“The Angel with the Red Wings"
By Wendy Soderman
As I looked at the May calendar and noticed the small lettering "Mother's Day" labeled beside May 14, I felt many emotions surface. The birth of twin boys six years ago bestowed upon me the blessed title of mother. At the same time I was given the gift of motherhood, I also received "an angel with red wings". This is my story.
In September 1988, as planned, I became pregnant. In November, my husband and I were told we were having identical twins. In January, we were informed that one twin (Korey) was not growing and would likely die in my womb and be stillborn while the other twin (Kyle) would most likely proceed to grow and be a healthy baby. The doctors were amazed how active Korey was in the womb. They were unsure as to why Korey was not growing and yet appeared otherwise normal for the given gestational age. As each day passed, Korey defied the odds and continued to exist in my womb. On March 14, 1989, at 32 weeks gestation, Korey's heart began to fail. The doctors explained to us that if Korey was to be born, he would weigh only one pound (at 32 gestational weeks-normal is about 5 pounds) and his chances for being "normal" were not great. My husband and I were left with the incredible responsibility of deciding Korey's fate. The doctors gave us only a few minutes to decide whether to let Korey die in the womb (he would likely die within the next 30 minutes if he were not delivered by emergency Cesarean section) and deliver Kyle at term. Our other choice was to put Kyle at risk and deliver both twins immediately to try and save Korey. The doctors stepped out of the room and my husband and I made the decision that changed our lives forever. We wanted both of our babies unconditionally. Korey was to be saved!
Both twins had a very traumatic entry into the world. Kyle, the "healthy" twin (4.5 pounds) almost died during the first two weeks due to various complications caused by premature delivery. He spent a month in the intensive care unit before coming home. Korey did weigh one pound and was gravely underdeveloped. The doctors again felt his chances for survival were very slim. At one point, we were told that Korey was one of the smallest babies ever born at the gestational age of 32 weeks. One-pound babies are usually only 20 weeks old.
I was now a mother, the one thing I wanted to be more than anything in the world. However, I went home without my babies. They remained in the intensive care unit fighting to live. During these early weeks, many relatives came to say goodbye to the boys in fear of their pending death. My father, whom I hadn't seen in 4 years, flew in from the other side of the country to see and say goodbye to his only grandchildren. Each day I would look out over the backyard in a daze feeling, helpless and frightened for my twins' uncertain future. On one of those days, my father ran outside in his pajamas to feed a red cardinal that was sitting on the snow-covered ground. I smiled and cried at the same time as I watched the bird move closer and closer to my Dad's outstretched hand. When my father came back into the house he held me and whispered, "Every day, watch for the red cardinal; he is the boys' guardian angel" If you don't see him,
Each day for the next three months, I watched for the red cardinal. When I couldn't see him, I felt great comfort believing he was at the hospital watching over my babies. During these three months, Korey struggled each minute to stay alive. I would sit by his incubator and as he looked up at me, I was in awe of the enormous spirit that lived in such a frail body. After three months, Korey weighed three pounds and appeared strong enough to come home. We were excited and relieved. We naively thought our emotional journey was over.
On May 13 (two days before Korey was to be discharged to "come home), Mothers Day, we received a phone call from the intensive care unit at the hospital telling us that Korey was being rushed into surgery. We told the doctor on the phone that they must be mistaken. Korey was supposed to be coming home in two days. There was no mistake. After seven months in the womb, and three months in the intensive care unit fighting to live, my smallest twin was dying. After performing exploratory surgery, the surgeon told us that Korey had an intestinal infection. The doctors explained that Korey was too small and underdeveloped to recover from such a serious setback. Korey was put on a respirator and stitched up the front of his frail body. The doctors wrote in large letters "Crashed” on his chart. Korey's desperate fight for life seemed truly over. The hospital placed Korey in a section of the intensive care unit where babies were expected to die within a day or so. On Mother's Day, six years ago, I went to the hospital to kiss my "broken" baby and send him off to heaven. I didn't want him to fight any more – I wanted him to finally rest. When I walked into the “Crashed” section of the intensive care unit, I noticed that there were large, four feet long stained glass animal windows over each of the dying children’s incubators. I scanned the animal figures and my eyes became fixed upon a large stained glass red cardinal, I noticed that they rested directly upon the baby’s incubator. I knew without looking that the baby placed beneath the red cardinal must be Korey. I took a deep breath and wept. In my mind, it comforted me to believe that the cardinal would be the one to take Korey to heaven,
Korey didn't die on Mother's Day, or the next day, or the next. He began to slowly recover once more. The doctor's termed him “the non textbook baby." Korey had a plan of his own - to live. Finally in the summer, Korey came home, in a limousine no less. Our small community was very excited about their newfound hero. Radio stations and papers celebrated the event. I was now a full-fledged mother. I got very little sleep, changed tons of diapers, and very rarely sat down to eat a meal- I loved it!
Korey was much smaller (about half the size) of his identical twin brother Kyle and would probably always be. We knew Korey could have other developmental differences from his twin. In my heart, I knew our emotional journey was not ending, but rather, just beginning. At eight months old, Korey had a CAT scan done of his brain. The neurologist stated that at the time of the twins' birth, my body was trying to abort Korey and we (parents) and the hospital should not have intervened. Now we had to face the consequences. We were told we would likely have to institutionalize him when he got older and get on with our lives. Korey, we were told, would probably not even recognize his brother or us. Korey was given the labels "severely growth restricted" and "victim of cerebral palsy (CP.)" What had we done? I felt so guilty for first making Korey and than saving him. It hurt me to hold him or even to look at him. Each day, I went through my motherly duties like a robot, devoid of emotion.
