Showing posts with label Whispers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Whispers. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

{ Some Days }

Some days I realize I will never be able to say enough thank-yous for the graces drenching my life
 
His living Word
renewing and transforming heart, mind and soul
perfect for each day
that He wrote us a book so we can know Him and His love--
amazing!

Mike--this man who makes me coffee in the morning before he goes to work
and warms my coffee cup with hot water
and sets out the cream for me
and always kisses me goodbye
working so hard so I don't need to provide an income
cheerfully, daily, laying down his life for his girls
and counting it all joy
 
This babycakes girl
healthy--so healthy!
chattering up a storm
studies everything intently
happy to play with strings and straps
always always reaching for me
naptime snuggles
chubby dimpled fingers and elbows
eyes that smile like her Grandpa Duck's
 
This sweet little treehouse
easy to clean
painted colors I love
minutes from beach, lighthouse, so much beauty
 
Friends
shared meals
laughter
tears and prayer
 
Telephones
internet
how did people stay in touch before?!
 
So much.
So thankful.
So daily.
If His grace is an ocean, we're all sinking.
 


Tuesday, December 4, 2012

{ It's the Most Wonderful Tiiiiiiiiiime }

...of the year!

How is it already December, pray tell? I could have sworn that Halloween was last week. My own home betrays my sense of time: Our tree is up and decorated, twinkle lights strung, and--get this!--most of the Christmas shopping done! {Thanks to the internets.} I've been listening to this Christmas album constantly for the last week or so; the last song gives me chills every time. Let me share a couple verses with you:

When on the day the great I Am
The faithful and the true
The Lamb who was for sinners slain
Is making all things new.

Behold our God shall live with us
And be our steadfast light
And we shall ere his people be
All glory be to Christ!

All glory be to Christ our king!
All glory be to Christ!
His rule and reign will ever sing,
All glory be to Christ!


{ lyrics by Dustin Kensrue }

Beautiful, isn't it? It blows my mind to think of God--God--living with us. Humans. I can't remember if I mentioned this before, but in October I went to a womens conference at my church. Elyse Fitzpatrick was the speaker, and though the conference was called "Counsel from the Cross," the bulk of her talk was about the gospel and what that means for our identities and our daily lives. Now, I have never read a single one of her books, though I own at least one, but wow...Jesus met me in her words. I've known Jesus all my life, as far back as I can remember, but something about the way Elyse presented the gospel and tied it to real life--it's like a switch flipped in my brain. I get the gospel and Jesus and Calvary and grace in a different way now. A way that makes my breath catch. A way that makes sense...in a way that causes me to actually believe that I am a worse sinner than I can imagine, and that God loves and welcomes me more than I will ever know. I "get" the way Elyse thinks and speaks, if that makes any sense. I came home hungry for Jesus, and in my spare quiet moments {ha} I've been listening to audio recordings of some of her other talks online. In the midst of this, I'm also finishing up reading Redemption by Mike Wilkerson, which looks at the gospel through the lens of the Exodus story of the Israelites being delivered from Egypt. The section I'm in right now talks about how the whole point of the Bible--the whole point of God's redemptive plan--is that God might live with us. Make His dwelling among us. Which ties in with a lot of the truths I'm mulling over from Elyse's presentations. And it's Christmastime, the season when we celebrate God sending His Son to redeem us from our sin by living with us and dying for us, bearing God's wrath in our place. I feel like there are a lot of loose ends God is gently weaving together in my soul right now. It's an exciting place to be.

Oh--and have any of you heard of this book, Delighting in the Trinity: An Introduction to the Christian Faith? I am dying to read it! I read a review of it that piqued my interest, but Mike was skeptical...so I dug around online and found that Tim Challies gives it his "absolute highest recommendation," which only makes me wish for an audio version because when am I going to have time to read another book? Guess I'll add it to the pile...after I read at least one by Elyse Fitzpatrick. ;-)

And with that, I'll close. If I don't wake Lainie up from her nap now, we may never get to sleep tonight!

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

{ on fear }

In my head, I do battle with SIDS daily.

I think that I have a great excuse for being freaked out that sudden infant death syndrome may sneak into our home: We've already been the ones with the perfectly healthy baby who is suddengly diagnosed with a serious anomaly on her second ultrasound. We've been the 1 in 400,000. We've drawn the short straw once already. Suddenly dangerously ill babies are no longer something that happens to "other people." That was us. Fear covers me like a cloak and I walk through my days and nights wondering when "it" is going to happen to us again...whatever sinister thing "it" may be.

I sneak into her room to check her breathing. Naps. Nighttime. Whenever she's asleep.

Often I get a little knot in the pit of my stomach when Mike leaves for work in the morning. What if Lainie doesn't wake up and I'm the only one here?

Last night Lainie just wouldn't fall asleep. She woke up every hour between 9pm and 1am, and then again at 4:15. One of those times, after I got her settled again and was thinking something along the
lines of "at least if she's crying I know she's alive," the Holy Spirit nudged me.

I think I'm protecting Lainie from SIDS. I put her to sleep on her back, with a pacifier. I try not to let her get overheated. I follow the recommendations.

And I pray for her. Every stinkin' time I put her down to sleep, I pray for protection from physical danger. {That's my code phrase for "SIDS" because I don't want to actually talk about it, say it, admit it--so I sort of wink at God when I say that and hope He knows what I mean.}

Somehow, I think that if I do all the "right things" and pray for her, that she will be okay.

The flip side is that I also think that she is one forgotten prayer away from...you know, "physical danger."

I had a crystal-clear mental picture of how I approach praying for Lainie's safety: God is a cosmic machine that's about to dispense SIDS, and as I pray I'm punching specific buttons in a certain order. As long as I punch the right buttons in the right order, Lainie escapes harm. Thus, I deceive myself into thinking I control Lainie's safety. The flip side, though, is that if I forget to pray--if I say the wrong words, or put them in the wrong order, or whatever--then it's my fault if something bad happens to her.

I was now quite awake and quite uncomfortable. Though I try to deny it, this is exactly what I'm doing. It's like chanting spells, or offering sacrifices, or following some hand-me-down superstitions to try to appease some capricious mythological god.

