Our first steps down this road...

We sat in the dusty, under construction, waiting area of Summerville Medical Center. A mound of paperwork for me to fill out, some unimportant tennis match on a distant TV, and a few people sitting, staring, waiting. We did the same. We sat and waited.  I filled out the enormous amount of paperwork, including writing and signing my name 23 times.

I did what I was supposed to... Sit, paperwork, hide my borderline panic attack, sit, wait, fight tears, sign my name, write the date, sit, wait.  They called my name and fitted a hospital band on my wrist. 

"Does that fit?"

"Yes."

"Is that your name?"

"Yes."

"Initial here, sign here."

"Okay."

I realized this was just the first of these thin, itchy, annoying little paper bracelets that are to come in my near future.

We were quietly ushered down the halls of migraine-inducing bright fluorescent lights to a small, dark room filled with machines.

"Allison?"

"Yes."

(Bracelet checked, like someone would lie about who they are right now?)

"Sit here."

"Okay."

I'm pretty sure those were the only 2 words my exhausted brain could come up with... "yes" and "okay." I sat down, exposed my swollen, pregnant belly, and waited to be pushed on with the big ultrasound wand thingy. This was the first time I dreaded that thing.

Thankfully, the ultrasound technician, Teri, was phenomenal. She was kind-hearted, sweet, and slightly apologetic.

Before she began I took a deep breath, preparing myself to see this "birth defect" in detail with this high tech, HD ultrasound camera. Suddenly I felt 2 things: A gentle hand on my shoulder, clearly my Lord calming me. And 2 other hands, 1 on each ankle, my precious husband supporting me, comforting me.  I wish he could be closer, but there were too many machines and screens.

As the screen revealed my son's prominent "defects" 1 name continuously sounded in my head, in my heart: Jehovah Rapha.

I couldn't pray words at that time, I don't think I could form a sentence.  But I could cry out inside over and over: Jehovah Rapha, Jehovah Rapha, Jehovah Rapha.  I didn't need to say more... There is power in the name of Jesus, you see.

"This is the omphalocele, you can see his liver and bowels."

"Jehovah Rapha."

"His stomach is also trying to push out."

"Jehovah Rapha."

"Awe, look at his sweet profile. He's cute!"

"Jehovah Rapha."

"He has long legs and arms like his daddy."

"Jehovah Rapha."

Pictures were printed, only the ones I'd actually want to see later, of course.  My belly was once again covered, and I could finally get my hands in their rightful place: holding my swollen belly to get as close to my son as possible.  We listened to the specialist, Dr. Patterson, via web cam, give us more details.

"He will need to get bigger."

"Jehovah Rapha."

"He will be inthe NICU for a couple of months at least."

"Jehovah Rapha."

"Since there is a birth defect, you can legally terminate the pregnancy up to 24 weeks in this state."

-- BOOM, walls shattered, ground broken, a ton of bricks just hit me square on top of the head. -- I could form a sentence.

Ben and I immediately locked eyes.  A small chuckle of disbelief escaped my husband's beautiful lips.

"Ma'am," I said, "I escaped abortion. My husband survived cancer. My son will survive this."

We are a family of miracles, you see.  We have Jehovah Rapha on our side.

Things began to click, God was slowly unraveling this part of His plan.  We are in this situation for a very specific reason.  Our story was written containing more than just one miracle, more than even two miracles.  There couldn't be a more perfect couple in the universe to have this child.  God gave me a chance, God gave my Benji a chance, and we will give my son a chance.  God gave him to us because we can handle it.  We are a family of miracles.  Only by the grace of God, our Jehovah Rapha, are we here.  And we are here for our miracle son.

Somehow, as we walked out of the frigid medical center in to the humid, misty parking lot, I was encouraged.  I was encouraged because I knew without a shadow of doubt, that this is a part of our story for a reason.  We can handle this.  Will there be dark days? Yes, of course. Will I weep for hours on end? Of course.  Will we be drained physically, emotionally, financially, and mentally?  You bet. But Jehovah Rapha is on our side.  I was born for this.  My Ben was made for this.  He provides me with His strength.  We will get out our boxing gloves, dust them off again, and we will fight.  My perfectly imperfect son will fight. And with our Savior on our side we will be unstoppable.