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SOUTH VIENNA, Ohio — The scars on 9-year-old Aubrey Murray's body are evidence of her life's struggle.

"I have 25 of 'em," she said.

Aubrey lifts her shirt, revealing a large scar vertically along her abdomen. Three times doctors used 30 staples to close her up after repairing and relocating her organs.

Among doctors she is considered a medical miracle.

Aubrey knows she is not a typical kid. She's spent three birthdays in the hospital and has a team of doctors.

Her medical chart reads like a laundry list: asthma, cerebral palsy, scoliosis, seizures and occasional pneumonia, to name a few.

Her mother, Shelly, has doctors' personal cell phone numbers just in case. They call from time to time to check on their miracle baby — the one they write journals about.

The Murrays' favorite is Dr. Rod Batie of Community Hospital, now called Springfield Regional Medical Center.

"If it wasn't for him, Aubrey would not be alive today," Shelly said.

Eight months into her third pregnancy, Shelly noticed her legs were starting to swell and her stomach was getting big.

Too big.

Until late that summer in 1998, everything with Shelly's pregnancy was going according to plan. In a house full of males — her husband Clinton and sons Dalton and Landon — Shelly couldn't wait for another girl to be around.

"But I knew something wasn't right," she said. "A little swelling is normal, especially since I've already had two kids, but my legs were huge."

Shelly had twice the normal amount of amniotic fluid, which occurs in about 1 percent of pregnant women.

Concerned about the swelling, Batie ordered an ultrasound. It showed tiny air bubbles in Aubrey's underdeveloped lungs. Her organs were out of place.

"Aubrey wasn't recycling the fluid like she should," Shelly said. "The amniotic fluid had no where to go."

During gestation a fetus takes in the fluid and uses it as a source of nutrition and building of muscles, lungs and digestive system. It is part of the fetus's life support.

The next day the Murrays met with doctors at St. Elizabeth Hospital in Dayton.

Aubrey developed congenital diaphragmatic hernia, or CDH, a defect caused by a hole in the diaphragm, a membrane that separates the digestive system from the chest organs. Single CDH occurs about one in every 2,200 infants, according to the University of Michigan's Pediatric Center.

In Aubrey's case, the entire left side of her diaphragm was too weak to hold things in place. Her organs gathered near the top of her chest, floating like astronauts in a tiny space shuttle.

Her heart was on the right side of her chest and lung tissue was basically nonexistent.

Aubrey's condition was the worst Batie had seen in his 16 years as a doctor.

Doctors told the Murrays Aubrey had less than a 10 percent chance of surviving without viable lungs and would be born a month early.

"That was a terrible day," Clinton Murray said. "Our world changed like that, man. It was devastating."

Shelly and Clinton still don't remember how they walked out of the hospital that day or how they got through the weekend with a week full of ultrasounds and tests ahead of them.

Shelly hung onto hope and wondered how they were going to explain this to their two sons. Clinton was numb.

Just before they reached Interstate 70 near Huber Heights, Clinton pulled off to the side of the road and stopped the car. He broke down.

"I just started screaming and banging on the steering wheel," he said. "I couldn't hold it in anymore. Couldn't handle it."

From birth to bypass

There were no "It's a girl" balloons, high-fives or hugs when Aubrey was welcomed into the world on the morning of Sept. 17, 1998.

Clinton and Shelly weren't even allowed to touch their 7-pound, 4-ounce baby girl.

As soon as she was pulled from the womb by Cesarean section Aubrey began her fight to live. Ninety times out of a 100, babies like Aubrey don't make it past the first hour.

She was intubated, though Batie still doesn't know how since she had virtually no lung tissue.

There was an ambulance crew from Children's Medical Center waiting to take Aubrey from Springfield to Dayton. The crew thought it was pointless to be there, Batie said.

"They thought she would die within five minutes (of being born)," Batie said. "I held out more hope. I guess that's just my personality."

Clinton Murray followed the ambulance while the crew inside was fighting to keep Aubrey breathing. During their battle, they blew out what little there was of her right lung.

At Children's Medical center doctors worked quickly to repair Aubrey's diaphragm and move her organs around.

Once stabilized, Aubrey was taken to Miami Valley Hospital's neonatal unit where she was hooked up to a heart and lung bypass machine.

"We got very lucky because there was a child that just came off the machine as Aubrey was born," Shelly said. "If that machine wasn't available, Aubrey wouldn't have made it."

The morning after undergoing a C-section, Shelly was taken to Miami Valley Hospital. She couldn't walk and pain was shooting through her abdomen.

Doctors told her she might want to be with Aubrey since time could be precious.

But Aubrey made it through the second night. Batie called the next day to check on her and the day after that.

Aubrey was left on bypass for almost two weeks so her lungs and body could rest. Doctors told Clinton and Shelly no child had ever lived more than 14 days on the heart-lung bypass machine.