I remembered a conversation Mike and I had a day or two earlier, where I shared my irrational fear of there being an earthquake while he's at work and I'm stuck and can't get to Lainie. He said that whatever happens, earthquake or no earthquake, Jesus loves us and will take care of us. Jesus loves us just as much each day earthquake-free day as He does if and when there's an earthquake. An earthquake doesn't mean we are in more danger than when there is no earthquake; we are still loved and protected by Jesus, and if Jesus is who He says He is, we have nothing to fear. Earthquakes don't take Jesus by surprise. Neither do naps, or a mom who's too tired to mumble a prayer, or the mysterious list of unknown-but-possible-causes of SIDS. And Jesus is bigger than all those things--His love is bigger than any harm that can be caused by any earthquake. His love is bigger than SIDS. He loves Lainie more than I do, and whatever comes into her little life, it has to get through the hedge of His love around her first. A hedge that is completely independent of--and not reliant on--me praying.

I remembered this from an Elyse Fitzpatrick book I'm reading:

"We are loved by God, and we live in His world--not in a world of fate or luck or karma. Oh, glorious, shocking, transforming truth! We are loved by God! We belong to Him! No superstitions, no lists, no getting our act together to make Him love us. Simply believe."
 
And I realized: I'm not praying for Lainie because I believe God loves her. I'm praying for her like one who believes He doesn't love her. I'm believing lies, just like Eve in the garden...just like all our ancestors, I'm listening to the accuser instead of the Savior. It was--is--so shocking, so gut-wrenching to see how pervasive this lie is in my life. How often I choose to believe and act on lies instead of truth.
 
I've been mulling over this all day, between diaper changes and spit-up clean-up and washing dishes. Praying for Lainie feels so free now, like cramped wings taking flight after being bound for a long time. Ann Voskamp and others often speak of preaching the gospel to themselves, and I have always been a little tentative about that. What exactly do they mean? How do you do that, "preach the gospel to yourself"? Now I think I know. It's recognizing when I'm believing a lie and replacing it with Truth. It's asking the Holy Spirit to reveal truth to me and change my heart.
 
This is all very unfinished and mid-process, and I'd love to think it through some more before publishing this post. But my very-much-alive little girl is shrieking in the next room, and if I don't post this now it will be January before I can finish this train of thought!
 



Tuesday, August 14, 2012

{ Miss Peanut's Story, Part III }

As I write this post, I'm sitting on the couch with sleepy little Lainie nestled next to me. She's seven weeks old tomorrow. This morning I did something I haven't done since before she was born: I visited a couple of CDH blogs. A month or two before Lainie's birth, I found the blog of a couple whose first child {a daughter} had CDH and was treated at the same hospitals we were going to use. One CDH blog is linked to twenty others; pretty quickly I discovered an entire network of CDH families on the internet...and they completely freaked me out. Their babies were really sick, and/or still hospitalized months after birth, and/or had major complications--one little girl only lived a few weeks. After first discovering these blogs, I never went back. {As a friend pointed out, it does make sense that all the CDH blogs are on the worst-case-scenario side: You only keep writing about CDH if it's an ongoing issue. I'm not going to have a CDH-specific blog, because it's no longer something our family is dealing with.} Anywhosies, this morning I ventured back, and I was blown away all over again by how incredibly, deeply, overwhelmingly God has blessed us. I have a happy, healthy, completely "normal" seven-week-old baby at home with me; our biggest issues are thrush and that she doesn't like to sleep if she isn't snuggled against another human being.
This is not normal for CDH babies.
Elaina never needed a breathing tube. She never had problems with reflux, swallowing, or latching. Her heart was not affected by the hernia at all. Good grief, it appears her LUNGS were not affected by the hernia at all! NOTHING about Lainie's medical course is "normal" for CDH babies--she was, and is, off the charts "abnormal" in the very best ways. Even according to the doctors' conservative best case guesses prior to her birth, she'd be hospitalized at least 4-6 weeks. Their best case scenario--the best possible outcome they could imagine--was her being discharged from the hospital around now. Not five weeks ago.
Man, Jesus, You are awesome!!!
I have already forgotten the fear and the gut-wrenching unknowns of that season. I have forgotten how not knowing how anything was going to pan out and that undercurrent of fear was our normal for two months. I have already forgotten how much worse this could have been. I don't want to forget, because I don't want to forget the depths of mercy we have to be thankful for. If I forget how crazy bad things could have been, I don't recognize how crazy good things are. I'm frustrated with my lack of sleep these days; any other parent of a CDH baby would give the world for the privilege of sleeping in two-hour increments, if it meant their baby was healthy enough to go home.
Thank you, Jesus, for the shocking gifts You have given me, Mike, and Elaina. For the incredible gift of this little girl, healthier than anyone could imagine, eating like an eight-pound piglet, charming everyone with her smiles and her sleep talking and those blue, blue eyes.

Back to the story:
 Friday morning at rounds, the doctors told us that Lainie would probably be discharged from the NICU to a regular room that day. She wasn't in need of NICU-level care, so there was no reason to keep her there. We were shocked and ecstatic. I remember the neonatologist {who asked about her pooping the day before} saying that they were going to miss her; she's such a sweet, cute baby, but she really doesn't need to be in the NICU anymore.

We spent the morning hanging out with Baby Bug, holding her, and waiting for her to get a room assignment.


We discovered the trick for instantly calming Little Miss if she fussed: One hand cupping her feet and legs, the other hand gently holding down her arms. She would immediately relax and drift off. Mike spent a lot of time "holding" her like this...she loved it.



:: Ramah and Lainie...Lainie's head had already outgrown the hat she got from the university hospital, so they gave her a new one that was hand-knitted and donated to the Children's NICU ::

Sometime on Friday, I randomly thought of baby footprints {I still have no idea where that thought came from} and asked Mike if they'd taken Lainie's footprints at the university hospital. He didn't remember them doing that, so he called them and asked. They said they don't typically do footprints on babies that go to the NICU. ?!?!?! Ramah was Lainie's nurse again that day, and she very graciously hunted up a footprint kit and made us some footprints.

