“How you feelin’ today babe?” Josh Warren asked.  His wife Jaime was sitting on the couch in their family room on a warm southern California morning in October holding her head.

“I’m still seeing double,” Jaime said, "and my head feels so heavy." Both she and Josh attributed the trouble to the pain pills and heavy doses of antibiotics Jaime had been taking due to an infection following the birth of their baby. Their son, Cole, had been delivered by an emergency C-section just seven weeks before (August 22) and Jaime still was “just not feeling like myself.”

Two days earlier, Jaime talked to her obstetrician about her complaints and the doctor advised her refrain from driving until they were able to figure out what was going on. In an effort to find answers, Jaime went to her optometrist who confirmed her double vision but only sent her home with new contacts. That night she suddenly vomited, which she found strange since she wasn't nauseated at all.

That Saturday, October 11, 2008, her mother and her mother-in-law were visiting, knowing Jaime wasn't feeling well.  Already worried that Jaime was sicker than she knew, alarm bells went off in Kay's head when she saw that Jaime couldn't walk a straight line and she urged her to get herself checked out.  Later that day, Jaime reluctantly gave in to the concern expressed to her from everyone around her. Remembering the unexpected difficulty she’d had with Cole, who had been a premature, breech baby and had to be resuscitated at birth, Josh and Jaime thought it was best to play it safe. He drove Jaime to Mission Hospital where a CT scan showed a shadow at the base of her brain.  The CT scan also revealed severe hydrocephalus with three times the amount of cerebrospinal fluid than she should have. This accounted for the intracranial pressure she had been experiencing. An MRI taken later in the ER confirmed the terrible news:  a 2-3cm tumor was growing in Jaime's brain.

“God, how can this be true?” Josh wondered.  “We nearly lost Cole and now I could lose Jaime? I am not prepared to be a single father!”  In front of Jaime he was loving and supportive—in private moments he dropped to his knees and sobbed.  The weekend was a time of anguished uncertainty, and only little Cole offered them any solace.  The baby was now vibrant and healthy—it was his mother who was in extreme distress. The nurses in the ICU were faithful to sneak Cole in to visit Jaime. Unfortunately, the powerful steroids given to reduce the pressure in her brain made breastfeeding her son no longer an option, and this brand new, first-time mom had to surrender Cole's care to loyal friends and family members.

Doctors were divided about treatment and surgical procedures. To add to the uncertainty, Jaime had a blood clotting disorder that complicated and made surgery more dangerous. Josh turned to Dr. L. Stuart Nagasawa, (Hematologist, Oncology, Mission Viejo, California), a family friend who had also been his mother’s cancer doctor.  Given the complexity of Jaime's situation, Dr. Nagasawa recommended Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center where Dr. Neil Martin, was chief of neurosurgery.

On Monday, October 13, Jaime was transported by ambulance to the newly finished UCLA hospital where she underwent a more comprehensive MRI. It revealed an entangled vascular tumor—only it was not 2-3 cm.  It was 4 or 5 cm and it was pressing on her cerebellum—that accounted for the wobbly walk and balance. It was also pinching her optic nerves, giving her double vision.

That evening, they MET with Dr. Martin for the first time.  He calmly told them that a craniotomy to remove the tumor was absolutely necessary and the sooner the better.  When Josh and Jaime asked about the risk of complications of the surgery he told them, “The risks of surgery are stroke, blindness and paralysis--OR DEATH. The risks of not operating” he added, “are stroke, blindness, paralysis—or death.”

Dr. Martin ordered a cranial angiogram for the next day, but discovered that because of the tumor’s connection to vital blood supply, they was unable to shut off many of the blood vessels. An additional piece of shocking information came from the procedure:  the tumor was 7 cm, roughly the size and diameter of a tennis ball.

