Behind the Veils of Yemen (20 page)

“So how did Squiggles get help with all those acorns?” Jaden asked impatiently, struggling to keep pace with me.

“What? Oh, yes.” I sighed and slowed down my walk. “I need to finish the story, don’t I, honey?”

That afternoon I sat in my rocking chair watching the sun sprinkle shadows through the leaves outside my window. I was still stinging from the motorcyclist’s leer and the shopkeeper’s dishonesty.

“I can’t believe these women put up with this, Lord!” I grumbled at the ceiling.

I drummed the arm of my chair and thought about the women I had met. I saw Amal, weary yet anxious to produce more Muslim sons to achieve her entrance into paradise. I flinched at her hunger for love, which she tried to get from me. Demanding that I visit at least twice every week, she became hurt when I could not.

I thought about Hadil’s pleading eyes. She begged me to return for her wedding and witness her day of honor. I wondered if there would be other days of honor for her.

I remembered Nasimah’s eyes and wondered what her dreams had been and how she had lost them. Had she dreamed of freedom from her father’s control only to find more under her husband’s? Had she dreamed her husband would love her?

I thought of Nabila and her malnourished son in their lean-to hut. I wondered how many other children she would have who would die.

I thought of all the other illiterate women, women kept in ignorance and treated as nothing else.

Tears filled my eyes.
How can they stand it, Lord? How can they live being treated that way?

I let the tears trickle down my cheeks. The shadows on the floor blurred together. Then light poured through me like a bolt.
They did not know.
The women lived that way because they did not know anything else. They did not know they were valued and loved by God, that He had created them intentionally with a beautiful plan for their lives. They did not know they were worth more than gold to God—that they were worth the life of His own Son.

How could they know? No one had ever told them.

I sobbed into my hands.
Lord, send help! We cannot tell them by ourselves. We are no match for their need.
I thought about the mission group that had cancelled.
Lord, can’t they reschedule? Can’t You send them again? We are only a few buckets of water when the people need an ocean. Help them come, Lord. Help them come.

I leaned back against my airplane headrest and closed my eyes. Madison and Jack were seated on either side of me. Jaden was next to Jack. Our next stop would be Dallas, and then a short flight from there would take us home. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Kevin would join us after five and a half weeks.

He had held me as I cried at the airport. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, Audra.” His voice had choked. “Time will pass quickly. You’ll see. I’ll be there before you know it.”

I settled in for the long flight and patted my enormous abdomen. “You had better wait for your daddy,” I whispered.

The children and I stayed as busy as we could during the next several weeks. We enjoyed two snowstorms. The children had forgotten snow, so I taught them how to make snow angels. They did not need to be taught how to make snowballs. We drank hot chocolate and baked cookies from pre-made dough. I was amazed by ready-to-cook food, since I cooked everything from scratch in Yemen.

I took the children to the local discount store. Giggly with excitement, they hurried down the toy aisles, but their eager eyes were soon anxious and overwhelmed. They walked wordlessly, clutching their money from their grandparents.

“Mommy, can we go home?” Madison asked. The other two nodded.

“Don’t you want to buy something?” I asked, surprised.

They shook their heads. “We want to go home.”

I understood. I had felt the same way when I had to choose cereal in the cereal aisle at the grocery store. “We’ll shop another day,” I said.

The church-provided guesthouse was warm and comfortable. But changing from the heat of Hudaydah to a west-Texas winter brought prompt sore throats and chest colds. The children and I spent consecutive Mondays in a doctor’s office. Then it was my turn. A week before Kevin was due home, I became ill with fever, shivering under blankets as friends helped care for the children. I was diagnosed with a severe viral respiratory infection.

Kevin’s return was a grand celebration. The children sat in Kevin’s lap and showed him pictures they had colored and photographs I had taken of the snow.

“Is our house okay? Did you go to our beach? Are my shells still in the yard?” The children drilled Kevin about Yemen.

Kevin assured them that everything was fine in Yemen. I listened from my recliner. Coughing but no longer feverish, I smiled, grateful that Kevin had arrived before our baby, who would be delivered in five days via C-section.

On the morning of the scheduled delivery, the nurse buckled the fetal monitor around my bulging abdomen. “It’s a good thing you’re scheduled for a C-section this morning. You’re in labor.”

I shifted uncomfortably on the gurney. “I thought so. I guess she’s waited as long as she can wait.”

