It all began during a hurricane... OK, it was a tropical storm, but it felt like a hurricane to us! It was June 10, 2001, and tropical storm Allison had hit Houston with a vengeance. We still had our wedding, but it was much smaller than planned. My husband, Hervé, said we would get married that day no matter what happened, even if we had to do it over the telephone!

The next months were happy as we integrated our family, which included two preteens from my previous marriage. In January 2002 I discovered I was pregnant. This was unexpected but welcome news. We really became serious about looking for a house to fit three children. We didn't want to raise our children in an apartment.

In April we had found our home and were set to move in on the 7th when tragedy struck our family. At 2 a.m. on the 6th, a Sabbath, I woke up to a strange feeling. It became very clear to me that my water had ruptured and I was only 14 weeks along in the pregnancy.

My husband rushed me to the hospital where we were told I was having a late miscarriage. The doctors suggested that we should abort the fetus since they were sure it would die. I calmly told the doctor that my baby was not a "fetus" and that as long as he was alive, they would not take him.

After a one-week stay in the hospital, I was released home on complete bed rest. I had to have someone with me 24 hours a day. My doctor told me that my baby had less than a 5 percent chance of living. I knew God could heal me and the baby, and I was anointed. I stayed on bed rest six more weeks and saw my doctor every Friday when she did an ultrasound.

On the Wednesday afternoon during the 20th week of my pregnancy, I felt my baby move more than usual. He was kicking and squirming a lot, so much that it was painful. I knew that he was dying. I curled up on my side and wrapped my arms around my belly and I prayed for God to end his suffering. I told my baby to just rest and be at peace. I told him how much I loved him and then he was still... he had gone.

Two days later my doctor told me during an ultrasound that my baby was dead. I didn't cry. I had already known what she would say. The terrible thing was, now I had to go to the hospital and give birth to him. I gave birth to my baby boy, Sean Michael Irion, May 11, 2002. I was devastated. Our family grieved his loss. I still ache for him.

My husband decided I needed to get away after several months of grieving and so he took us all to Jamaica for the Feast that year. While I was there I discovered that I was pregnant again. Five weeks after we returned I had a miscarriage.

I was sure God was punishing me for something horrible I had done. I fasted and prayed over and over trying to discover what I had done! I resolved to stop trying to have a baby. I just couldn't deal with another loss.

Another Pregnancy, New Worries

Then in December that same year, I discovered I was pregnant again. I didn't mess around this time. I immediately got a referral to a specialist in high-risk pregnancies. I made an appointment at eight weeks and had an ultrasound. The doctor deduced that I had an incompetent cervix and scheduled a cerclage as soon as I reached 12 weeks.

After that everything was fine until four weeks later. The doctor did a routine ultrasound and saw that my amniotic sac was bulging through the stitches of the cerclage and I was put on bed rest for the rest of my pregnancy. I still had 24 weeks to go—that's six months! I became very worried and depressed at this point.

Two weeks later my husband was laid off work and had to take a position in Illinois. Now I was on bed rest with two kids at home and my husband was out of town. I became more distraught each day and begged my brethren for prayer.

At 22 weeks I had another routine ultrasound, and I heard the doctor gasp. I knew that was NOT a good sign. She turned to me and very calmly told me that most of the amniotic fluid around the baby was gone. She said the baby was fine but I should think about terminating the pregnancy because there was less than a 5 percent chance (again!) of the baby living. I explained to her my beliefs, and she agreed to help me through the rest of my pregnancy, however long that would be.

She carefully examined me physically and by ultrasound to try to discover the reason why my amniotic fluid was so low. She found that the sac around the baby had not ruptured this time, and the placenta looked healthy, so she thought the only reason the fluid was so low was that the baby was in kidney failure.

My family has a genetic kidney disease (polycystic kidney disease) which can manifest in the unborn babies and, if so, is always terminal. Knowing this, the doctor tried to prepare me for another tragic loss.

At first, I refused to accept it. I was anointed and requested prayer. I prayed day and night for a miracle. When I went to the doctor a week later, everything was still the same.

My doctor began to explain a little every week about what to expect. She said there was some hope that the fluid had not been too low before the 20th week. If that was true, then it was possible for the baby's lungs to develop.

