The Story of Titus Baxter as told by his father
August 18, 2002 promised to be an exciting day full of hope and anticipation. It was the nineteenth birthday of our son Daniel, and the events of the previous evening promised it would also become the birthday of our long awaited ninth child. Even though his conception was a surprise, the whole Baxter family had been praying and planning for his arrival for what seemed like an eternity.
Granted, we were surprised when Debby’s water broke a full three weeks early. That had never happened in the previous eight pregnancies, but we were both veterans at childbirth and knew the script well. Our plans were to have our second home birth with a midwife. We were certain that when she arrived we would be back on script.
Around 11:00 P.M., Saturday, August 17 our next bit of news hit us. The initial examination with our midwife revealed that our baby’s head was up, instead of down in the usual birth position. We tried a few things to see if our baby would flip and then decided to get some sleep and just wait for things to happen. Sue assured me that she would be in the room next to us and to wake her if anything happened. She also slipped in a piece of new information. "After 12 hours of the water breaking without labor starting, the medical community recommends that the mother and baby be under medical care."
Both Debby and I slept peacefully that night despite the frequent exams by our midwife. Sunday morning came with the usual routine mixed with a sense of joyful anticipation, but still no labor. I got up early for my morning devotions and cup of coffee. I keep a fairly ambitious Scripture reading schedule each morning from both the Old and New Testaments. I decided to review one of my texts from Saturday. It had hit me as strange the morning before and I wanted to revisit the story and pray over what God might be saying. After all, as things turned out it was a key text from the day that Debby’s water broke. The text was Genesis 35, and included the account of Rachel dying during childbirth. Three days earlier I had had a similar dream about Debby and the baby but hadn’t told anyone. I usually do not put much stock in dreams, but I was beginning to think to myself, "Is God trying to get my attention."
I had already decided to wait 14 hours for labor to start and then seek medical attention, and that time frame window was closing fast. My next conversation with the midwife also pricked my heart. She said, "Has God spoken to you in your devotions or in any other way recently to give you any clue as to what you should do? As the father, this is your call and you need not feel obligated to have a home birth." Right then I knew what I had to do, but convincing Debby would not be easy. Her heart was set on a home birth.
In order to add persuasion to my decision to pack up and head for the hospital, I make a quick trip a few miles down the road to talk to Heather McCarthy. She is not only a good friend, but also an experienced nurse who works in labor and delivery at Mercy Medical Center in Mason City, Iowa. She and her husband Chad had just had their first baby, and we were looking forward to being parents of newborns together. I quickly rehearsed what I felt were the initial complications with her. They included:
1) Debby’s age,
2) water breaking three weeks early,
3) baby still not in birth position and
4) no signs of labor after twelve hours.
She looked right in my eyes and said, "Terry, do you want me to call the hospital for you?" Within minutes the hospital was alerted and waiting for our arrival. She then said, "The absolute best doctor is on duty and if it’s possible to have a natural birth, he is the one that will do it for you." I felt so relieved and drove home with the assurance that everything was going to be just fine.
When I walked into our bedroom, my look must have betrayed my resolve. I simply said, "Get packed, we’re heading to the hospital." Though Debby’s eyes tried to protest, she knew there was no arguing. There was still no sign of labor.
As Debby got a few things together, I got the children up and ready for church. They were all excited and wondered when the new family addition would be here and available for endless hours of holding, hugging and attention. As I looked at Daniel, I winked and said, "Happy Birthday! It looks like you get to share your birthday with our new baby." The glow and smile on his face danced with approval.
As we drove to the hospital, I was relaxed and confident. Debby wasn’t very happy with me, but did not give much verbal protest. It felt good knowing that with a little medical attention we would be back on script.
As Debby settled into the delivery room, excitement was in the air. I could tell this was more than a job for the hospital staff. They loved what they were doing and shared the excitement of childbirth with every parent. I thought to myself, "This is really going to be fun." When Doctor Moeller walked into the room, both Debby and I loved him immediately. He said, "Well, let’s take a look and see what we’ve got here. The baby monitor sounds good, but the baby is out of position." No problem, he had delivered over 400 breached babies naturally.