“She?” The nurse glanced at the screen overhead. “That heartbeat sounds like a boy.”

“No! She has to be a girl!” I said. “I smocked pretty little dresses and bonnets for her!”

The nurse laughed. “Whatever you say.” She was still chuckling when she wheeled me into the operating room.

An hour later we heard the first cries of our infant son. “That is the best sound in the world!” My words choked on my tears as I squeezed Kevin’s hand.

The nurse held our son closer for me, and I reached out to touch his chubby fists. He wailed in his hastily wrapped blanket. I tried to soothe him. “Mommy’s here, sweetheart.”

“Good gracious, his voice sounds husky,” I told the nurse. I wanted to take him in my arms. “It’s okay, darling. Mommy’s here.”

The pediatrician took him to his exam table. I called to him and the nurse. “Is he okay? Is he healthy?”

“Good Apgar,” the pediatrician answered. “Everything looks fine so far.” He finished aspirating him and handed him to the nurses, who took him to be cleaned and weighed.

A short time later I was wheeled to recovery. Kevin stood beside me, calling the children on his cell phone, and then calling family and friends. Tears of joy poured down my cheeks. The nurses chuckled as they put a second box of tissues by my side. They seemed as joyful as I was.

I could not wait to hold my son. I had worried about the complications I had suffered and my added risk of age. But now I was immersed in gratitude. Our baby appeared healthy and normal, and I praised God

“Well, now you can say, ‘my three sons.’ ” I grinned at Kevin.

His eyes danced. “My three sons and my beautiful wife and daughter. God is good.”

Two hours later I was still waiting to hold my son. I buzzed the nurses’ station. “Will they bring my baby soon? The nurse said it would be about an hour, and it’s been almost two.”

“I know, Mrs. Shelby. His body temperature has been a little slow to get up where it needs to be. They’ll bring him in as soon as he’s warmed up enough.”

I thanked her reluctantly. I was eager to hold my baby and count his tiny fingers and toes. I wanted to see whose nose he had and if he had curls like his brothers. I wanted him in my arms, where he belonged.

At the end of my third hour of waiting, the pediatrician called. “Mrs. Shelby, your baby is having some difficulty breathing. I want to put him on oxygen for a little while. We’ll bring him to you when he’s breathing better.”

I fought back tears. “How long will that be? I haven’t held him yet.”

“I know, Mrs. Shelby. It should not be more than a couple of hours. We’ll get him to you as soon as we can.”

I hung up the phone, trying to keep my tears hidden from Madison, Jaden and Jack, who were watching me. Sondra, Kevin’s sister, had brought them to the hospital to see me and to meet their new baby brother.

They stood nervously beside Sondra’s chair. I tried to smile. “Well, guys, it’s going to be a little while before you can see your baby brother. They’re giving him some oxygen to help him breathe.” I motioned for them. “Hey, I haven’t gotten kisses yet.”

Madison and Jaden walked slowly, looking cautiously at my IV lines. Jack hung back. “They’ll take this out soon,” I explained.

I motioned for Kevin to hand me the plastic bag in my suitcase. “I have something for you.” I gave them T-shirts labelled “Big Brother” and “Big Sister.” Kevin gave them blue bubblegum cigars.

“What are we going to name him?” Madison asked.

“Well, if he had been a girl, his name would have been Abigail. We haven’t chosen a boy’s name. Maybe Jacob and call him Jake. Or Andrew. What do you think?”

The door opened, and our pastor walked in. “Knock-knock! Congratulations!” Luke walked over to squeeze my hand before smacking Kevin on the back. “Another boy! I looked in the nursery but did not see him. I thought he might be in here with you guys.”

“He was having trouble breathing, so they put him on oxygen,” I explained quietly. “He’s probably in the treatment area.”

“Eight pounds, nine ounces. That’s a good size baby!” Luke smiled. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you, Pastor. He’ll be nice and cuddly like his big brothers.”

My eyes glanced at the clock. It had been four hours since my baby had been born. “I just want to hold him,” I whispered. “I haven’t gotten to hold him yet.”

Luke looked apologetic and patted my foot at the end of the bed. “I’m sorry. I know that’s hard. Let me pray with you, and then I’ll let you get back to visiting with your family.” He prayed, then I wiped my tears and blew my nose as Luke left the room with Kevin.

“I’m hungry,” Jack whispered loudly. “Can we get something to eat?”

