James and Michelle's Testimony 

James and I are both Christians, and we continually strive to be devoted in our walk with Christ. While God has always been very real to us, certain events in our life during 1996 brought God's presence to us in a new way. Our faith was strengthened in ways that we can only attempt to describe, and words fail us in light of all that God is to us. The following is the story of those events. We hope that in reading it, we share with you some sense of the reality of who God is, and who He can be in your life.

March 1996, James and I discovered we were expecting our first child. We were full of joy and excitement, and as parents-to-be we began thinking ahead of all the plans that would be made and all the future memories that awaited us. We knew that adding a child to our family would drastically alter our lives. And although we suspected that we would never realize just how much alteration that would be until it actually happened, there was no way we could have known the impact this entire event would have in our life, and in the lives of others.

My pregnancy progressed fairly normally during the first trimester. I experienced the typical fatigue, the usual bouts of nausea, and the fascination of watching for those first glimpses of change in my body. I went through the rounds of tests that are a standard procedure of pregnancy. Everything was looking good. Then it came time for a particular test that indicates the possibility of certain potential problems with the fetus. The result of this test was an indication that there was a higher than average possibility that our child could have Down syndrome.

Certainly no parent ever wants to hear the news that there is even the slightest potential that their child isn't going to be perfect, and James and I were no exception. We had to decide how we would respond to this news. The advice we were given by the doctor was to remember that this was an indication only. Further tests could be done that would provide a more definitive answer, but even if the child had Down syndrome, there was nothing that could be done to change it. As for myself, I can honestly admit that I felt no fear or worry about this. I immediately put the situation in God's hands, and trusted that if our child had Down syndrome, then God would provide the strength we would need. Indeed, I had personally dedicated the life of my child to God from the moment I first knew I was pregnant. I knew that was the only way I could ever enjoy my pregnancy to the fullest, and I would soon learn that it was this commitment that would see me through to the end of the journey. James dealt with his own doubts and concerns, but after a time of prayer and fasting, he found peace as well. We opted not to have any additional tests, and would wait to see what happened.

Soon it was July, and by this time we knew our baby was a little boy. The nausea had passed, and I was beginning to enjoy the "good" time of being pregnant, when you're just beginning to "show" and you feel really great and everything just seems so exciting! I went in for one of my regularly scheduled doctor visits one day, and my blood pressure was a little high. I'd been having a terrible headache for a couple of days (not uncommon, as I'd often suffered these in the past, usually assumed to be sinus related), and it was thought this could be the reason. The doctor advised me to stop by again the next day so they could check my pressure again, just to be safe. The following day they had difficulty reading my blood pressure, so the doctor advised I make a stop by the hospital, in OB triage, where they could check it with an electronic machine. I did so - and from this point forward my entire experience as an expectant mother changed.

My blood pressure was quite high, enough so to cause worry. A fetal-maternal medical specialist stopped by to check out the situation. I was hospitalized, and tests were run. After about a week in the hospital it was determined that I had previously undiagnosed hypertension. This was being aggravated by the pregnancy, and it was suspected I would be at high risk to develop preeclampsia. I was put on blood pressure medication, moderate bed rest, and began to see the specialist in addition to my regular doctor. Naturally, our concerns and apprehensions escalated a notch or two. Obviously, we were not going to have a "normal" pregnancy, and suddenly concepts such as "medically necessary abortions in the case to save the mother's life" had become a very real possibility for our future. Again, we simply put the situation in God's hands. We trusted, and leaned on Him, and took things one day at a time.

It began on September 9th a short time after 11:00 p.m. I woke up with this horrible pain in my lower back and right side of my abdomen. It reminded me somewhat of the same type pain I experienced when I had a kidney stone a few years before. I waited to see if the pain would pass, but when it continued to get worse, I woke James. After explaining the pain symptoms to him, James got on the phone and started tracking down the doctor. By 12:45 we were on the way to Baptist Hospital. I was trying to stay calm, despite the pain. Somehow, I suspected that it wasn't labor (although I had no idea exactly how labor was supposed to feel), which in a way frightened me more than the idea that I might be in premature labor. I wondered what could be going wrong, what could be causing such severe pain.