It was mid-afternoon by the time Lainie had a room assignment on the surgical floor. She got a new crib--it was huge and reminded me of a cage--and then Ramah and another nurse took us all to our new digs. I was a little nervous, because once Lainie was out of the NICU, we were no longer eligible to stay in a parent sleeping room. Comically, our tour of Children's had been scheduled for the day Lainie was born; as it was, we hadn't seen much beyond the NICU and cafeteria. I needn't have worried. This was our room in the surgical unit:




:: doesn't that crib look like a cage?! ::


The couch {seen in the first two photos} folds down into a double bed! It was actually pretty comfortable. The room was quite spacious, and we had our own private bathroom with a shower. Thank You Jesus!! This setup was even better than the parent sleeping rooms: much bigger room, much bigger bed, same room as our daughter, private bathroom, big windows. It felt luxurious, folks!

What I did not realize till a few days later, walking around the unit, is that most of the rooms on that floor are shared by two patients. We got one of the few single-patient rooms. With all the pumping and breastfeeding I did during our stay, I can't even *imagine* sharing the room with another family...

We met our sweet and unspeakably awesome and helpful nurse, Alysia {she was our day nurse Friday, Saturday, and Sunday}, and she showed me around the unit: linen closets {"If you need bath towels, new sheets, blankets for your baby, etc."}, elevators, the family area {"Feel free to use the fridge, freezer, and microwave--there are plenty of disposable dishes and utensils."}.

Our night nurse, Fiona, was equally awesome {we had her Friday and Saturday nights}. When I think about Fiona and Alysia now, I seriously get teared up and want to go find them and hug them and give them each a $500 Starbucks gift card RIGHT NOW and show them how well Lainie's doing. They both spent so much time with us, answered our dozens of questions, thought of our every need pretty much before we did, never rushed or answered a single phone call while they were in our room. They were both total godsends. When Alysia brought Fiona in to introduce her and Fiona saw teeny tiny Lainie in that enormous crib, she exclaimed delightedly, "Oh, it's a wee baby!" {Fiona is British; you have to read it with an English accent for the full effect.} As Alysia had said, having a baby less than 48 hours old on the post-surgical floor was quite unusual!

That night, I had just drifted off to sleep when I realized someone was coming in the room {we had pulled the curtain partially around the daybed}. Groggily I watched a lady in a lab coat fix her hair in front of the mirror on one of the cupboard doors before she went over to Lainie's crib. Retrospectively hilarious, since she thought Mike and I were asleep. A few minutes after she left, Fiona came in and said, "I'm so sorry to wake you, but the night resident just rounded on your baby, and she said we can take out her stomach suction tube, so I'm going to do that when I take her vitals at midnight."
Me {suddenly very much awake and incredulous}: "Does that mean she can eat?"
Fiona: "Yes, you can feed her after I take it out. I'll bring in a bottle and we can use some of your breastmilk that's in the refrigerator. I'll wake you when I come."

She's starting oral feeds at a little over 48 hours old...not when she's a few weeks old. I can't believe it. I can't believe it!

Needless to say, I couldn't really sleep! When Fiona came back, I watched her take out the tube, then I fed Lainie her first bottle with Mike and Fiona watching. {They wanted to use a bottle, rather than the breast, in order to measure how much she ate.} She ate an entire 30 ml--one ounce--very hungrily, which was phenomenal!! Mike and I were so excited, it was hard to go back to sleep--but that was definitely in our best interest, since we now needed to feed Lainie every 3 hours around the clock.

Even though Lainie was still getting nutrition through her IV, we learned that it was critically important for her to start eating more than she did at her next few feedings. She needed to eat a minimum of 36 ml per feeding for hydration, and that was not happening at each feed--sometimes by a long shot. At first we were feeding her pumped breastmilk in a bottle, but soon they got us a special baby scale that measures down to grams. One gram is approximately equal to one ml, so by weighing her before and after she breastfed, we could know how much she ate.

We didn't know it at the time, but this was the beginning of what was to be our biggest challenge for the rest of Lainie's hospitalization, and several weeks after: Getting her to eat. Every three hours, we went through the same routine:

~ Try to wake Lainie up {a long and sometimes unsuccessful process}: change her diaper, talk to her, tickle her, etc.
~ Weigh her
~ Nurse her and try to keep her awake--this was often very frustrating, as it was very difficult to keep her from falling asleep
~ But don't nurse more than 30 minutes, otherwise she will burn more calories than she takes in
~ Weigh her again
~ Record how much she ate
~ Pump for 15 minutes
~ Package up milk and give to nurse to freeze
~ Wash pumping equipment

All that takes at least an hour, so I generally had less than two hours till I had to do it all over again...and at night, that was definitely not long enough! {Sad but entertaining side note: The song that my phone plays as an alarm was going through my head pretty much the entire time we were at the hospital, because I heard it every.three.hours. I was SO SICK of that song!!}

 


: :a little jaundiced ::



:: trying to treat the jaundice with sunlight ::

Mike was incredibly helpful with all the pre- and post-feeding stuff. After a day or two, he volunteered to wash the pumping stuff at night so I could get a little more sleep. I felt bad, waking him from a sound sleep every three hours just to wash the pumping equipment, but I was so exhausted that the extra ten minutes of sleep was worth it. And Lainie slept like an angel in between feedings. We were lucky to see her eyeballs for a few minutes twice a day. She almost slept too well...it was really, really difficult to {a} get her to wake up period, and {b} keep her awake while she was nursing. That was the main reason she often ate less than we wanted.

On Saturday evening, guess who popped in for a visit?! Chelle and her family, who just happened to be making a quick trip to our side of the state! It was so special for them to meet Lainie when she was only three days old! Chelle made the most beautiful quilt for Lainie...you'll see photos of it when I do a post about the nursery {whenever that may be}.

 

:: family photo, taken by Chelle ::

to be continued...

Saturday, August 4, 2012

{ Miss Peanut's Story, Part II }

When the alarm on my phone beeped on Thursday morning, telling me to get up now if I wanted to take a shower before going to the NICU for rounds at 8am, it seemed like I'd just fallen asleep. Considering that my last shower had been before we went to the hospital on Wednesday, another one was definitely needed. Everything that had happened since had been so intense, so physically and emotionally draining, I literally felt like I wasn't the same person. The jitters of Wednesday morning--membranes ruptured, no contractions, getting ready to go to the hospital--were literally a lifetime away from right now: tiny parent sleeping room, tiny baby daughter in the NICU, no idea what's going to happen in the next few hours.

