Take Me

My daughter was nine months old and in her high chair eating baby oatmeal and peaches when she aspirated. When her head bowed down towards the tray, my husband thought she was just tired and put her in for a nap. Shortly after, I arrived home from work and was surprised to hear that the baby was napping. "Five o'clock isn't nap time!" I said, not in anger but with concern, and I turned away from him and bolted up the steps two at a time.

Lifeless is very different than sleeping. Instinctively I knew to grab her from the crib not knowing how difficult the next few days would be when I saw her blue lips. My husband was right beside me when I looked up for help from a God I didn't know I believed in, crying out, "God please let her live. Take me instead!"

"Start the car!" I said. Both of us ran from the house knowing our only hope was to get to the hospital asap. As I grabbed the car door with one arm, holding on tight to my lifeless daughter with the other, her body jerked forward. She vomited, then cried and her cheeks turned a beautiful color of pink. "We're taking her to the emergency room." I told my husband. "How do we know she's okay?"

The doctor said, "There is a lot of fluid in her lungs. Let's take her to Albert Einstein hospital where they can probe the lungs if necessary . I'll order an ambulance."

Three days later after many tests and observation she was going home with us alive. Taking a deep breath, remembering the offer I had made in that harrowing moment of life and death I wasn't sure if God would let me live to see her grow up. As I write this story, 36 years after the fact, I am very grateful God didn't take me up on my offer.