By Melissa Zifzal
One of my greatest blessings started with my son's sniffles, which he "shared" with my husband and me. When nursing my eight-week-old daughter, Lindsey, I coughed and sneezed into my arm in an effort to protect her from illness. I thought my baby had somehow escaped our terrible colds.
One of my greatest blessings started with my son's sniffles, which he "shared" with my husband and me. When nursing my eight-week-old daughter, Lindsey, I coughed and sneezed into my arm in an effort to protect her from illness. I thought my baby had somehow escaped our terrible colds.
A few days later, Lindsey started sleeping more than usual. I attributed it to a growth spurt -- until the night she wouldn't sleep for more than thirty minutes at a time. We swayed in the rocking chair and danced around the room, and both of us cried from exhaustion. She developed a strange cough. Something wasn't right.
In the morning, I took her to see the doctor. "Lindsey's working too hard to breathe," our pediatrician said. "I'll call the pediatric floor. Take her straight to the hospital," she urged, with a worried look on her face. "There are a few things we need to rule out." My heart dropped. I prayed in the car for her safety, but could only imagine the worst.
At the hospital, Lindsey endured a battery of tests and X-rays until it was finally determined she had contracted respiratory syncytial virus (RSV), which can be life-threatening in severe cases. I was terrified.
Our pediatrician called to explain the treatment plan and suggested I go home to rest. "You won't be able to take care of her if you don't get better," she said. Lindsey was connected to oxygen and received frequent breathing treatments. Soon, she could breathe well enough to sleep peacefully. Reluctantly, I decided to head home for a quick nap before my husband got off work and we could return to the hospital together.
I fought back tears in the elevator, guilt-stricken about the severity of Lindsey's illness. Why hadn't I realized how sick she was? How long would she need to be hospitalized? I had let my baby down, and to me, that was unforgivable.
The elevator door opened, and I stepped out into the lobby, nearly bumping into Cynthia, a sweet, caring woman from church. Many young mothers, myself included, looked to her as a role model.
"Hi, Melissa," she said brightly. Then she looked closer at my tear-filled eyes. She pulled me into her arms where, between sobs, I recounted my heartache and fear for Lindsey's life.
"Lindsey's in the hospital now where she'll be able to get well. The doctor and nurses will take good care of her," she assured me. "We'll all pray for her, and she'll be fine."
Cynthia's presence calmed me. She spoke words of comfort and reminded me that God was in control of this situation. Finally regaining composure, I asked Cynthia why she was at the hospital.
"My mother-in-law is here. She's not going to make it much longer," Cynthia explained. I was stunned. Not only had Cynthia put aside her own grief to console and encourage me, but she was there at the hospital at the precise moment I was falling apart. It wasn't a coincidence; God had aligned our paths and knew what I needed to hear. More than ever, I felt God's unfailing love and power. I left the hospital strengthened and hopeful, and was able to rest without worrying. Lindsey spent just two nights in the hospital, and within two weeks made a full recovery, thanks to many prayers.
I reflect often on my "chance" meeting with Cynthia. I'm still amazed that God sent me my own personal comforter in a time of uncertainty. I hope He will use me someday in the same way so others can experience this blessing.
http://www.chickensoup.comIn the morning, I took her to see the doctor. "Lindsey's working too hard to breathe," our pediatrician said. "I'll call the pediatric floor. Take her straight to the hospital," she urged, with a worried look on her face. "There are a few things we need to rule out." My heart dropped. I prayed in the car for her safety, but could only imagine the worst.
At the hospital, Lindsey endured a battery of tests and X-rays until it was finally determined she had contracted respiratory syncytial virus (RSV), which can be life-threatening in severe cases. I was terrified.
Our pediatrician called to explain the treatment plan and suggested I go home to rest. "You won't be able to take care of her if you don't get better," she said. Lindsey was connected to oxygen and received frequent breathing treatments. Soon, she could breathe well enough to sleep peacefully. Reluctantly, I decided to head home for a quick nap before my husband got off work and we could return to the hospital together.
I fought back tears in the elevator, guilt-stricken about the severity of Lindsey's illness. Why hadn't I realized how sick she was? How long would she need to be hospitalized? I had let my baby down, and to me, that was unforgivable.
The elevator door opened, and I stepped out into the lobby, nearly bumping into Cynthia, a sweet, caring woman from church. Many young mothers, myself included, looked to her as a role model.
"Hi, Melissa," she said brightly. Then she looked closer at my tear-filled eyes. She pulled me into her arms where, between sobs, I recounted my heartache and fear for Lindsey's life.
"Lindsey's in the hospital now where she'll be able to get well. The doctor and nurses will take good care of her," she assured me. "We'll all pray for her, and she'll be fine."
Cynthia's presence calmed me. She spoke words of comfort and reminded me that God was in control of this situation. Finally regaining composure, I asked Cynthia why she was at the hospital.
"My mother-in-law is here. She's not going to make it much longer," Cynthia explained. I was stunned. Not only had Cynthia put aside her own grief to console and encourage me, but she was there at the hospital at the precise moment I was falling apart. It wasn't a coincidence; God had aligned our paths and knew what I needed to hear. More than ever, I felt God's unfailing love and power. I left the hospital strengthened and hopeful, and was able to rest without worrying. Lindsey spent just two nights in the hospital, and within two weeks made a full recovery, thanks to many prayers.
I reflect often on my "chance" meeting with Cynthia. I'm still amazed that God sent me my own personal comforter in a time of uncertainty. I hope He will use me someday in the same way so others can experience this blessing.
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