So Blessed to have Eli

So my dad came over yesterday afternoon to practice feeding Eli through his g-tube. He keeps the boys mostly by himself on Tuesdays- his day off- while Chris and I are at work.
I could go on and on about how blessed I am that I have a dad, and the boys have a "Poppo" who is willing to do that, but I'll save that for another post.

This post is about Eli.

So, back to yesterday...

While dad was at the house he told me a story about Eli I hadn't heard, and he hadn't heard, till just yesterday.

6 months ago, was the Nashville Flood. 6 months ago, Eli was really sick. And when I say really sick, I mean, his doctor who was caring for him at that time had to look us in the face and say this: "Your son is very sick. Eli one of the sickest patients in all of Vanderbilt Medical Center. And honestly, I don't know what else to do for him." So we knew he was sick and were so scared at the possibility loosing him...

But we didn't know that another one of the doctors had met with one of Eli's primary nurses to try to gently let her know that he didn't expect Eli to make it either. Very understandably, nurses who take care of these sweet little babies, for months, get pretty attached to them. So I think this doctor was just trying prepare her that Eli would most likely not get to go home from the NICU. This nurse responded, "I'm sorry, but I just don't agree with you. I've cared for this baby for months, and when I look at him, I see a baby who's going to make it. He's a little fighter." I know she was scared, too, that Eli would die... but she kept on hoping and believing with the rest of us that he would make it. And I know this wonderful doctor was hoping Eli would prove him wrong and make it, too... but with all the knowledge he has and years of experience with preemies, he was just also trying to be realistic. I don't blame him for that one bit. The whole time the boys were in the NICU, we were trying to figure out a balance between hope and reality.

The same sweet lady who told dad this story (she works in the NICU), also told him this: "Eli is the 1st baby who has ever been that sick, to go home and do as well as he has. Most others who were that sick, didn't make it, or they went home with many more problems than Eli has."

As dad was telling me this story, I was holding Eli in my lap, feeding him through his g-tube. Eli was sitting there looking at me and "Poppo," smiling.

Everyday, usually multiple times a day, I am reminded of what a miracle this baby is. And I don't throw that term "miracle baby" around lightly. I'm even often times hesitant to call him that, for fear of offending someone who wanted a "miracle" for their baby and didn't get it. But at the same time, I also want to SEE and acknowledge that Eli's life is a miracle. When a group of who I believe to be some of the best and very smartest doctors say, "I'm not sure he's going to make it... I don't know what else to do for him..."... and then at 9 months old, you are holding that same baby in your arms, watching him giggle, and teaching him to sit up, hold toys... I have to believe God stepped in and said, "I have another plan for you, Eli. I am going to save you."

If that isn't a miracle, what is?