THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, May 12, 1996 TAG: 9605100078
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY DIANE TENNANT, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 114 lines
JAMONTAY WAS BORN too soon, and the hospital called one night to say the baby was in a hurry to leave the world as well.
His mother would not let him go.
``Jamontay,'' Cheryl Gatlin called, leaning over the intensive care crib.
We've had him baptized, the doctor said.
``Mommy's here.''
We're giving him all the help these machines and tubes and monitors can give.
``Jamontay.''
I can't get enough oxygen into his blood, the doctor said. He's dying. Pray.
``Mommy's here.''
Two-month-old Jamontay heard Gatlin's voice that August night, opened his eyes and looked at her. He smiled a little and closed his eyes again. The monitors stabilized.
Gatlin would keep her second son.
Looking back, neonatologist Dr. Glen Green says Gatlin deserves as much credit for Jamontay's survival as does the staff of the intensive care unit. ``If they give out medals for motherhood,'' he said, ``she would get one.''
Gatlin knew early in her second pregnancy that motherhood would not be easy this time around. Her dangerously high blood pressure forced her into bed at just four months along.
She lay on her left side in a bed at Sentara Norfolk General Hospital, a monitor strapped to her abdomen to record the baby's heartbeat.
After 25 days, the doctors decided they had run out of time. We have to deliver the baby, they said. Now.
``His heartbeat was fading in and out and they told me it was time to deliver before he was any sicker,'' Gatlin recalled. ``They had Dr. Green come over and talk to me.''
An emergency C-section on June 28, and Gatlin was a mother again. But she barely had a glimpse of Jamontay. He wasn't due until September, and his premature lungs weren't working. Doctors began giving him oxygen in the operating room, and whisked him to the neonatal intensive care unit at Children's Hospital of The King's Daughters. It was two days before Gatlin saw her son again.
``He was so tiny,'' she said. ``A bunch of hair layin' up there, and all those machines. He was just this little, teeny ol' thing in this big ol' bed.''
One pound, 11 ounces. So fragile the nurses wouldn't let Gatlin pick him up. But she reached in among the wires and rubbed his hand, his foot, whatever she could touch.
And then she was discharged, home to her 12-year-old son, Jamaal. Jamontay stayed behind.
So Gatlin - single, no car, welfare - began seven months of daily vigils. She would get Jamaal off to school, then walk to the bus, transfer to another bus to get from Sewells Point to downtown. An hour later, she would be at Jamontay's side.
She decorated his crib for holidays: Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas. She talked to him. She learned all about his medical problems.
She made tapes of herself reading books, tapes of herself singing. ``Jesus Loves the Little Children.'' ``Amazing Grace.''
Gatlin gave the tapes to the nurses to play for Jamontay when she couldn't be there, which wasn't often.
``She made more effort than I've seen many moms do,'' Green said. ``She definitely was an attentive and caring mother. I wish all parents were like that.''
Jamontay didn't make things easy on his mother. The blood vessels in his eyes grew erratically, requiring laser surgery. His stomach muscles wouldn't tighten properly, and he couldn't keep food down. More surgery. He didn't learn to suck or swallow. He had hernias in both sides of his groin. Surgery again. His lungs were weak.
He struggled along until one night in August.
``I remember one evening having to call his family in,'' Green said. ``I thought he was going to die. He was so bad. I was using all the medical technologies I had. I told them `I'm doing all I can from the medical side and now it's up to God.' ''
The family gathered, cried and prayed together in the waiting room. Gatlin collected herself and went to her child's bedside.
She called his name. ``Next thing I knew, he had moved a little,'' Gatlin said. ``I called his name again. Next thing I know he opened his eyes. `Oh, Mommy's out there.' I stayed there with him, I stayed there with him.''
She stayed until February. The decorations went up and came down, went up and came down.
``I refused to decorate it for Valentine's Day,'' Gatlin said. ``I said, he's going to be out of there by Valentine's Day.''
He was. Now Jamontay is home, with his oxygen tanks, a feeding tube into his stomach and visits from therapists and nurses. His brother likes to make him laugh, and he watches the baby's monitors when Gatlin needs a break or a nap.
Gatlin rises at 5 a.m. to give medicines and food. She goes to bed at 11 p.m., expecting to get up two or three times during the night.
``It's not hard,'' she said. ``He give me joy and happiness just like any other babies. I wouldn't change a thing.''
Jamontay will outgrow his need for oxygen and for the feeding tube, Green predicted, and the baby's further development should be normal. He might need glasses.
``All I can say is, she came in that night and she stayed there with him and he started to turn around,'' Green said. ``He did come back. It was spooky. There are times when the power of love. . . .'' He paused for a moment.
``That would fit the bill.'' ILLUSTRATION: PHOTOS BY HUY NGUYEN/The Virginian-Pilot
Cheryl Gatlin lies down with son Jamontay on her bed giving him his
5 a.m. medication. Below Jamontay receives his medicine through his
stomach six times a day.
KEYWORDS: PREMATURE BABIES by CNB