On day 13 they told the Murrays to prepare for the worst.

Then, in a moment that Clinton dubbed the "breaking point," Miami Valley doctor Marc Belcastro decided to take one radical shot.

Aubrey's right lung was not expanding because blood had clotted around it. Belcastro inserted a tube to try to drain it.

"When he did that, all this blood and gunk started flowing out and her lung went poof," said Clinton, opening his hand from a closed fist.

The Murrays believe right then is when Aubrey shattered all odds.

Her body responded instantly and she was given oxygen.

Shelly finally got to hold Aubrey on Oct. 18. Aubrey developed asthma due to undersized lungs and was still on a ventilator a month after that.

Aubrey was 12 weeks old before she was cleared to go home.

Doctors told the Murrays not to let anyone in the house for fear of Aubrey catching a virus. When family came to visit, they had to stand outside and look at her through a window at the back of the house.

"I know our family thought we were crazy and being somewhat over the top," Clinton said. "But what do you do in those situations? You do everything. Whatever it takes."

A therapy 'Dogtor'

Bob Wisenberger found Duke at the Clark County Humane Society. The golden retriever had the disposition of a friendly grandpa.

But he's no ordinary man's best friend.

Duke is a "Dogtor."

That's the name of Wisenberger's program that trains owners and their dogs to become four-legged, roaming therapy units. He does not charge for the service and usually adopts dogs from shelters and trains them to work with people.

"I always hold a special place in my heart for therapy dogs because they help people," said Dr. Joe Maynard, one of Duke's two veterinarians. "Those dogs help people live longer and bring smiles to their faces."

Aubrey Murray, then a 7-year-old second-grader at South Vienna Elementary School, met Duke when Dogtors visited her school.

"I love Duke," she said. "I remember when I saw him he came over and licked me."

But Duke is a very sick dog.

"Duke has (irritable bowel syndrome) and there is no cure for it," said Dr. Dana King, Duke's other veterinarian. "His body does not absorb the nutrients he needs to be healthy."

Duke's digestive system rebels against him constantly and does not respond to medication. If he doesn't throw up what he eats, he has diarrhea.

He's easy to blame if suddenly the air goes rank.

His condition sometimes keeps him from working with Aubrey and other patients.

"I had a therapy dog and if you have ever had one you'd know that they look forward to going to work," Maynard said. "All I had to say to my dog was 'work' and he would get excited."

About nine months ago Duke was having another flare-up — his worst bout to date.

Duke was taken to MedVets in Columbus on Sept. 14 where doctors told Wisenberger if they did not operate Duke wouldn't make it.

While Duke was in surgery, Wisenberger's cell phone lit up and Shelly Murray's name appeared.

Aubrey had been rushed into surgery after doctors found she had an obstructed bowel. Shelly wanted to know if Duke could come cheer her up.

"It's just weird that they went through kind of the same thing within hours, I mean literally hours of each other," Wisenberger said.

Aubrey's operation was a success. Duke's prognosis was not as bright. He still wasn't eating, and when he did, his body did not use the food.

By the end of December, Duke weighed under 30 pounds, half his healthy body weight. At the beginning of January, Wisenberger carried Duke into Northside Veterinary Clinic in Springfield.

Duke was dying.

"He couldn't even lift his head he was so weak," Maynard said. "He just lay on his side."

Maynard told Wisenberger Duke was out of options.

He needed a miracle.

"I just said if this is it, take Duke off his meds and let him eat whatever he wants and be happy," Maynard said. "He deserved that."

Wisenberger fed Duke some of his favorite meals: Homemade chicken breast and brown rice, green beans and cheese.

Somehow, Duke rebounded.

Now Duke trots around, occasionally nuzzling a hand to pet him. He is even getting his bark back.

Maynard and King said Duke's recovery defies all medical reasoning.

Duke's long-term prognosis isn't good and Maynard said he doesn't think Duke is getting better, he's just happier.

"I think it's a miracle," Aubrey said last week as she tossed Duke a special ball that doesn't roll far since he can't run yet.

The word miracle gets tossed around a lot in the Murray's farmhouse where Clinton grew up.

Besides Aubrey's recent scare with an obstructed bowel, things have been relatively quiet.

It's a welcomed change of pace.

Aubrey knows she might have to endure more surgeries and battle the affects of CDH all her life. But she's excited that her braces are coming off soon and hopes to add to her collection of shoes and purses. She loves chocolate and tormenting her two older brothers.

It's in those moments she forgets about her plight.

Sitting on her couch next to Duke, Aubrey recognized the odds she's overcome while running her hands over his boney head.

"Mom, isn't that what you say about me? I'm a miracle?" Aubrey asked.

"Yes, that's right, because you are," Shelly replied.

A wide smile that always gets Aubrey out of trouble with her dad emerges as she plays with Duke's ears.

"You're our miracle baby," Shelly said.