In Sickness and in Health

When my wife, Megan, and I exchanged our wedding vows early in 2024, promising to love each other “in sickness and in health,” we never imagined how quickly we would be tested. Just a few months after our wedding, our lives took an unexpected turn that would stretch our faith in ways we could never have foreseen.

It began on a seemingly normal July morning. Megan was 23 weeks pregnant when her water broke unexpectedly. At the time, I didn’t know how serious it was — I even went back to sleep after she mentioned “feeling like she peed herself.” But later that morning, a trip to the midwife confirmed our fears. Megan was diagnosed with preterm premature rupture of membranes (PPROM) and was told to check into the hospital immediately.

The doctors told us to prepare for an early delivery and laid out the risks: our baby had less than a 20% chance of survival in the event of immediate birth, and even if he survived, there was an 80% chance of severe complications. Megan was admitted to the hospital, and our long journey began.

For the next ten weeks, Megan remained on strict bed rest at the hospital, while I stayed by her side as much as possible. We lived in that small hospital room, finding a new rhythm amidst constant fetal monitoring, medical updates, and the anxiety of not knowing what would happen next. Every day was a battle to keep our baby safe, and every hour that passed without labor felt like a small victory.

During that time, we clung to God’s promises, the prayers of our community, and our families. Our church, family, and friends surrounded us with love and support, meeting us in our darkest moments. They brought meals, played games with us, and prayed for our son around the clock. Their faith helped sustain us when ours felt weak.

In a nearly certifiable medical miracle, Megan made it to 34 weeks gestation without giving birth — a milestone we didn’t think possible when we first arrived at the hospital 72 days earlier. Our son, Courtmon Jay Ferraguti, was born on September 12 at 4 pounds 5 ounces, and for one beautiful moment, we held him and marveled at his sweet face. I didn’t know you could fall in love so quickly, and as I heard his cries, my heart melted for this life we had created. But the challenges had only just begun. Court’s lungs were severely underdeveloped due to the lack of amniotic fluid, and he was rushed to the NICU only minutes after birth.

The days that followed were among the hardest of our lives. Machines hummed around him, keeping him alive, while his fragile body struggled to breathe. He faced dangerous complications, including pulmonary hypertension, pulmonary hypoplasia, and a brain bleed. Watching him fight for every breath, hooked up to countless tubes and IVs, was heart-wrenching. Through tears, I remember telling my mom, “Mom, they have to keep him sedated with a fentanyl drip because he’s trying so hard to breathe and fighting the ventilator. They have to paralyze him. I can’t save him, Mom.” We felt utterly powerless, clinging to the hope that God would sustain him.

In those moments of despair, we saw God’s grace in unexpected ways. We witnessed small but significant miracles — a sudden improvement in Court’s oxygen levels, a nurse who prayed for him during her shifts, and a medical team whose care felt like God’s provision. One night, after weeks of setbacks, Court’s breathing improved enough to move from an oscillating ventilator to a conventional one — a breakthrough we had desperately prayed for.

One of the most poignant moments in this journey came during Court’s transfer to a new hospital for specialized care — a decision that ultimately proved life-saving. Before the move, the EMS crew administered an extra dose of sedation to keep him calm and prevent him from fighting the ventilator, as hospitals cannot transfer fentanyl due to drug regulations. Still, there was uncertainty about whether the sedation would last through the journey. Megan rode in the ambulance with Court in the back, surrounded by the hum of machines and tangled lines of life-sustaining equipment.

As I drove to the hospital with buckets of iced breast milk in my arms, I prayed that God would give us a sign that He was still with us. When I arrived, I was directed to use what the staff called the “butterfly elevators.” Stepping inside, I noticed the walls were adorned with images of butterflies — a symbol that had repeatedly surfaced during this season. It first appeared in a prophetic word spoken over Court in the NICU by a member of our church and later resonated as I remembered how the butterfly symbolized hope in my favorite movie, I Am Legend.

Though I grew up in a Presbyterian church where prophetic words were far outside the norm, during these desperate days, I longed for a God of miracles — a Holy Spirit, tongues-of-fire kind of God. The butterfly elevators were a small, unexpected confirmation that God was walking with us every step of the way, even in something as ordinary as an elevator ride.

Throughout this journey, God has not only sustained Court but also transformed us. The sleepless nights and moments of helplessness led me to a deeper understanding of God’s love. Holding my son in his fragile state, I was struck by the reality that Jesus, the Savior of the world, came into this life as a baby — helpless, vulnerable, and dependent. God chose to enter our brokenness, becoming like us. As a recent sermon put it, “In the cries of this baby, God shouted, ‘I am here to rescue you.’”

Court came home on December 20, 2024 — the greatest Christmas gift we could imagine. His care is intensive, requiring round-the-clock medical attention, medications, breathing treatments, and feedings every three hours. While we’re in awe of the miracle God has worked in our baby’s life, we’re also overwhelmed by the challenges ahead. As for Court’s future, he might live a relatively normal life, perhaps with mild asthma, or he could face severe cerebral palsy due to his brain bleed. Through it all, we’re learning to trust in God’s goodness, even when our deepest prayers go unanswered. Since learning of Meg’s pregnancy, we’ve been praying fervently for our baby boy — and that hasn’t changed. The only difference now is that our prayers rise above the soft hum of his oxygen concentrator. With each breath he takes, our gratitude grows.

Court’s life is a testament to God’s sustaining power, and our story is a reminder that even in the darkest valleys, Emmanuel still means “God with us.” The journey hasn’t been easy, but it has been filled with moments of profound grace — grace that carried us when we couldn’t carry ourselves, grace that reminded us we are never alone, and grace that continues to sustain us every day.