The Fourth Doctor

In my life many different things have happened. I consider myself to be a teller of stories, of these things that have occurred both unto myself and others. There are certain stories that I frequent telling above others such as the story regarding my accidental killing(s) of my childhood pet(s), My Testimony and the time I broke my arm. However, there is one story above them all that I enjoy telling. It is difficult for me to do so without tearing up a little, due the closeness of home in which it strikes me. I’m not making a pitch here for my level of tenderness, for, if anything, it is something that I do not like about myself. There are just certain stories that get to me, and this is one of them. It should also be noted that I was not present for any of this story. I was in Mentone, Alabama at camp while the events following took place. All that I have learned about this comes directly from my mother and father’s experience that fateful night. I hope that you enjoy reading about it as much as I do telling it.

When I was around the age of nine or ten years old, my mother became pregnant. Those of you that know my family know that there is nothing special about this part of the story. In other words, my mother was often pregnant as I was growing up. My family is one truly blessed by God for all of the children that are in it, as well as the health and capacity in which all of us were born. At first, she was merely having a baby, the eighth baby that our family would have. Then, shortly thereafter, my mother announced that she was indeed pregnant with twins. Everyone was thrilled to hear this great news and we all prepared for what would be two more wonderful additions to our family. Because my mother had been through so many pregnancies, we all assumed that this one would go as all the other ones had- without problem. Now, I’m getting ahead of myself.

It would of course so happen that when these events occurred, I would be at summer camp. I suppose that this is not a terrible thing, but then again this means that I missed out on the free soda that we all got from the hospital when my sister, Caroline was born. I know this seems trivial, but to a ten year old free soda is pretty cool. I remember hearing the news from my uncle after breakfast in the camp’s dining hall. It had been a rough week at camp for me, and hearing this news seemed to make it all better. I was excited to get home and see my new brothers and my parents as well. Had I been told the events that happened at the hospital the previous evening, I would have felt anxious worry in addition to all that I felt. However, that information was not given to me at that time. My grandparents picked me up from camp once the week had ended and, after a quick stop at Krispy Kreme, we headed to our temporary home in Cahaba Heights.

This is where my point of view on the story is no more. I wasn’t at the hospital that night, and so I cannot comment on anything first-hand. The day that my brothers Park and Zachary entered into this world was a tiresome day for my mother. She informed me that she had woken up that morning feeling uneasy about her pregnancy. Many of you may think I mean that her stomach was uneasy or that she was nervous. That is not the case. She woke up with a foreboding presence of restlessness. In other words, she knew something was wrong. The Godly woman that my mother is immediately went into prayer for her unborn children, her family, her husband and lastly herself. This all began around 10 am. Finally around 7 pm that evening my mother had spoken to her doctor, and he told her to go ahead and come in to get checked out. While this was during my mother’s third trimester, it was still dangerously early for her to be giving birth.

To this day, my family is thankful that the decision was made for her to go to the hospital; had it not been, we more than likely could have lost all three of them. My mother was driven to the hospital where they began to run routine tests on her, trying to diagnose whatever was supposedly wrong with her. She was laying in a hospital bed when a nurse came in to check on her. I imagine that she entered the room with a familiar greeting like, “And how are we doing tonight, Mrs. Nelson?” With the nurse in the room my mother felt what she thought was her water breaking. My mother looked at my father and said, “Did you hear that?” The nurse lifted the sheet to examine my mother and shortly thereafter dropped it, her face drained of all blood. She immediately hit the emergency button and asked my father to leave the room. While sitting outside, my father counted four doctors entering the room. I’m going to take a second here to explain that my father is not new to the whole hospital thing at this time- he knows the difference between a doctor and nurse. He is also one of the most aware and alert persons that I know. I am certain he did not miscount the doctors entering that room.

This is apparently what happened: my mother’s placenta had ruptured and my brother, Park, was drowning on the inside. My mother, while being looked at by doctors, suddenly had a realization, “I’m about to have a C-section, aren’t I?”, she asked the doctor. “Yes, ma’am, you are”, he answered back. They had to perform a C-section, an incision into the abdomen to remove the children, (for those of you that don’t watch Grey’s Anatomy) to save the lives of my dying brothers. I cannot imagine the state that my father was in as he stood directly outside the hospital room waiting for the sound of my two brothers’ first cry. I do know exactly the look he had on his face as he spoke to the doctor who came out to greet him. The doctor told him, “Jim, the baby’s okay.” (This is the part of the story hardest for my father to tell) In his words, “All I could think was that he said “baby”, singular, and I had to ask him,’What about the other one?’” I can’t even write that without feeling emotion; I can’t imagine having to ask it. The doctor looked at my dad apologetically, “I’m sorry, Jim- I wasn’t trying to worry you. The other baby is fine. We were never worried about him.” My dad surely then began to breathe again. He thanked the doctor and then went into the room to thank the other doctors, the other two doctors. He probably waited, thinking that the other doctor would come back into the room, but finally had to ask one of them, “Where is the fourth doctor?” They looked at him puzzled and informed him that it was only the three of them. He told them something along the lines of, “No, I remember counting four doctors coming into this hospital room. There were four.” They again told him that he must have miscounted. If we can believe that angels walk amongst us, we can trust that they might occasionally deliver babies.

Whatever your religious beliefs, I ask you to silence yourself if you feel that you should argue the legitimacy of my father’s story. Now, I can’t be certain that there wasn’t some occurrence that happened like a doctor running in to ask one of the other doctors a simple question, and my father counted him among the other three doctors. I can say this though, I believe, as all Christians believe, that God has used and will use angels to do his bidding. Now, I’m aware that these angels can be as invisible as the wind, showing only the effects of what they accomplish but never themselves. So why would God allow people to occasionally see angels in our day-to-day? I personally believe it’s just a reminder of his sovereignty and his love for us. I think that God does that every so often to inspire us and keep us strong in the faith. At least that’s why I think he showed his cards to my dad that night. If you are of an opposing view of Christianity, thinking the Bible as garbage, I’m sure this story has meant little to you. But… If you have heard this through a different sort of heart, I certainly hope that it has reminded you of God’s unfailing sovereignty of which we all should be infinitely thankful.

Advertisement