Children's has this awesome setup where they have a few tiny rooms in the hospital for parents of NICU patients to sleep. Each one is just a double bed, a nightstand and lamp, and about a foot of space at the foot and on one side of the bed. Because Lainie was a congenital diaphragmatic hernia baby {typically very ill}, we got one of those rooms. There are also a couple of bathrooms with showers, a kitchen area, and laundry facilities. The space was undergoing renovations during our stay and half the sleeping rooms were unusable, so we were extremely fortunate to get one.

Down in the NICU, we found Lainie getting an echocardiogram, followed by an ultrasound of her diaphragma and a chest x-ray. We met her day nurse, Ramah, and went to rounds, where all the physicians were extremely positive about her health {and literally everyone remarked on what a cute baby she is}. I remember the attending neonatologist remarking that he wasn't sure if Elaina had had any poopy diapers yet, to which Ramah quickly replied, "Oh, she poops a lot!"

 

:: Daddy and Lainie ::



:: Mama and Lainie ::


At some point, we learned that the surgeon on call, the one who had paged us at 4am, wanted to take Lainie to surgery that morning.


Oh wow.

Not ready for that one. CDH {congenital diaphragmatic hernia} babies are usually taken to surgery when they are 2-7 days old; they do better when their bodies have time to adjust to life outside the womb before the trauma of surgery. But as the surgeon, Dr. M, explained to us, Lainie essentially wasn't "sick." Her hernia appeared to be so mild that it wasn't interfering with much of anything; she was breathing, pooping, etc. just fine. And there just happened to be one opening on the surgery schedule that day: 11am.

I was kind of freaked that her surgery was going to be today, but I don't think I had the emotional energy for any response except to just go with it. We talked it over with Dr. M, who is a very down-to-earth, friendly, high-energy guy in his 40's or 50's. He was confident that there was no reason to delay; Lainie was doing so well that they might as well hurry up and operate so she could begin recovering and go home sooner.

We spent the morning in Lainie's room, taking turns holding her. It was a two-patient room that she shared with a little fellow who kept having troubles breathing; there was a CD player with one CD on repeat the.entire.time.Lainie.was.in.that.room. It was a very soft, mellow, Enya-type album, but gee whiz, I was beginning to think it was groundhog day by the time we got out of there! I also became thoroughly acquainted with my new best friend, the breastpump. Because part of Lainie's GI tract might be going through the hernia, and because she'd have surgery in a couple hours, she couldn't take anything orally. {That's also why she had the suction tube in her stomach, vacuuming out stomach acid because her tummy was empty.} Depending on many factors, including how quickly she recovered from surgery, it could be a couple of weeks before she was able to take anything by mouth, so pumping became my new part-time job. In the meantime, she was getting IV nutrition.



The hours stretched by. Eleven o'clock came and went. Ramah called the OR. Her surgery has been delayed...not sure how much. Finally, with both of us famished and 2pm nearing {that's when the cafeteria closes for a couple hours}, Mike and I went to grab lunch, armed with cell phones and the pager that all NICU parents must have on them at all times. We had literally just gotten to the cafeteria...Mike was serving himself some onion rings...and I realized the pager bleeping, that oh-so-familiar sound from my working days, was coming from Mike's pocket. I don't remember if we called the phone number they'd paged us to, or if we just ran, but when we got to the NICU, the surgical team was waiting to take our baby. The nurse gave us the basics of what would happen. The anesthesiologist, a white-haired man with a British accent {Scottish? English?} explained the anesthesia. There was another guy, but I don't remember who he was. I was fighting tears, trying desperately not to cry, thinking a million things but mostly I'm not ready for my baby to go to surgery, I don't know how to say goodbye, I don't know what to say, what if this is goodbye?

Mike asked them if we could have a minute alone with her and everyone stepped out. We prayed for Lainie--or did just Mike pray? I don't remember--as I furiously wiped away tears. They told us we could follow them partway to the OR. So we did, as far as we could, and then they stopped and let us kiss her goodbye, and then they took her through double doors and we had to turn around and walk away.

I remember Mike asking if I wanted to get lunch from the cafeteria or go out somewhere, and being appalled at the thought of leaving the hospital during her operation. We ate in the cafeteria and then set up camp in one of the ICU waiting rooms. I called my parents, I think for the first time since talking to them soon after Lainie was born. The OR paged us once, to let us know that things were going fine. It seemed like not very long after that we were paged again, but this time it was because the operation was over and Dr. M wanted to talk to us. We met him in a little consult area. The surgery went great. He did it laparoscopically, through three small incisions on her side and back. The hole in her diaphragm was small, so he stitched it shut {rather than having to use a patch--yay!}. The probable reason the hernia had not been visible at her 19-week ultrasound--and that she could breathe just fine--was because she had a Morgagni hernia, which accounts for only 2% of all cases of CDH. Over 95% of diaphragmatic hernias are Bochdalek hernias, which involve the back part of the diaphragm, usually on the left side; they usually cause very severe medical problems. Morgagni hernias, however, involve the front and middle part of the diaphragm. Because they affect a different part of the diaphragm than Bochdalek hernias, often the only organ that goes through the hernia is the liver, rather than the intestines or stomach--so unlike the far more common Bochdalek hernias, Morgagnis often don't have symptoms. Many are not diagnosed until adulthood {and considering how perfectly Lainie functioned after birth, she may very well have fallen into that category if not for the ultrasound at 30 weeks}. In Lainie's case, the only organ that had gone through the hole was a 1.0 x 1.4 cm piece of liver. They put it back and Lainie was doing great! 

Around 5:30pm we were notified that Lainie was back in her room and we could see her. The British anesthesiologist was just leaving and explained that he had given her an epidural for post-surgical pain control. It's the only type of pain medication that did not have the possible side effect of depressing her breathing, so with an epidural she didn't need to keep the breathing tube they'd used during the operation.