At 10AM on Wednesday, October 15, family and friends lined the hall between the ICU and the elevator, quietly cheering, clapping and whispering words of love as Jaime's gurney passed by.  Jaime told everyone she would see them later, fully expecting to see them all in 12-16 hours.  Josh walked with her as far as he was allowed to go, finally stopping at a red line. They kissed and said "I love you" to each other.  As Dr. Martin used a blue Sharpie to mark an X on the left side of Jaime's head, she was unaware of all the fears in Josh's heart.  Jaime's "goodbye" meant just for a little while, but Josh's "goodbye" held a long term meaning; he feared that he might not see her again until Heaven.

The family and friends found chairs in the large, crowded surgical waiting room.  Shortly, Josh appeared in the doorway.  His face contorted by sorrow and fear, he collapsed into Rick's arms.  He had been so brave, so calm, so full of faith, but when Jaime handed him her glasses case in the OR, the grim reality of what might happen in the next few hours overwhelmed him.  He grabbed a blanket and hid his nearly six foot frame behind the chairs. Lying on the floor, he shut out the world, withdrawing from conversations and interactions. He communed with God in ways that only open up when our hearts are in deepest despair.

The noise and closeness of other families waiting for news of their loved ones seemed intrusive. A kind nurse offered them a little-used waiting room on another floor, closer to the operating room.  There were about 25 people at that point, and between blankets, backpacks, coolers of snacks and drinks, they spilled out of the new waiting area onto the cold tile floor in front of a bank of elevators. No one minded; their minds were on the delicate surgery taking place just a short distance away.

Every few hours, someone in the OR would call and give an update on the surgery.  All activity in the room would grind to a halt at the ringing of the phone and everyone crowded closer to catch every word. After each phone call, Jaime's loved ones would hold hands and pray that whatever procedure was being attempted at that moment would be successful.  At the 13th hour, a nurse came out to tell them that the tumor was entangled with all the nerves on the left hemisphere of Jaime’s brain.

Late in the afternoon, the elevators opened and two guys from Josh and Jaime's small group, plus Josh's mentor emerged.  Their stricken faces spoke of their love for Josh and he ran to them.  Their presence with him that afternoon was a tangible reminder that God had not forgotten him or his precious Jaime.

After more than 20 hours, an exhausted Dr. Martin finally showed up in the waiting area.  It was hard to read anything on his face, but he firmly assured Josh that Jaime was doing well.  Someone summoned up the courage to ask about possible impairments that Jaime might experience.  He broke the news that she had almost certainly lost the hearing in her left ear, saying "It's just too soon to know if there is any other permanent damage."   Many of the family hugged this reserved, but kind physician, telling him they were certain God had directed his hands during the 20 plus hours of surgery.

Thanking God, several of their friends and family were finally able go to the hotel for a much needed rest. Josh, Kay, Jaime's sister, Mandy, Josh's aunt and a few friends stayed in the waiting room, too nervous to leave.  They curled up on couch cushions and tried to nap.  Josh was asleep when a nurse called to tell him a CT scan showed that Jaime was in trouble and they were rushing her back to surgery.  She had developed a brain bleed and pressure was building in her brain.

Dr. Martin briefed the family before heading back into the OR.  Josh asked, "How serious is this?  Is this a normal complication?"  Dr. Martin's response:  "This is life threatening."  Kay hesitantly asked, "How long is the time frame between life threatening and fatal?"  "It totally depends on how quickly we can find the bleed and stop it" he replied.  With those grim words, he walked quickly out of the room.  Those in the waiting room sank on the couches feeling a mixture of terror and overload.  Josh hit his limit - numb and unable to respond emotionally, no longer begging God for Jaime's life, he began preparing himself to lose her.

Another intense five hours passed while Josh and his family waited to see if the highly skilled surgical team would be able to pull off another miracle.  Against high odds, they quickly found the bleed and began to repair it.  But the stakes got even higher that Jaime would suffer permanent damage, either to her body and/or her mind.

At 5 pm Thursday, October 16 - 36 hours after their tender goodbyes in the operating room, Josh was allowed to go in and see Jaime for the first time. He was given 30 seconds.  IV stands, clicking monitors, machine displaying electronic graphs that charted her vital signs surrounded her bed. An endotracheal tube ran down her throat. Seeing her arms and legs tied to the bed frame so she wouldn’t thrash and rip out tubes, tears welled in his eyes. He couldn’t even kiss her.