In much less time than it normally takes for the hour trip to Nashville, we arrived at Baptist Hospital. One of the first things they did was take my blood pressure... six times... with two different machines. They finally recorded it as 226/166. Needless to say, the nurses were startled that my pressure was so high and I had actually walked into the hospital conscious. A nurse quickly did a cervix exam to determine if I was in labor. I wasn't. Then things really started happening. They tried to get an IV started. First, two different nurses tried. Then two different interns. They finally had to call a doctor from anesthesia and he managed to get an arterial line started (a subclavian arterial cert). By this time my two doctors had arrived and the specialist did a sonogram. He saw my liver, extremely enlarged, before he saw the baby. A sonographer was called in to confirm the initial findings. The sonographer confirmed an enlarged and bleeding liver. My primary doctor released me to the specialist's care and the pace increased.

I was transferred to Vanderbilt Hospital at 6:00 a.m. where I had an emergency caesarean delivery. Our son, James Harold Lunsford III was delivered at 6:48 a.m. on Monday, September 10th. He was 13 weeks early and weighed 1 lb 6 oz. The specialist's prognosis was optimistic - a 90% chance for recovery for me and a 50/50 chance for the baby. I was transferred to Surgical Intensive Care Unit (SICU) and Harold was transferred to Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU). My family began to learn the ropes of visiting patients in the SICU. Visiting was limited to four times a day at 9:00, 1:00, 5:00 and 8:30, for 15 minutes each time, up to 8 total visitors with a maximum of 4 by the bedside at any one time. They were able to make the 9:00 a.m. visiting time on Tuesday, September 11th. I looked like most women who have been through a caesarean section save for the fact that I had a lot of IVs, was receiving whole blood and was intubated (on a ventilator). I seemed groggy but coherent and aware of my family's presence. (At least, that's what they tell me - I have no recollection of much of these events.)

Following their visit with me, they were briefed on Harold's condition. Our son had a rough start in this world. His Apgar scores were zero, he did not try to breath on his own and had to be intubated (not unusual for babies this premature). Visiting procedures for NICU were explained. Then my family visited with our son for the first time. He was doing well; they had been able to wean back to 40% oxygen on his ventilator. Harold had a really good go for the first 4 days. Other than the fact that he was very premature, and his lungs were weak, he was doing quite well. (No signs whatsoever of Down syndrome, by the way.) And, as everyone would tell me, he was an adorable little boy. Harold did fine for about two weeks. Unfortunately he developed some complications with his lungs, including pneumonia. Eventually, one lung collapsed, and the other looked to collapse as well. When the doctors reached the point where they knew they'd done all they could, James made the decision to have Harold taken off the ventilator and all his IVs removed. Sitting in a rocking chair, James held our son in his arms, sharing the final hour of his life. Harold lived for 18 days. I can clearly remember when James came to give me the news. Even before I saw the look on his face, I somehow knew what had happened. Fortunately, the hospital staff were agreeable to allow me to see Harold after he had died. James brought him to me, and I held him for a short while. Since I never was able to see Harold while he was alive, this has become a very precious memory for me. I am so thankful they allowed me this short time with my son.

During the first few days after delivery, my situation continued to degrade. I had developed a very severe, life-threatening form of preeclampsia known as the syndrome of hemolysis, elevated liver enzymes, and low platelet count (HELLP). This is why my liver had swelled and was bleeding. I then went on to develop some complications due to the HELLP syndrome. I had multiple system organ failure. My brain and heart were the only parts of my body working and my heart required some medication to boost its output. The ventilator settings were maximum and I was swelled horribly - about three times my normal size. The swelling was caused because I had developed DIC (disseminated intravascular coagulation). In other words, my capillaries actually began coming apart and all my blood was leaking out into my body. By Friday, 9/13/96 I remained stable, not losing or gaining ground all day. Unfortunately, about all the doctors could do was treat my symptoms and keep me from experiencing any pain. There wasn't anything they could do for my liver - it had to heal itself (if it could) on its own. And doctors don't know how to stop DIC. To be honest, during those first 3-5 days I was expected to die. Statistically, my changes were in the 1% to less than 1% range.

Then, slowly, I began to make improvement.