She was completely out, a little puffier than I remembered, more IVs and some red marks on her cheek where the breathing tube had been taped down. Tiny rosy lips and eyelids so puffy we couldn't see her eyelashes at all. We couldn't see her incisions {they are toward the back of her side, if that  makes sense}; it was hard to believe her diaphragm had been repaired.


Our night nurse, Bessie, was awesome. She told us we were so lucky that Dr. M did Lainie's surgery! He was the first doctor to do laparoscopic {robotic} surgery on pediatric patients--he literally pioneered the equipment and techniques used in Lainie's operation. Bessie said he didn't operate very much any more, because he is so busy writing textbooks and traveling to teach other people how to do these surgeries. Mike and I just looked at each other, remembering Dr. M's parting words a few hours earlier: "I'm going on vacation tomorrow, so one of my colleagues will be following up with your daughter in the morning."

Lainie "just happened" to be born 16 days early. Dr. M "just happened" to be on call the night she came to Children's.There "just happened" to be one opening in the surgery schedule. She "just happened" to be well enough to go to surgery at 21 hours old. This "just happened" to be Dr. M's last day at work before leaving on vacation. So Lainie "just happened" to have her hernia repair performed by the world expert on laparoscopic chest surgery.

In other words, Jesus orchestrated all of this so that Lainie got the best possible care--better than we could ever have asked or imagined or planned! How can you plan something like this?! Here she was, barely a day old, hernia already repaired, resting comfortably, breathing easily, so well loved by her Heavenly Father.

Our pastor and his wife came to visit and brought us dinner that night. That was the first of many visits-and-dinners our church family gifted us. We chatted and laughed relief over Lainie's well-ness and smiled at her tininess, in disbelief over how quickly and how well everything had happened.

Little did we know, the miracles were far from over...

to be continued

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

{ Miss Peanut's Story, Part I }


Today Lainie is four weeks old--Happy Four-Week Birthday, Lainie Rae! Where do I even begin recounting this story of amazing grace?

The weekend Amaryah took maternity photos, Mike said that I looked "so pregnant" that he was giving me a week and a half, tops, before Lainie was born. "Really?" I countered. "You realize that means she would be born on June 26 or 27, right?" {Mike will be discouraged from making predictions on the birthdates of future children, by the way.}

I spent Tuesday, June 26 running errands: stocking up on snacks for the hospital and groceries for the week, taking the cushions from our craigslisted glider to the dry cleaner, getting a massage. A day or two before I had made a list of all the things I wanted to get done around the house before her birth--terribly important things like dust the baseboards and clean the refrigerator--as well as a list of specific prayer requests for Lainie's birth and hospitalization to share with my women's Bible study group, which meets on Wednesdays. Here is that list:
~ That she will have normal lung function before and after surgery
~ That her GI tract will function normally
~ That the surgery will be successful and there won't be any complications
~ That she will learn to breastfeed quickly
~ That there won't be long-term lung or digestive problems
~ That I will go into labor on my own and not get an induction or a C-section
~ That our attending physician will be Dr. J {the only neonatologist we had met, out of 11 or so who could be on call when Lainie was born}

So when I got up from my laptop to make a cup of tea and my water broke, I freaked. 5:03pm. June 26. I'm only 37 weeks and 4 days. This isn't supposed to happen now. This isn't supposed to happen for weeks. I'm not ready for this to start...this crazy scary huge train is leaving the station, and I'm not ready. I called Mike, the doula, my mom, the Bible study host to let her know I, um, wouldn't be at group tomorrow. Thank God I caught Mike as he was walking into a meeting, which he promptly ditched.

When Mike got home, we finished packing for the hospital, went out to dinner at our favorite local Thai restaurant, and tried to get some sleep. I had continual cramp-like sensations throughout the night, but nothing more. While Mike slept like a rock, I only dozed a couple times. At 3am, the alarm went off--our compromise: Mike was willing to wait it out at home for awhile, but if labor didn't start during the night, he wanted to leave for the hospital by 4am.

I did have the presence of mind to have Mike snap one last maternity photo:


:: 37 weeks, 5 days ::

I realized that, regardless of how it happened, it would happen today: Lainie would be born, we'd go to Children's Hospital...this whole crazy chain of unknowns had really started and we would really meet Lainie today. It was so unreal, almost like an out-of-body experience.

At the hospital, once they'd confirmed my water broke, I was admitted. Much to my disappointment, I wasn't dilated at all and the fetal monitor didn't pick up any contractions. We got settled in my room, met my *amazing* nurse Caren, and ordered breakfast. A couple doctors came in while Mike was at the cafeteria and tried to convince me that I needed to let them start a Pitocin IV to get labor started, since my water had broken more than 12 hours before and I wasn't in active labor. They were polite but quite firm that I was risking intrauterine infection and jeopardizing my baby, who was already high-risk, if I chose not to use Pitocin. Mike and I knew a natural birth was the best option for Lainie, if it was at all possible: Induction leads to longer, stronger contractions and thus increases the risk that the baby will go into distress and need respiratory support after birth {or a C-section because the stronger contractions can cause oxygen deprivation}. I was equally firm that I wanted some time to try other methods of starting labor. And what if my mom's labors are an indication of what mine would be like: long periods of "nothing" after her water broke {22 hours when she was pregnant with me}, followed by short labors {only two hours of contractions before I was born}? The same two doctors came back a couple hours later, when active labor still hadn't started, but again we asked for more time.

At some point that morning, Dr. J came in to see how things were going. It was Wednesday, high-risk clinic day, so she was at the hospital already. She said she'd check back in a few hours. Our doula, Serena, arrived around 11, and at her suggestion we walked...and walked...around the unit. Active labor started around noon, and things get kind of blurry after that. The only reason I have any idea what time anything happened is because Serena took notes! Be it known that Mike was amazing. I could not have done this without him. He was my rock.