“There’s a McDonald’s not too far from here,” I said. “Maybe Daddy and Aunt Sondra can take you there. You can come back later to see your baby brother.”

“Okay.” The children seemed relieved to go.

I dozed in and out, watching the white-faced clock on the wall. Kevin came back with Sondra and the children. Madison and Jaden grinned proudly as they presented a ceramic truck filled with blue and white carnations. A tiny white bear peeked out from the center. “This is for you, Mommy.” Madison smiled.

“It’s beautiful! Thank you, guys!” I read the attached card and let my eyes drift back to the clock. Seven hours had passed since my baby had been born. I had still not been able to hold him. I called the nurses’ station.

“Have you heard anything about my baby?” I asked. “Do you know how much longer it’s going to be?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Shelby. I’ll call the nursery again. I’m sure they’ll bring him to you as soon as they can.”

Minutes later the phone rang. It was the pediatrician, Dr. Carey. “Mrs. Shelby, your baby has viral pneumonia. He is struggling to breathe and needs to be on a respirator. I want to transfer him to the NICU at the medical center in the city. They specialize in respiratory illnesses in newborns. They pioneered the use of the jet ventilator.”

I burst into tears and motioned for Sondra to take the children outside. “Is he going to be okay?” I whispered to the pediatrician. Kevin took my hand and held it.

“The sooner we can get him to the city, the better chance he will have. It looks like he might be going into septic shock. I’ve called the transfer team. They should be here in about an hour. You’ll have to sign some paperwork.” He paused. “Mrs. Shelby, are you okay?”

I choked on my tears and answered with difficulty. “Yes.”

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Shelby. My wife and I will be praying for him and for you. Please let me know if I can do anything else for your family.”

“Okay.” I struggled for words. “Thank you.”

I hung up the phone and wept uncontrollably. Stumbling through tears, I tried to explain to Kevin what the pediatrician had said. Kevin sat on the edge of my bed, his face pale as he held my hand and offered me tissues.

Two hours later the emergency transfer nurse wheeled our newborn son into our room. He had been placed on a portable ventilator and was lying on his side, sleeping. I looked at my little son through the thick plastic glass of his travel incubator. I reached out to touch it, longing to cradle him in my arms.

“Mrs. Shelby?” The nurse pulled a pen from her green scrub shirt. “We need you to sign these papers allowing us to transfer him.” Her voice softened. “He’s resting now that he’s on the vent. The little guy was having a hard time trying to breathe.” She touched my arm with the pen. “Ma’am, we need to get him transferred as soon as possible. The quicker we can get him settled, the better chance he’ll have.”

I pulled my hand slowly from the incubator. I did not bother to wipe the tears that were streaming down my cheeks. I signed the papers, one after the other, and handed the clipboard to the nurse. I wiped my face on my hospital gown.

“Madison and Jaden? Jack?” I cleared my throat and motioned as they stood with Sondra in the corner of the room. “You want to see your baby brother?”

I raised my eyes to the nurse, who nodded. “Yeah, guys,” the nurse said. “Come see your brother. You gotta come quickly though. Oh,” she looked at me. “We need the baby’s name.”

I looked at Kevin. “Jacob or Andrew. It’s your call.”

“Jacob. We’ll call him Jake,” Kevin answered.

“Jacob Shelby it is,” the nurse said. “Okay, guys. Blow kisses. We’re going to take him to the city and get him all better. Dad, do you want to follow us in your car?” Without waiting for an answer, the NICU nurse rolled our newborn son out of my room and toward the ambulance that waited on the dark street below.

Kevin followed them to the city hospital twenty miles away. He returned to my room about ten o’clock that night. “They got him settled, and the neonatologist examined him. He said he’s a pretty sick little guy. He warned me that he will get worse before he gets better. He has viral pneumonia and is in septic shock.”

He took a deep breath. “They’ve put him on a jet ventilator and they’re monitoring him around the clock. The doc said that newborns can get sicker and sicker and then all of a sudden turn around and start getting well. Jake just needs to make it to that turnaround place.”

Tears streamed down my face as I nodded. “I just want to hold him, Kevin. My arms hurt. They literally ache to hold him.”

Kevin put his arms around me. “I know, honey,” he whispered. I wept against his chest.

Even with the sedative the doctor had ordered, I slept very little. I jumped every time a nurse entered the room to take my temperature. I was glad when the night had ended and Kevin walked into my room the next morning.