Over the next few weeks my baby turned head down where the last pocket of fluid was. The doctor saw on the ultrasound that her internal organs were smaller than they should have been.

I went to the doctor every week and had an ultrasound, and I was told the same bad news every time. I began to be very depressed. I was still on bed rest till the end of my second trimester. I prayed for God to do His will. I no longer prayed for my miracle. I prayed for my will to match His will and for Him to bring me peace.

I thought about the future all the time. I ran over possible outcomes day and night. Either I would give birth to another stillborn baby or my baby would be born alive and then die shortly after or—dare I hope—I would give birth to a live, normal baby. I never gave up that hope. I just tried to prepare myself for the other outcomes.

I was hoping it wouldn't be as devastating as last time, but I knew better. I was still grieving for my son and would for a long time. I couldn't imagine burying another baby. When I thought of it, I wanted God to let me die with the baby.

Well, week after week I went to the doctor and week after week the baby was still growing fine and was still alive. When I came into my third trimester at 28 weeks, the doctor said the baby could be born at any time, but it would be much better if it weren't until after 34 weeks, so I had to be monitored very closely. I still saw my doctor every Wednesday, but now I also had to go to the hospital twice a week to be monitored in the labor and delivery unit for an hour on Mondays and Wednesdays.

Wonderful Volunteers

My husband was still working in Illinois, and I was not allowed to drive, so I had to ask people in our congregation to drive me 40 miles each way three times a week.

There were many wonderful people who volunteered to help and never accepted a penny for gas. Let me just mention that there were also many people who helped by preparing meals, shopping, cleaning house and just coming over to keep up my spirits. Since I was on bed rest, I couldn't do anything in the house or for my children myself. I also received many cards and phone calls. Whenever anyone came over or called, it helped to distract me from my plight. I probably would have gone insane without everyone's help. Thank God I am part of such a large congregation!

In the third trimester most pregnant women have a glucose tolerance test, so I had one too. I failed miserably and was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. Great! One more issue to deal with. Now all those wonderful people who were cooking our meals had to be sure that the food they made was diabetic! I had to monitor my blood sugar and eat a special diet. I did pretty well because I was determined to do my part. I was hoping that if I did everything right, God would have mercy and my baby would live.

When I reached 33 weeks I was sure I was having contractions. When I went to the doctor, she looked at me and immediately checked me into the hospital. I was put on complete bed rest and monitored every four hours. They also managed my blood sugar with insulin. While I was in the hospital my blood sugar went very high and they had to give me two shots a day.

My doctor came to see me every day. She kept things calm and simple and very quiet. She would say that everything was fine and to just rest. She knew I was holding on by a very thin thread. You know when a doctor says that, she means that everything is not fine!

I had been in the hospital for 10 days and I was about to reach my 36th week when the doctor said it was time to take out the cerclage and let this baby be born. She took it out the day before I was due to be induced. My labor was induced on the last day of my 35th week at 9 a.m. My husband was there (he had transferred back to Texas while I was in the hospital) and some very good friends and also my mother.

God Really Does Do Miracles!

After 15 hours of labor our daughter was born at 12:25 a.m. on July 25. She was born crying at the top of her lungs! She was alive! Everyone was crying, me the hardest. The doctor said that babies whose lungs aren't developed don't cry at birth. I had hope! I was sobbing and thanking God. Our pastor, Jim Franks, immediately anointed her.

She wasn't getting enough oxygen so the neonatologist put a breathing tube into her lungs, but the best part was, as he was working on her, she urinated on him! She was supposed to be in kidney failure! This baby should never have been able to take a breath or pee at all. It was a miracle!

She was crying so LOUD that the people in the waiting room down the hall through two sets of doors and down another hall could hear her.

Naomi Christine Irion was 5 pounds 12 ounces and 19 inches long. She spent two days on the incubator and they gave her two lung treatments. She was on oxygen for another 11/2 days and then on room air. After four days in the NICU she was transferred to the PICU (for preemies). She was there to learn how to suck and to gain weight. After three days she was nursing well and gaining weight. All of her tests came back completely normal. So they sent her home! There was nothing wrong with her!

Naomi is now a year old and walking and starting to talk in two languages. She is a joy to our family and everyone in our congregation. God really does do miracles in our day! UN