At 1:30pm I was already 6cm dilated and 100% effaced. I remember being shocked by the intensity of the contractions, and how unspeakably luxurious the breaks between felt. Awhile after that I was going to get in the tub because that sounded like it would feel good, but nurse Caren got concerned because I was sounding "grunty" and asked me to wait till she could get a doctor to check me again. At 3:00 I was 9.5cm with an anterior cervical lip {no tub for Nikki!}, so they asked me not to push even though I was involuntarily pushing with each contraction...and that was awful. I finally got the okay to push at 4:00. Pushing seemed to last forever. I was aware of people filling the room. Lots of sterile gowns, the newborn isolette being pulled out of its cubby, a palpable thrum of activity. Everyone was very focused. At some point I realized Dr. J was next to the bed. I had figured that since she had appointments with clinic patients all day, she wouldn't be able to come up unless Lainie was born after hours, and I was really glad she was there.

At 5:03pm, 24 hours to the minute after my water broke, Miss Peanut was born. They put her on my chest, purple and vernix-covered, with the longest fingers and dark eyes that looked right at Mike and me when we talked to her. She breathed on her own after a few seconds; then tiny little kitten-like whimpers. It was probably only 20-30 seconds before they whisked her to another room to be assessed. Mike went with her. A few minutes later, Dr. J came back and said they didn't need to intubate her; she was screaming up a storm, with her oxygen saturation at 99-100%, all on her own! A little later they wheeled her in, a tiny pink thing in the isolette, surrounded by staff in sterile gowns and masks and hats, so I could see her before they took her to the NICU. I petted her face and talked to her for a few minutes. I thought Mike's face was going to split open, he was grinning so huge. I've never seen him so happy before!


:: family photo ::

When they were done cleaning me up, I was beyond exhausted and so relaxed, I didn't think I could move if my life depended on it. It's done! Lainie was born, free of induction and interventions, and she can breathe on her own! Serena stayed with me for a couple of hours. Mike's parents and sister and our friend Lisa from our Bible study group came to see me. Mike took them to the NICU to see Lainie. I ordered macaroni and cheese for dinner, but didn't eat much...my insides had no idea what had just happened to them.

Isn't God amazing? Look at what I hoped for: That I'd go into labor naturally; that I could have an intervention-free birth and avoid drugs that might compromise Lainie's respiratory function; that Dr. J would attend the birth; that Lainie would have normal lung function and we could hold her after she was born. Every single one of those things seemed to me like pie in the sky wishful thinking at some point. I mean, really, what more could I ask for--what more could I hope for--than a healthy baby at the end of the day, regardless of how exactly she was born? Yet God poured out grace on her birthday, showered us with the gifts I'd hardly dared ask for because they seemed so presumptuous in the face of her possibly huge medical problems:
I went into labor naturally.
No induction, no drugs, no interventions.
Dr. J was present.
Lainie didn't need oxygen at all--not only did they put her on my chest when she was born, I actually got to HOLD her a few hours later!
Grace. Amazing grace.

Everyone was so nice--my nurses, the doctors, Lainie's NICU nurse. I was on track to be discharged at 9pm, and Lainie was scheduled to be transferred to Children's at 9:30. Our friends Luke and Joanna came by as I was packing up, and we all went to the NICU. It was the first time I'd seen Baby Bug since the photo above. Her transfer to Children's kept being delayed because there were other, sicker kids who needed the ambulance more. Eventually Luke and Jo headed home; Lainie's nurse got me a recliner and let me hold Lainie for the first time. That was sweet.


:: tiny little Bug with a suction tube going into her stomach ::


:: transport nurse and Lainie just before her ambulance ride ::

It was after midnight by the time Lainie left for Children's, just a mile from the hospital where she was born. The transport people were so kind and gentle with her. She looked so tiny and fragile, little stomach tube and IV hooked up to her, bundled up in all those blankets in the incubator-on-wheels. Mike took me downstairs in a wheelchair and parked me outside the front entrance while he went to get the car. It was a really warm, balmy night--I could tell it had been a lovely day outside--and it was completely surreal to be sitting in a wheelchair, my lap piled high with discharge paraphernalia, knowing I'd just given birth, waiting for Mike to pick me up and take us to Children's, watching security guards make their rounds and hoping the shady characters who walked by wouldn't try to mug me. I saw Lainie's ambulance leave just before Mike pulled up. As we pulled out of the hospital roundabout, Mike said, "So, whaddaya think? Still wanna do four in four?" {referring to his joke about having four kids in four years}. I responded that at this point, we are probably adopting the rest of our children, thankyouverymuch! 

In the Children's NICU, the nurse let Mike hold Lainie for the first time. He kept falling asleep, so we stumbled upstairs to the parent sleeping room we'd been assigned and slept like the dead, even though it was a double bed with no pillows and I had yet to shower after having given birth. {In case you are wondering, that was by far the longest, most exhausting day of my life.} At 4am I stepped out to use the restroom and came back to find Mike, in the pitch black, talking on the phone and clearly not 100% awake. It was a surgeon, saying he wanted us to come down to the NICU and sign consent forms because they wanted to take Lainie to surgery "tomorrow," which, since it was now Thursday, Mike interpreted to mean Friday. Mike told him we'd sign the forms when we came down for rounds at 8am and we both fell fast asleep for another couple of hours.

to be continued...

Sunday, June 24, 2012

{ Humbled }

"The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms."
~ Deuteronomy 33:27a

Steadfast love abounds.

I'm 37 or 38 weeks--depends on whether you ask me or the neonatologist--which means Lainie has the all-clear to be born if she likes; at this point, she's considered full-term.

We are part of an amazing church family spread across four states, with 11 church "campuses" in Washington alone. Last Sunday, Father's Day, the pastor at our campus asked Mike if we'd come on stage before the service and explain what's going on with Lainie so our church can pray for us. There are between 600 and 700 people on an average Sunday just at our "campus," so even with Mike's stellar social skills, we worship with a lot of brothers and sisters in Christ that we don't know personally. It was amazing. People I'd never met came up to me afterward and said they'd be praying for us. And we keep hearing of other people who are praying for Lainie, people we don't even know: the church in Oregon where my childhood pastor and his wife {now retired} attend. My mom's friend's prayer chain in Montana. People Mike knows through his business.
 
