The paper crinkled as Beth shifted her position on the cold, uncomfortable examination table. The doctor would soon arrive and perform the ultrasound to reveal the sex of their second child. Nine months is a long time to wait for such an important detail. It might be fun to wait, but if it were a boy this time, we would be so unprepared with clothes, the nursery is pink . . . Beth’s thoughts were interrupted as Dr. Montfort cheerfully entered. Two years ago, the first ultrasound appointment with their daughter had been so incredibly amazing! The miracle of life is truly a gift from God, and Beth had always dreamed of being a mother. The thoughts lingered, Is this new life in my belly Paige Eliana or Connor Riley?

The nurse applied the warmed jelly on Beth’s slightly enlarged belly that contained the intricate twenty-week old baby. The usual measurements were taken of bone lengths, the head circumference, and the amount of amniotic fluid surrounding the fetus. Not being able to stand the suspense one more minute, Lance and Beth decided they must know the sex of the child. Maybe they would just keep it a secret between themselves instead of sharing the suspenseful news with their family and friends this time around.

Naturally, Dr. Montfort wanted to be the bearer of this exciting news, so he took a break from reading Beth’s file to take over control of the probe. As everyone studied the monitor, many body parts were easily identifiable—other than the parts in question, of course. The six-inch-long baby was being very modest. However, ten fingers complete with miniscule fingernails could be counted. The doctor seemed to take his time, but Lance and Beth enjoyed watching their baby as it sucked its thumb and then yawned.

Finally satisfied with his findings, Dr. Montfort said, “I have good news and bad news for you. It is a boy. But I wish that were all that the ultrasound revealed. Are you ready to hear the bad news?”

Lance and Beth were startled out of their dreamy ecstasy by the mere thought of bad news. Lance hesitantly spoke on behalf of the couple, “What,” clearing his throat, “What news, doctor?”

“Well, it appears that the fetus has attached to the uterine wall and is covering the cervix,” said Dr. Montfort, who was a renowned obstetrician at Good Samaritan Medical Center. “We refer to this serious complication as placenta previa.”

Lance and Beth sat still, speechless. A majority of people have never heard of placenta previa; however, Lance’s sister-in-law had experienced this exact, highly unusual condition about four years ago. All too quickly the ramifications flooded their minds. “Unfortunately, we have heard of it, doctor,” Lance said.

“And babies are not considered medically viable until around twenty-five weeks, and Beth is just twenty weeks into this pregnancy. We can safely perform a procedure that will keep the mother out of danger—the most commonly cited reason for such a procedure. This is a complication that would have caused many women of the past, without the technology of this era, to die in childbirth,” said the doctor. “There is no reason to put a mother at risk anymore because we’ve come so far from those days.”

Without a moment of hesitation, Beth said, “I’m assuming the procedure you are referring to would, however, put our baby in danger. Is that correct?”

“Um . . . yes,” said Dr. Montfort hesitantly, “but you will be ensuring that your two-year-old daughter has a mother to rear her, and you’ll still be able to have more children in the future. Otherwise, the risk is quite high—both for you and the baby.”

“Doctor, may we be alone for a minute?” said Lance.

“No, I–I don’t need a minute,” said Beth. “Ending the life of our baby, which must be the procedure you are alluding to, is not an option. So, what else do we need to know moving forward?”

Understanding Beth’s conviction and resolve, Dr. Montfort explained to Lance and Beth how she must adhere to strict bed rest for the remainder of the pregnancy. The goal would be to make it to thirty-five weeks at which time the baby’s lungs should be developed, and the baby would be taken by a scheduled cesarean section. Another important detail was that the family would eventually need to live within ten minutes of a category IV hospital, which thankfully existed in downtown Phoenix. The reason for this was that Beth could bleed out within ten minutes from the increasing strain on the blood vessels as the placenta grew.

After a long, pensive ride home, Beth asked, “How are we going to do this, honey?” The couple lived in a small, inexpensive home on the outskirts of the valley . . . thirty minutes from the hospital, not the ten-minute drive that had been stipulated.

Lance, who wore many hats as both an administrator and teacher, sat dazed and deep in thought, but no answer came. They were presently in the middle of their second year of starting a brand new private school in the northwest part of Arizona. Half of the first year, they had lived in an RV behind the church building due to lack of salary. Moving into a modest home a long drive from the church had been considered a big improvement to the cramped, nonprivate days in the RV.

“Maybe I can continue to do the school secretary position from the comfort of bed,” Beth thought out loud, “because you couldn’t possibly answer the phone on top of everything else. But what about Lauryn? A toddler will quickly learn that I can’t follow through on what I say from the couch.”

“I don’t know anything right now. We’ll just have to take it one day at a time,” said Lance with the resolve that Beth had felt at the doctor’s office earlier—though it was quickly fading from her. Nonetheless, left without a “viable” option, God would have to see them through the uncertainty of the next four months.

