too far into the future, because Ziva was not only not out of the woods, things would be more like a roller coaster for the next "couple of years." It was then that John broke down and cried for over an hour. Debbie was so shocked, she left the room. She found that his tears sent her into a panic, and she couldn't stand there, not knowing what to do to comfort him. As for herself, she felt like an icicle, cold to her core.
One afternoon, Debbie was sitting next to the isolette, her hand inserted into one of the ports, holding Ziva's hand. Someone came up behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder. She thought it was one of the nurses, Carol, who had been really supportive. But when she turned around, a smile of greeting on her face, it wasn't Carol. It was a woman wearing a clerical collar.
"Hi, I'm Kelly. I'm the chaplain on this unit. I hear you've been having problems with your baby."...
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