A portable ultrasound was wheeled into the room, and with the first look Doctor Moeller’s face became solemn. He then turned to Debby and said, "I don’t know how to say this, but your baby is transverse and cannot be delivered naturally. We have no choice but to do a c-section." Debby looked at him and said, "Ok then, let’s do it before labor starts, I don’t want both labor and a c-section." That brought a laugh from everyone, including myself. After eight natural births without a single complaint and an unquenchable desire for more children, that was the first hint of her true disdain for labor.
Once I got over the surprise of a c-section, I actually started looking forward to the procedure. I was relieved to know why God had prompted me to come to the hospital and had secretly always wanted to witness a surgery, though admittedly not on my wife or a member of our family.
Debby was brought into the operating room first, and just before the procedure began I was brought in and asked to stand next to Debby’s head. Once again the atmosphere was full of anticipation and I could tell that this was familiar ground for the doctor and staff. However, things changed quickly. As soon as Dr. Moeller had a full view of our baby he said, "It looks like you have a little boy, but we have a slight problem here!" With those words my heart sank. He then said, "Your little boy has a cleft palate and lip." He then said, "This is not a major problem today. In a few months your boy can have cosmetic surgery, but he will have a few challenges."
As I looked at my son, I began to cry. Then I said to myself, "We can beat this thing. Worse things could happen and I love this little guy and I’m proud of him." At the same time the thought hit me, "This is not our script, it’s not supposed to read this way for us!"
Our son was then handed to the pediatrician as Dr. Moeller continued to care for Debby. I walked over to look at my son just as the pediatrician said, "We have a few more problems here. Your son has an extra digit (finger) on each hand." I was watching as he rolled him over and something looked different. "It looks like your son also has an anal problem that will require surgery." I could read the look of concern on Dr. Little’s face. He then left my son with the nurses and walked into the next room.
No one had to tell me. I suddenly knew that my son had far greater problems than the cleft palate. I stood there looking at my son, and began wondering who switched the script. Denial! Tears! Bartering! Questions! Fears! More Tears!
I did not have much time to contemplate. Dr. Little pulled me aside and said, "Your son needs medical attention beyond what we can give him. There are three hospitals equipped to handle his needs: Children’s Hospital in Minneapolis, Mayo in Rochester and the University of Iowa in Iowa City." My thinking was in slow motion as a hurricane was starting to blow around me. "I recommend the University of Iowa in your case. If you give me permission the helicopter will leave immediately to come and get your son."
Just to share how slow my thinking was, I think I asked Dr. Little something like, "Why do we need a helicopter if the surgery for the cleft palate isn’t going to be scheduled for two months?" His response brought me back to reality. "I need to know now, the University Hospital is waiting to hear from us."
My head and the pastor in me kicked into gear right there and all the pieces of the puzzle flashed before my eyes. Little did I realize, but over the next three days I would switch back and forth between heart and head, father and pastor many times. "Yes, I understand, tell them to come immediately." He rushed off to make the phone call.
I had this overwhelming sense that our lives would never be the same. Events were set in motion that would change more than just our plans. I silently cried out to God for help and placed everything into His hands. My only request was that God would not allow me as a husband or father to mess up this new calling into the uncertain and unknown that lay before us. I was not bitter at God, rather I was as helplessly dependent on Him as my loving heavenly Father, as my son struggling in the next room was on me to be a loving earthly father to him. I cried knowing full well that I was inadequate for the task.
Next, came a host of decisions. "Do I call the kids and try to get them here before the helicopter?" "How much should I tell them and Debby?" "How much do we actually know?" "Do I call anybody else?" "Let’s see if I have this straight: cleft palate, extra fingers, gastro-intestinal problems, small birth mark, slight genital problem. Ok, it’s manageable, we’re gong to beat this thing." "Ok, let’s get the kids in here." My mind was racing.
"Sir", it came followed by the question, "what name did you decide on for the baby?" The name was already in my heart, but I had to confirm it with Debby. We had talked about it briefly before surgery, but … "Oh, yea, Debby, where is Debby?" Like I say, it was a hurricane.
The doctor was just wrapping up with Debby. "Hi honey, how are you feeling?" She just looked at me with tears in her eyes. I knew she wasn’t thinking of herself. She never does. "How does the name Titus sound? I think it means ‘safe.’ In fact, I’m thinking of Titus Barnabas. The two names together means ‘safe son of encouragement.’" She just nodded. I took her hand and said, "We are facing an uphill climb. Our little boy has more problems than we thought. I just gave permission for him to be airlifted to Iowa City. The helicopter is on the way and I’m trying to get the other kids in here before he leaves." Debby just held out her open hand and said, "He’s in God’s hands." I was back in control of my emotions having processed all of the issues we were dealing with knowing that they were serious, but manageable.