“Daddy, I want to stay home and help mommy today,” said Lauryn. “She seems lonely and sad. I could make her day more happy and funner.”

“Aw, honey, mommy would absolutely love your company, but I’m not sure you would manage lunch and all . . . or that mommy would be able to stay in bed (with any peace of mind) knowing that a toddler was running around free,” said Lance.

“I wish that you could stay, Lauryn, but you’d probably get bored around here, too,” said Beth. “Besides Vera said that she was going to stop by to visit mommy today, so I won’t be alone all day.” The unspoken thoughts continued. If we still lived in Florida, I would have lots of good friends who would come and spend time with me. We just haven’t lived here long enough to make many meaningful friendships yet. In Wisconsin, my family would be here.

“Where will Lauryn be spending the day?” asked Beth. It was heart-wrenching for Beth to not be able to care for her own daughter every day. The doctor had mentioned the state as a resource for foster-care homes, but thankfully many ladies from their church had offered to take turns during the weekdays while Lance taught their children at school.

“I don’t know who’s scheduled for today,” said Lance. “Linda always takes care of those arrangements in the school office.”

With little more information known or shared, Lance hurried Lauryn out the door with a kiss for Beth. Then Beth sat in lonely silence for fifteen minutes before allowing herself an hour-long cry. That still left seven hours to pour her heart out to God, read books, watch TV, and work on a large stitchery of the names of God . . . just like yesterday except today’s names were Jehovah-shammah—the Lord is there and Jehovah-jireh—the Lord will provide.

Even though each day was very similar to the one before, Beth did settle into a routine. The days formed weeks, and the weeks turned into months.

“That one looks interesting, and it would be close to the school,” said Beth who now looked every bit of seven months pregnant. Beth and Lance dutifully explored potential homes to purchase from the comfort of their couch, thanks to video camera footage. The doctor’s ten-minute-drive-to-the-hospital requirement was long overdue, and he was beginning to threaten hospital confinement if the condition could not be met.

“Thankfully what you’re seeing isn’t scratch-n-sniff,” said Lance sarcastically. “The walls were yellow from a smoker, so it would need a thorough paint job—that’s probably why we can afford it. I’ll have to add that to my to-do list along with finding a renter for this place. Good thing I painted my way through college, but there just aren’t enough hours in a day anymore with laundry, dishes, and shopping.”

Beth did not say anything for fear of discouraging Lance more, but she thought to herself: There are plenty of hours in my day. Some days seem like they will simply never end. How many reruns of the Price if Right can a person stomach? Who cares how much anything costs if you can’t rub two pennies together? I’m pretty much useless—except in the eyes of this child someday. I just have to remember: nobody else can do what I’m doing right now in giving this baby a chance at life. I can’t help Lance right now.

Lance and Beth fought traffic to get to their scheduled appointment with Dr. Montfort on time. After rushing just to wait on the doctor, Dr. Montfort eventually entered the room. “Beth, you have done an exceptional job following my requests. I would have never dreamed that you would last on bed rest at home for three months,” said Dr. Rory. “How did you manage?”

Beth said, “Well, we took it one day at a time for sure, and God just gave peace, strength, and the solution for each need that arose. Just think—my giving up a few months of comfort equals our son enjoying the gift of life for years to come. Hey, what is the average life expectancy in the United States today, doctor?”

“Hmm . . . not taking into consideration abortion, the average is seventy-nine years,” said Dr. Rory—the first part to Beth’s amazement. “You realize that as a doctor, I was required to present all of the options from a medical standpoint, but I am really proud of you for choosing to endure these months for the sake of your unborn child. It is commendable, but you are not out-of-the-woods yet. I need for you to be admitted to the hospital soon—we’re just playing chicken here, Beth.”

“Thank you, Dr. Rory, I understand. How about . . . tomorrow? Can I have one more day at home? We recently moved into our new house. I just need one more day to be ready for the transition.”

“Okay, admit yourself by tomorrow night,” said Dr. Montfort.

After arriving home from the doctor’s appointment, Beth spent much more time than usual out of bed, packing her bags, generally trying to make life easier for Lance and Lauryn in their new home before she left, and coming to the dinner table for their last family meal. All of a sudden, Beth excused herself to use the restroom only to learn that she was spotting blood. Lance quickly ushered a tearful and trembling Beth to the car where she laid in the back seat for a ten-minute ride to the hospital.

“Her contractions are coming way too quickly,” said the emergency room doctor. “She needs to be given the full dose of labor-stopping drugs immediately.”

Waking up later in her hospital room, Beth could see two television screens instead of just one. She could not lift her arms and legs easily. As the next couple of days evolved, she had difficulty even chewing her food and relieving herself. While the labor-stopping drugs caused the muscle of the uterus to stop, they were not confined to that muscle. The jaw, bowels, eye muscles, and others were affected equally. All Beth could do was lie there awake and uncomfortable, unable to do anything about it.