 
One thing we have been hoping and praying for is somewhere close to Children's for Mike and I to stay while Lainie is hospitalized. We only live 22 miles away, but in traffic it can easily take over an hour and a half to drive that distance. We're too close to qualify for the Ronald McDonald House. And Mike's work is pretty much in the opposite direction. I've been trying to psych myself up for sleepless nights on the floor of her hospital room, telling myself that I can handle a sick newborn and no home base and no sleep for a few weeks to months. I have to. {How Mike will be able to handle the same and continue working, I do not know...but I believe he can do it. He's an incredible man.} For several weeks we have been trying to find closer lodging through contacts at the church campus closer to Children's, but with no luck.

Last week, after our church prayed for us, that changed in a big way.

By Wednesday, Mike was in contact with a family that goes to the church campus near Children's. Their oldest child was born prematurely and spent several weeks in the NICU; they have a huge heart for families in situations like ours. They also live 10 minutes from Children's and have a spare bedroom they are letting us use for as long as we need it! But wait--here's the crazy part: It's Wednesday night. They are leaving on a two-week vacation on Friday morning, and Lainie could easily be born while they are away. Mike and the dad of this family both have to work all day Thursday, so the wife and I arrange for me to come to their home to meet her and get keys.

These people have never met us before.
They don't know us from Adam.
They are about to go on vacation, and they give their house keys to perfect strangers and tell us to make ourselves at home, use the shower and laundry, here's how to run the TV, there's a BBQ grill on the deck you can use anytime, come and go whenever you need and don't feel like you have to check in with us--we just want to help you.

That's all Jesus. That's not something you do, not in this day and age, not in Seattle. I'm speechless and completely humbled and grateful and thankful to this family. They're letting us into their home and their lives with open hands, no expectations, truly getting nothing out of this in return. All because they love Jesus, we're part of the same crazy-huge church family, and when they heard about our need, they stepped up. It's crazy. Just crazy. I can't wrap my head around it. And I can't express what a relief it is to know that if we need a couple hours' uninterrupted sleep, we don't have to check into a hotel or drive hours away from Baby Girl. We can zip literally 10 minutes up the street...and if Lainie needs us, we're only 10 minutes away.

That's God's grace. That's steadfast love. That's everlasting arms, our refuge just when we need it, at just the right time: a place to stay, provided the day before Lainie's considered full-term.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

{ One of those days }

Sometimes, an hour on the beach lifts a weight you didn't even realize was crushingly heavy.

I've been in a funk all day. No particular reason, just lots of little things that really shouldn't bother me. But I let myself stew in sin juices for hours. I made it very clear to Mike that I wasn't happy. I was--gasp!--a bitch.

I let the Lord have it. I didn't want to....I wanted to clutch it close, keep it all to myself. But I went to the beach and puked all my mental, emotional, spiritual garbage at His feet via journal. And He was there. Not condoning my self-inflicted misery, but forgiving, extending grace, and promising to make something beautiful even of a day I ruined.

I love Him. And I need Mike to hurry up and get home so I can apologize.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

{ My Father's World }

My house is a glorious riot of flowers, remnants of the baby shower I hosted over the weekend. Daisy and rose, giddy with color, vases scattered on mantle, table, windowsill; sun-drenched perfection of Creator's wild imagination.



They are like living things, these colors; lush, vivid, vibrating with joy and and intensity and life: Flowers doing exactly what they were created to do. Hues lush and vibrant: deep orange, perfect pink, yellows and blush and white-fading-to-red. A chorus of pigments, petals and stamens and stalks: praising simply by being.
 



I snap photos giddy, feel laughter bubble up in my chest as my shutter clicks-clicks-clicks. Like one starving for beauty, I am ravenous, afraid I'll miss some angle of this joy, some perspective of this flower-praise and I don't want to. But I know I will. Simple flowers, Gerbera daisies and spray roses, they are too much for me. I can't capture them fully, can't bottle this unbridled beauty and joy radiating.





But I can soak it in now. I can immerse myself in this moment, this beauty; I can record snippets, each frame a note in the song these blossoms are singing. I search for best light, best backdrop on this gray morning. If I wait for sunshine before I transcribe this refrain, these beauties may fade.



This is my love song to Jesus! The thought bubbles up from nowhere--nowhere? No, not nowhere; this is Truth: This is my love song to Jesus. This is me dancing, delighting, reveling in the gifts He gives me today. This is me accepting with open hands the gifts He offers, offering Him my delight as thank-you. This is joy. This is my love song to Jesus!

This is my Father's world,

and to my listening ears
all nature sings, and round me rings
the music of the spheres.
This is my Father's world:
I rest me in the thought
of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
His hand the wonders wrought.

This is my Father's world,

the birds their carols raise,
the morning light, the lily white,
declare their Maker's praise.
This is my Father's world:
He shines in all that's fair;
in the rustling grass I hear Him pass;
He speaks to me everywhere.

This is my Father's world.

O let me ne'er forget
that though the wrong seems oft so strong,
God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father's world:
why should my heart be sad?
The Lord is King; let the heavens ring!
God reigns; let the earth be glad!
~ Maltbie D. Babcock


*I owe much of my understanding of joy and thanksgiving as an appropriate response to whatever gifts Jesus gives to One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp. Highly recommended!

Sunday, June 19, 2011

{ Trust }

All I have seen teaches me
to trust the Creator
for all I have not seen.
~ R. W. Emerson


For the past few months, I've been struggling with the idea that perhaps I have a skewed view of what needs to happen before I can leave the workforce. Perhaps my list of must-haves that must be attained before we cross that bridge is blatantly wrong. I've spent so much time and energy being frustrated that we're not there yet....trying to figure out why, and what I can do to get us to that point ASAP: Did we do something wrong? Did I take out too many student loans? Should we have just eloped and saved all that money? Should we have waited to get married? Why would God give me this burning desire to be a stay-at-home-mom, and give Mike a deep conviction that he doesn't want his wife to work outside the home, then make it so hard for us to make that happen?