What happened to me, I can only explain as a miracle. Over a period of time my liver did began to heal itself. The DIC condition reversed, and my swelling began to go down. My kidneys, which had been completely shut down for about 18 days (I went through several sessions of dialysis, every other day for two weeks), simply began working again. And while doctors originally thought I would need a kidney transplant, my kidneys returned to 100% functioning. Not only was I on a ventilator for several weeks, but I was also given a tracheotomy, and even developed pneumonia at one point, yet I suffered no loss of lung capacity. The total hospitalization was 5 weeks in SICU, one week in step-down, and another 4 weeks of inpatient physical therapy at Vanderbilt Rehabilitation Hospital. I continued with an additional 4 weeks outpatient therapy after I was released.

For the most part of those first six weeks, I have very few conscious memories of what happened. Most of what I know is based on what James and others have told me. I'm sure this is mainly due to the medication they had me on during those first, most severe, days. At first, they had me on something called phentanyl citrate - a narcotic so strong they used morphine to wean me off it! But I do have some memories of those long days, and the parts I remember most seem to be when people came to visit. There is one thing I remember distinctly, though. Throughout the entire experience, even though I seemed to realize on some level that I might die, I felt totally at peace. I knew that regardless of what happened, everything was going to be okay. I can only explain this sense of peace, this lack of fear, as due to the abiding presence of God. To say that my faith has helped me through all this is an understatement. I honestly believe that were it not for the constant prayers of so many people and for God's healing touch, I would not be here to tell this story.

While I had four weeks of intense therapy, it actually began while I was still in SICU. It's amazing how the muscles of the body can degrade when you don't use them. Try to imagine - I lied flat on my back for nearly 6 weeks straight, and for the first few days (when I was swelled so horribly) I was totally immobile. It was an immense effort just to raise my arms a small bit. A therapist started coming to see me. She would slowly work my legs and arms. Then it was time for me to begin sitting up. Of course, I was too weak to sit up on my own, so they would put me in this bed/chair contraption. It started out as a flat surface, and once you were strapped onto it, it transformed into a chair. It was terribly uncomfortable, and after about an hour sitting in it my entire body ached. But I do have a fond memory associated with this whole "chair" thing - while I was sitting up, my mom would come in and feed me ice chips. That may not sound like much, but I remember looking forward to those moments. Once I got to step-down, I was getting strong enough that I could sit up in a regular chair for a short time (although I needed help getting from bed to the chair).

The entire 4 weeks in rehab I remember clearly, and as a very positive experience, although it's probably the most difficult thing I've ever gone through. The staff were wonderful, and they became like a second family to me during that time. There's just something about facing a huge challenge that truly teaches you how strong you can be. I could see improvements almost daily as I slowly re-trained my body to sit up, to stand, and eventually to walk again. I was weaned off the oxygen, and finally was able to have the tracheotomy removed. The last thing to be removed was my feeding tube. Oddly enough, the most difficult thing was learning to eat again. Having only eaten via a tube for so long, it took seemingly forever to get my appetite back enough to eat even small amounts of food.

I was finally discharged on November 19th - ten weeks after entering the hospital. Coming home never felt so good! I continued to gain my strength, and by February I had returned to full-time employment. It is March 1998 as I write this, and as of today I'm well, healthy, and pretty much back to 100%. There have been little or no residual effects of the massive trauma my body experienced. No damage to any of my internal organs, including my reproductive system. To see me, you probably would have no idea what I've been through - I've got a few scars, I have to take a minimal amount of medication to regulate my blood pressure, and I've got a perspective on life that would knock your socks off! <grin>

Again, even as I write this, I'm reminded of the power of this story. I would not lie to you and tell you that this was not a horrible, painful ordeal. Nor would I mislead you into thinking that I don't experience days when "on top of the world" seems like the farthest place from my mind. James and I focused on dealing with the grief of losing our son during those initial months, and for some time after I returned home from the hospital. To anyone who has experienced a tragic loss, you know there are certain things in life that you never, ever get over. There will always be a hole in our life. But God's grace has been more than sufficient. We have learned, and are continually learning, how to live with our grief, how to incorporate it into who we are, and how to allow it to make us stronger rather than destroying us. Our success has only been in light of God and His awesome, magnificent grace! And we have now come to know His peace and presence in ways that are so real, words cannot even begin to describe it. Despite the pain, the grief, and everything I had to endure, I do not regret anything from these past events. It has made me part of who I am today, and I have known God in moments when He is so real, that I would not trade it for anything in the world.