There were many patients at the Saint Thorn Medical Center maternity ward that day.
Having a routine birth, I didn’t expect to see so many doctors in the delivery room — twelve, including two pediatric cardiologists.
There was not an emergency. The unusual outcomes of the fetal scans had attracted so much attention.
Strong and healthy, the heartbeat caught our attention because it was so constant. They found it so regular that staff thought there was a problem with the machines.
All tests and consultations after that showed similar results. The heartbeat was powerful and extremely regular. Not harmful, but still very uncommon.
Amira was twenty-eight, healthy and had sailed through her pregnancy so far.
All
At 8:43 a.m., following a tiring labor, Amira pushed one more time — and everything in the room became quiet.
Nobody panicked. Only awe.
His hair resembled soft curls, his skin was a beautiful warm color and his look was both calm and sharp. There was no tears from him. He gazed right at those gathered and opened his eyes.
There was a calm rhythm to his breath and he moved with care. Dr. Havel was rendered speechless when Matsuda looked straight into his eyes. It wasn’t the expressionless glance of a baby. It was even aware of itself.
She said quietly, “Your baby is looking right at you.”
“To me, it’s an instinct,” Havel explained, but he didn’t sound confident.
After that, I experienced something odd.
Monitors in the room were shutting down, one at a time. The mother’s pulse monitor set off a rapid alarm.
The lights flickered shortly and instantly, all monitors in the rooms and elsewhere showed matching, pulsing movements.
The nurse remarked in disbelief, “They’re working like clockwork.”
While trying to explore a monitor, the baby had his first cry: very strong, clear and never before heard. Right away, the monitors went back to functioning as they should.
Rebecca said nothing and the silence returned to the room.
“That is very uncommon,” Havel said after a pause.
Meanwhile, Amira didn’t notice and just wanted to confirm her baby was fine.
The nurse told the mother, “He looks perfect.” “A very sharp and sensitive way he behaved.”
Immediately after being wrapped and set on her chest, the baby grew calm.
Everything seemed like usual activity. But what they saw would never be forgotten in that room.
Over time, the staff members quietly talked among themselves about the case.
“Not since you saw a newborn look at you like that,” answered the other.
No, a colleague answered. Still, perhaps all these observations are less significant than we make them out to be.
Have you thought about using synchronized monitors? Nurse Riley continued to enquire.
“I’m guessing it was a temporary loss of electricity,” someone said.
Are these changes happening simultaneously? In different places?” she doubted.
Eventually, Dr. Havel realized, “He’s not average.” Clearly, that’s the case.”
Her son was named Josiah to honor her grandfather, who thought that some people make a quiet entrance into life and others transform it simply by being born.
She hadn’t experienced the truth of those words yet.
After the incident, the maternity ward began to feel quite different from before. From her perspective, fear had nothing to do with it. It was a strong, subtle feeling, like before the wind picks up for a storm.
We monitored the monitors more frequently. I heard whispers more and more. Everywhere in the ward seemed to be under observation.
The spotlight in this story was on Josiah.
To begin with, he acted like any other infant, feeding and resting normally, but some ongoing unusual things happened.
Nurse Riley was convinced she noticed the oxygen monitor strap shift on its own one night. The next morning, the electronic records system on the pediatric floor stopped working for a very precise ninety-one seconds. Also at that time, the abnormal heart rates of three premature infants returned to normal without medical treatment.
The hospital said it was just a small software glitch. Yet, many people began to record their own insights.
Not all of these songs were about joy or excitement.
When the nurse heard her daughter lost a scholarship, she stood at Josiah’s side to get her emotions under control. When the baby touched her wrist, she said it made her feel calm and relaxed, almost as if something inside her had moved.
At the conclusion of the week, Dr. Havel suggested monitoring Kouame more closely with non-invasive methods. The findings were extremely surprising: Josiah’s heartrate matched the alpha brainwave pattern of a calm adult.
When a technician made contact with the sensor, he noticed that his pulse beat in line with the baby’s within seconds.
Nobody used the word “miracle.” Not yet.
However, another patient near me was quickly hemorrhaging. Her blood pressure and oxygen levels plummeted very low. At exactly that instant, Josiah’s monitor did not respond for twelve seconds, without showing any signs of shocked or worried reaction.
Afterwards, his rhythm improved and the patient recovered, but nobody understood how.
Rumors spread. Another memo was sent: “Keep the existence of child #J confidential. Use standard practices when interacting with them.”
Each time the staff walked past his room, they smiled. Only when someone around him cried would he respond with a cry.
The moment Amira’s intern wondered if she sensed a difference in her son, she smiled.
Maybe people are finally starting to understand what I have always understood. Ordinary was never his path from the start.
They went home from the hospital quietly on their seventh day. And people everywhere knew — things were not the same anymore.