Quietly, a completely different set of "what ifs" has crept into my heart. They won't go away. I ponder them, turning them over and over in my mind, examining from every angle, just as I've done with the freaked-out-stressed-out-oh-my-goodness-why-is-this-so-hard questions listed above. But these questions are different. They're quiet, for one thing: not high-pitched and shrill, hysterically clamoring for an answer RIGHT NOW. They're content to be prayed over, not demanding instant remedy.
What if God is ok with me leaving the workforce even if Mike doesn't have a permanent position at his company?
What if God wants us to trust His provision through Mike's six-month contract, even though there is no guarantee of renewal?
What if me demanding a more long-term source of income is my sin--fear, lack of trust--and not a legitimate reason to extend my career?
What if God is already providing all that we need, and I am simply holding on to my job because I'm afraid it won't be enough--or because His provision is not what I expected or envisioned?
What if I'm holding on to the known and the comfortable, at the expense of trusting God and taking a leap of faith, even though I know in my head that underneath are His everlasting arms?
What if the Lord is already making provision for this transition, swinging this door wide open for us, and I'm still desperately clinging to the doorframe, petrified to go outside because what I see through the door isn't exactly what I imagined? More dangerous, perhaps; more unknown, maybe less of what I call "security" but more opportunities for faith, trust, humility, and selflessness.


As a little girl, I never questioned whether or not my Dad could afford to care for me. I never refused a birthday gift or turned down a bowl of ice cream because I was afraid it cost him too much. I didn't worry that I would bankrupt him, because I never thought about how much I cost. What if Jesus wants me to be that carefree with Him? What if Jesus is providing for us, as competently and cheerfully as our earthly fathers did, just waiting for me to realize and let go of my fears long enough to grasp His hand and run with Him wherever He leads? Even if that means giving up a second income and the sense of security it provides.
What if trusting Jesus--rather than my job--becomes my security?

God has provided for all of our needs and many of our wants thus far. We are definitely sensing Him moving in very tangible ways the past few weeks, as we get closer and closer to the end of Mike's current contract. I'm excited to see how the next few weeks unfold, as I continue to seek Jesus' answers to these questions.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

{ Thanks }


I'm overwhelmed with thankfulness. With the goodness of a good God in raining--pouring--lavishing so much good on those I love.


Monday was a series of conversations with several dear-to-my-heart people, each sharing with me beautiful new news, start to finish good news--joy--thanks.

new baby

possibility of a new job

another dear one getting a job

new house closing a month early

All so unexpected!! I was delightfully surprised with the joy of conversation #1.....ecstatic over conversation #2....and by conversation #3, I was thinking, "Who's next? What's next? This is the most delightful day!"

Thank you, Jesus. It's been a pleasure glimpsing just the littlest smidgen of joy that pours forth from You, as You shower humanity with Your undeserved, all-beautiful love. Thank you.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

{ Rejoice }

After work on Friday I stopped by Sherwin-Williams to pick up some paint chips. Flipping through a sample brochure, I noticed this quote printed beneath a photo:

There is not one blade of grass, there is no color in this world that is not intended to make us rejoice. - John Calvin (theologian, born 1509)


John Calvin--quoted in a paint store idea booklet. God's exquisite artistry, His brilliant design in creation given a sideways nod via Sherwin-Williams promotional materials. I picked up the booklet along with my paint chips and hurried on my way.


It startled me, though. Bothered me as I ran errands, sorted laundry, ate dinner. I thought of the beauty I saw last weekend when we visited the tulip fields with my family. Beauty in so many shapes, textures, sizes; colors vibrant, unapologetic, theatrical.

 multi-hued


 spiney

 ruffly

 vast

 riotous

meek

Hesitantly, I admit: I am baffled by the Maker's apparent concern with beauty. Does He really care this much? Flowers don't have to be beautiful in order to pollinate and reproduce. This resplendent display of beauty and creativity and utter decadence for the senses is certainly not needed. And yet....He chose to make them so. Does Jesus really value beauty this highly? Does the delight of the senses really matter this much?

I am confused. 

I am all function, efficiency, results-driven. Whatever is the shortest, most efficient route between Point A and Point B, I'm there. There is not time nor room nor energy in my decision-making paradigm for non-essentials like beauty, enjoyment, or pleasure. The road doesn't have to be pretty, as long as it gets me to my destination. In fact, pretty would probably only distract me and make the journey take longer. I'd probably have to sacrifice more time and energy to seek out or cultivate that beauty, anyway, which is a waste of my limited resources. I'm not sure I'll make it to my destination as it is!

This lifestyle {for this statement is the foundation of all my choices; it permeates every fiber, every moment, every breath of my day} slams against the words in the Sherwin-Williams booklet. I flip it open when I walk by the dining table.

There is not one blade of grass, there is no color in this world that is not intended to make us rejoice.

Really. Really? I don't believe it. I blatantly call that a lie every. single. day.

It's time to hit the gym {I may blatantly disregard the value of beauty around me, but with Hawaii around the corner, trying to get this body in better shape for a bathing suit is high on my priority list}. I grab my water bottle and this book,


a birthday gift I've been feebly attempting to read. I feel like I need a clean slate. I decide to start over. I balance on the elliptical machine, running, till my hands are too sweaty to hold the book. I set it down and my head wrestles with the dichotomy between mind and heart and what does beauty matter? and I sweat and I have no answers.

...all these mornings, I wake to the discontent of life in my skin....the wrestle to get it all done, the relentless anxiety that I am always failing. Always, the failing.

My eyes smart. How does she know? Someone else feels this, too?

I live tired. Afraid. Anxious. Weary. Years, I feel it in the veins, the pulsing of ruptured hopes. Would I ever be enough, find enough, do enough?....I really want to really live. Is that the message of nightmares and dreams? To live either fully alive...or in empty nothingness?
It's the in between that drives us mad.
It's the life in between, the days of walking lifeless, the years calloused and simply going through the hollow motions, the self-protecting by self-distracting, the body never waking, that's lost all capacity to fully feel--this is the life in between that makes us the wild walking dead. - One Thousand Gifts, p. 27


Did He really do that? God? Did He really create this world to make us rejoice? Are flowers beautiful because our souls respond to beauty and glory and Him and when we accept this beauty, seek it and delight in it and enjoy it, we are closer to Him? Is being intentional about beauty, creating it, and rejoicing in its presence wherever we find it, part of God's purpose for me? Part of His plan, rather than an optional, superfluous, not-really-worthwhile distraction? 

Long finished with my workout, I'm still wrestling with this, mind vs. heart, not understanding at all with my head, yet wanting to be convinced. I want to see. Help my unbelief.