The next 27 days took this young couple on a wild roller coaster ride of setbacks and victories, each victory seeming more miraculous than the one before. Kay began to frame this difficult time in their lives as "a series of tragedies wrapped in miracles." That Jaime lived through Cole's emergency birth without having to push during delivery saved her life.  A miracle!  That her family and friends pushed her to seek help when disturbing neurological symptoms appeared saved her life.  A miracle!  That she was able to get medical help at two excellent local hospitals within days saved her life.  A miracle! That the chief of neurosurgery agreed to take her case saved her life.  A miracle! That the surgical team was able to separate the unbelievably intertwined nerves and blood vessels from a rare, huge vascular tumor without causing her extensive impairment or death was a miracle! That the team was able to find the brain bleed and repair it saved her life.  A miracle!  That she was able to come off the ventilator within 3 days of  the two brain surgeries - miraculous!  That Jaime was able to be taken off the gastric feeding tube in two days, despite predictions that her partially paralyzed left vocal cord would not heal for 2-3 months - miraculous!  That she was able to walk with a walker within a week and a half - more than miraculous. One of the head physicians at UCLA was standing with Josh in the hall as Jaime and her walk practically ran around the ICU, challenging her physical therapist to keep up.  Tears welled up in his eyes and he whispered the words "You have no idea what a miracle this is."  A major setback came when the cerebral spinal fluid could not drain properly and a third brain surgery was
required.  The odds of the surgery being successful were only about 60%, and if it failed, Jaime would have to have a permanent shunt put in her brain.  One more miracle - the surgery worked and no shunt was required.

Finally, on November 7, doctors allowed her to go home.  She had lost several sections of her hair; her scars were fiery red and fierce looking.  She was pale, exhausted, and tired of machines, monitors and hospital food. The surgeries and medications had made it impossible for her to breastfeed Cole, and she was desperately missing extended times of holding and cuddling her little boy.  When she went into the hospital, he was a tiny, shapeless little bundle, but four weeks later, he was now a squirming healthy three-month-old. Through her ordeal, her desire to take care of Cole and Josh pushed her to work extremely hard at recovery.  The family had been cautioned shortly after her first surgeries to just wait and see what her rehabilitation would look like - it would range from leaving UCLA for months at a rehab hospital, to going home with multiple impairments, to walking unassisted to her car.  The bow on top of the package for Josh, Jaime and Cole was the fact that Jaime was able to put herself in the family car for the drive home to Mission Viejo.

Today, Jaime is a walking miracle.  A few months of physical therapy restored her balance, she has learned how to position herself in a conversation so that the loss of hearing in her left ear is only a minor inconvenience, and she confidently and competently manages her home and her family.  At times, family members look at her and shake their heads in amazement - it all looked so bleak for a while, and yet, here she is…..

Looking back at emails and journal entries from Josh and his family to the thousands of people from around the world who supported them in prayer, it's clear that the strength to go through the crisis came primarily from their deep relationship with God.  They never assumed or presumed that God would heal Jaime; their pleas on her behalf were with hearts open to accepting whatever God had in store for them.  Josh repeatedly said "God is our Rock and we can trust him."  They believed that God was good, and that he would direct their lives, giving Josh strength to raise Cole by himself if Jaime went on to Heaven, and would give both of them the strength to face the challenges that would come if Jaime lived but was left physically or mentally impaired. They fully recognized that many other people receive a different outcome from their battle with tumors and brain surgeries, and know that for reasons they don't fully understand, God had mercy on Jaime.  They don't believe that mercy came because they had more faith than other people or because of Josh's dad's fame.  It remains a mystery, but a mystery they are grateful for. "I know I would have eventually been ok if Jaime died," Josh said. "I would have grieved for a long time, but I'm certain God would have provided all that I needed to be a good dad to Cole. To have Jaime by my side is a miracle I'll never get over. It makes me want to live my life more fully for Christ" he says.