“Please, please, take me off these medications. I just did way too much yesterday in preparation for coming to the hospital,” said Beth. One of the medications to compensate the muscle relaxants was a shot that made Beth’s heart feel like it was going to pound out of her chest—the heart being a muscle that could not afford to relax with all of the others.

After three days in such a state, Dr. Montfort did agree to pull back the medications and see how Beth would respond. All was well, and she went back on strict bed rest with even showers being limited now. Beth looked forward to selecting her meals from the menu and watching her favorite shows. Lance called and visited whenever he could despite his relentless schedule. Lauryn missed her mom terribly since she wasn’t home at night anymore. This continued for the endless month of September 2001.

Beth’s thirtieth birthday was September 11, but that was not the reason the doctor woke her up early on that day. His purpose was to break the horrific news of the terrorist attacks to the expectant mothers before they saw it on the news. So, looking out of her circular window from her twelfth story, private hospital room, Beth spent her birthday following the reports of the strikes on the Twin Towers and the Pentagon. She was forced to depend on God and His perfect plan that did not seem so perfect amidst the chaos.

Nearly two more weeks passed, and on September 24 during his usual rounds, Dr. Montfort was the bearer of welcomed news. “Tomorrow morning, I’m going to do an amniocentesis to see if the baby’s lungs are developed sufficiently. Assuming they will be, we will perform a cesarean section to bring that baby boy into this world tomorrow.”

“Really, tomorrow? I made it. I made it! said Beth.

“Yep, let your husband know to be here at nine o’clock tomorrow,” said Dr. Rory.

Beth enjoyed sharing the news over the phone with Lance who easily made the necessary arrangements for Lauryn and his classes the next day. Everyone was quick to rally and be a part of the highly anticipated day of delivery. That evening, Beth had trouble sleeping as her mind reflected over the past four months of God’s grace and as she prepared herself for tomorrow’s final day of the surreal experience.

But whoa . . . What just happened? . . . Can this be? . . . Stay calm. Where’s the call button? This is it, but I almost made it. Lord, help me—we can do this . . . just let Connor be okay after all this, thought Beth as she fumbled for the call button in the dark. Before she could think any more thoughts alone, a dozen people had descended on her room to rush her to the operating room. The cesarean section would need to happen that night, not tomorrow, because Beth’s water had broken and the dreaded bleeding had begun.

“Ma’am, your husband is not answering your home phone number. Is there another number we can try?” said the nurse.

“He’s definitely sleeping at this hour and probably hasn’t hooked up a regular phone in our bedroom yet. Try his cell phone number: 480-763-6874,” said Beth clearly from the rolling gurney.

“Beth, we need to proceed without Lance,” said the anesthesiologist who was inserting the long epidural needle. “Let me know if you feel pain that you cannot handle.”

As Beth continued to observe the intent, solemn faces of the doctors, she was keenly aware of the serious situation. Time seemed to stand still while no time was being wasted. “Have you reached Lance yet? Maybe we should just wait until we know how this turns out,” said Beth cautiously.

“Wait! He made it,” said the nurse. “The nontrusting policeman who stopped him for speeding became his escort.” It wasn’t long, however, before the nurse was holding the smelling salts under Lance’s nose and offering him a seat by Beth’s head instead of his observing the blood-spattered doctors who were all business at this point.

“I’m okay, honey. There’s just so much pressure,” said Beth to Lance with a shiver, fully awake. “It’s hard to breathe because my ribs feel so heavy. I just want Connor to be okay. Is he okay? I’m fine . . . but is he okay? I just want him to be okay . . . I love you.”

“The baby is fine,” said the main doctor after what seemed like hours to Lance. “We’re still going to examine him in the NICU, but he doesn’t need a blood transfusion. His lungs appear to be developed sufficiently. He’s out of the woods. But Beth, on the other hand, will have a long recovery.”

Beth did have difficulty recovering from the cesarean section due to the result of atrophied muscles and the significant loss of blood. Weekly, costly Epogen shots oozed life back into her body to rebuild her strength. The family enjoyed settling into their new home with the priceless addition of Connor Riley.

Connor was a healthy six-pound, content baby—perfect in every way, a true miracle from the hand of God, brought into this world by loving, sacrificial parents. Beth was forever changed by this experience and determined to never again take the gift of life for granted, aware that the Lord is there all the time . . . and aware that God in His sovereignty channels His blessings through people. He truly was, is, and always will be Jehovah-shammah. Jehovah-jireh.

Sometimes life may seem too complicated to stop and “smell the roses” or to notice an individual in a crowd that’s all headed one way. But when the complications of this life are forced aside, life becomes quite simple: it’s just one right choice after another. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths” (Psalm 3:5–6 ESV).