Because Korey was diagnosed with CP, he was assigned an Easter Seals worker to come to the house once a week. I dreaded her visit because I detested my new reality of having a handicapped child. When the Easter Seals worker came to the door for the first time, I noticed a little red pin on her lapel. I pointed to it instantly and asked what it was. She proceeded to tell me that she collected cardinals. I screamed and cried with amazement as I told her about the significance of the cardinal in Korey's life. Each week the worker brought Korey something with a cardinal on it. As I walked the twins in their stroller, I would point out the cardinals and say, "Korey, there's your guardian angel".
As the months passed by my daily routine consisted of the Easter Seals Crippled Children Center and doctor appointments. Medical experts measured, evaluated and tested every aspect of Korey's physical body and development. His prognosis remained bleak. My whole being would ache as I sat in many medical offices as doctors shook their heads and continually referred to the normal growth and developmental baby charts. They would point to Kyle, my "normal" twin, and suggest that I focus and enjoy my "good" baby. After one such appointment, I sat under a tree feeding Korey. I kissed his forehead, pressing my lips gently upon his skin in hopes of healing the damaged brain that lay beneath, I remember looking up to the sky in desperation. Above my head on a tree branch sat a single red cardinal. The bird stared at me intensely as I wiped the tears from Korey's head that had fallen from my eyes. My husband and I had reached an emotional low. Friends and family pitied us. Many people were quite vocal about their opposing opinions regarding the choice we made to save Korey. We had become 'poor Wendy and Kris', the couple who once had everything. Kris and I decided we had to get control of our lives. We valued our days on this earth too much to spend them feeling numb. We also felt that Korey fought for life too hard for his birth to be considered a "mistake" or a misfortune. We decided to take our twin babies and run away. We wanted to go where no one knew us. This was not a logical decision based on sound reasoning, but rather one made from emotion, led by our wounded hearts.
We flew to Florida to find a new home for our new "beginning." Hand in hand, Kris and I walked through one model home after another. In hindsight, I think we were looking for much more than a mere building; we were looking for an answer. After finding a small home we both liked, the realtor drove us to her office to sign the legal documents. During the drive, she pulled over abruptly and explained that there was a resale house she felt we might want to look at. The realtor knew I did not want to view any resales. A brand new home was to symbolize the new start that I was determined to have. The realtor understood our emotional goal, but insisted that we look at this inexpensive resale. She told us that an elderly couple built the home and then they both passed away soon after. Their furnishings and belongings still remained in the vacant home and it was therefore difficult to sell. We reluctantly agreed to at least look at the house since we were so near.
When we pulled up to the house I was not impressed. It was brown and surrounded by pine trees. It looked like a Canadian home. I wanted a new, bright-looking Floridian house. Kris entered the house while I stubbornly remained in the car. A short time later, he came out to the car and stared at me in disbelief. Kris reached for my hand and said, "Come in the house; there's something I want you to see." The inside of the house was dark and dingy. The decor's lack of color was very depressing. As I walked further into the house, I knew immediately this was to be our new home. In the house among the old dark furnishings was a collection of red cardinals. A two-foot ceramic red cardinal sat on the dining room table. Smaller cardinal ornaments were displayed on the widows, walls and around the home. We signed the closing documents for our new home at the feet of the red ceramic cardinal.
Since moving to Florida, we have felt stronger emotionally. Our positive attitude and Korey's dynamic personality led us to be embraced by our new community. People were touched and inspired by our smallest twin. His tremendous spirit overshadowed his severe physical disabilities. At three years of age, Korey was nonverbal, could not walk, sit, stand, feed himself, etc. He could, however, express himself using simple hand gestures in a clumsy manner. Korey was now labeled as a quadriplegic since he did not have a normal functioning limb. We ignored these labels given to our son, and fell totally in love with his spirit. Cardinals have continued to appear and sing around our home providing us with reassurance since we settled in our new home. But on one particular Sunday morning, more than an appearance was required and hence, more was provided. Korey was scheduled for a mandatory cognitive evaluation on the following Monday. Based on his earlier diagnosis (i.e. the CAT scan results), I dreaded this test and the impending additional labels for Korey that may result. I sat on the couch in front of the window in my family room crying because I didn't want psychologists to test Korey the next day. As I sat weeping, there came quiet tapping at the window directly behind my hand (which rested on the top of the couch). I looked down at my hand and there sat a red cardinal sitting outside the concrete windowsill tapping the window with his beak to get my attention! If the window glass was not there, I would have been able to pet the cardinal's little head. I was stunned. Wild birds do not behave in this manner. I was relieved that other people witnessed this with me - it was a breathtaking moment! When Korey was tested the following day, the psychologist told us that she had never seen a child like Korey. It was so rare to see such intelligence and personality in such a physically involved body. The psychologist proceeded to tell us that Korey was extremely bright (age appropriate and in many areas above) and would go to school with his twin brother.
Korey and Kyle are now six years old. Korey gets around using a motor wheelchair and communicates using hand gestures, a voice computer, and a smile that reaches your very soul. Korey and Kyle attend kindergarten in our local elementary public school.
I don't know what lies ahead on my journey as a mother. But as I sit here watching Kyle swim in the pool and Korey close by cheering with pride, I also see a red cardinal watching over from a nearby bush, and I know it is truly a Happy Mother’s Day!