Titus had about five minutes with Debby before the helicopter arrived. With baby in mother’s arms time stood still. Everything was quiet and peaceful. I did not realize that this was just the eye of the storm as ‘round two’ was about to begin.
Titus was rushed back to the care room to prepare him for the flight. The helicopter and the children arrived at about the same time. As the flight crew took over new signs of anxiety spread through the medical staff. Titus was now on oxygen. Each brother and sister in turn, had about 30 seconds to see their new brother. The twenty-minute flight prep time extended to 40. An X-ray was ordered. "Sir, we are having trouble stabilizing your son. His blood oxygen level is not coming up the way we would like."
The other children left for home. I spent a few minutes with Debby and walked back into the care room just in time to see the X-ray put up to the reading light. Just then the flight attendant said, "Wow, the X-ray tech earned her wages today." I was back in slow motion. "This is impossible, my son cannot have heart and lung trouble on top of everything else."
I was brought back to reality by the next statement. It was the flight attendant. "Sir, you may want to call a priest or pastor to give last rites to your son. We cannot guarantee that he will survive the trip to Iowa City." I had to force a few deep breaths. "Your son has already stopped breathing twice, but he’s doing a little better now. We better take off while we still can. If you like, you can walk with us down to the helicopter. We will be ready in a few minutes."
I walked out into the hallway and saw one of the doctors sitting on a bench with her head slumped toward the floor. I got her attention and said, "May I ask you a question?" She looked at me and said, "Sure." I then said very slowly and deliberately, "Does my baby boy have Trisomy 13?" She looked surprised, and said "We have our suspicions, but will not know until the full diagnosis in Iowa City. What do you know about Trisomy 13?" I then shared the story of another baby boy born to a family in our third church. He lived six weeks before being overcome by his organ abnormalities.
Just then, the flight attendant said, "Let’s go!" I walked beside my boy down the hall, into an elevator and out to the waiting helicopter. As the helicopter lifted into the air, I just stood there in disbelief as it faded into a spec in the southeastern skyline. I then walked to the car, got in and just cried my heart out. I picked up the cell phone and called my parents. The conversation came to an abrupt end when I could not hold back the tears and opted to hang up and just sob.
The trip to Iowa City was the hardest of my life. I did not share with our other children about the seriousness of the situation. I wanted to wait for a definite diagnosis. I drove down alone. About thirty minutes into the trip, I was in the grips of despair. I could not even pray. Then the thought hit me, "If I cannot pray for myself, I better call some people who can." Over the next hour and a half, I called key people and briefly shared the story and asked them to pray and to get others to pray. As the prayer base was growing, I could sense the despair lift and an inner strength begin to grow. I still did not know what was ahead, but for the first time I felt ready to face the future.
The University of Iowa Medical Center is huge and intimidating. As I stood outside the main entrance my task was clear. I needed to find the bedside of a six pound seven ounce baby boy and become a warm expression of life to him. After making my way through a maze of halls and corridors, I was soon standing outside of the N.I.C.U. and ringing a buzzer for admittance. A voice came back over a small intercom and said, "May I help you?" I paused for a moment to swallow my emotions and said, "My name is Terry Baxter, I’m here to visit my son Titus." "Just a moment please."
Shortly the door opened and a nurse ushered me into a very busy room. I washed and was then met by Dr. Schmidt. She was wonderful and helped alleviate my anxiety. As I turned a corner I saw several doctors and students standing over my son. He was hooked up to numerous tubes and wires. I was able to stand next to an intern doing an ultrasound of my son’s heart. As we looked at the screen, the deformation and hole in the heart were obvious. He also had an obstruction preventing the proper flow of blood from the heart to the lungs. Furthermore, the normal four arteries supplying blood to the heart itself were missing and only one could be detected by ultrasound. I was cautioned that these tests were only preliminary.
I also learned that the hole in the lung had leaked air into the chest cavity and one lung had nearly collapsed. Intervention to suck the air bubble out of the chest cavity was successful and for the moment Titus was stabilized.