Harriet's birth story, part 4: a baby is born!

Alrighty. I think I have made the retelling of this story on my blog longer than the actual birth itself. Which is impressive. But I'll try to wrap it up, because we're getting close! (If you want to catch up, here is Part One, Part Two and Part Three)

When we left our heroine in part three, she was immobilized from the waist down and loving it. It was finally time to rest and let the contractions get her dilated to a 10. Everyone thought that would happen quickly, but we all know that was a dumb thing to think. That night she spent time looking up at her IV tree, a collection of five bags dripping into her body: pitocin, the epidural, the penicillin and two kinds of blood pressure meds because her numbers were so low. It was a funny sight to stare at because of her hopes to do this birth thing au-naturale!

She tried to sleep, but kept waking up when the blood pressure monitor would inflate on her arm, leaving her to wonder if her arm would be amputated. The thing blew up so tightly and often had to try multiple times in a row because it couldn't get a good read. So then she lay there wondering if someone was working on a less constricting way to monitor a persons blood pressure. Surely she didn't deserve to be woken up ever 20 minutes.

Each hour a team of nurses came to turn her body. Often this resulted in a round of throwing up. And at one groggy point, she remembers her sweet husband looking at her with tears in his eyes saying he hated seeing her like this and felt so helpless. That's still a sweet memory for her.

After 11 hours of this they checked her and said she looked close enough. She violently dry heaved a few more times and the baby crowned. The nurses were so pleased! They said many babies are pushed out when the mama throws up. They acted quickly, disbanding the bed, getting her legs into position, calling in the doctors and another nurse. They asked how long she pushed for her last baby and her husband commented, "not long at all..two pushes, maybe." Everyone was ready for this baby to fly out! 

**Um, I'm going to stop writing in 3rd person. I'm not even sure why I started out that way, but this is getting complicated...and since I'm here, writing this tale, I'm going to switch to 1st person. Sound good? Thanks.

But 45 minutes later, little progress had been made. The doctor was positioned at the base of the bed and kept yawning uncontrollably. I kept looking at the nurses and asking if I was pushing in the right place and they sort of half smiled. It was very discouraging. I was so exhausted and had nothing to give. And I felt so desperate. I was praying in my head and they were angry prayers, praying the scriptures. I remember saying, "You began this good work in me, now complete it! You said when I am weak, you are strong. Now be strong. You said I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. I cannot do this alone. You have to strengthen me." The kids had just brought home a book about angels from their library and the artist drew them as little fairy-like hot pink, teal and periwinkle people with wings. I remember thinking about those little angels and telling God, "you have to send an angel to tell this baby how to come out. It doesn't know what to do. This baby needs help. Please tell it how to come out." 

We passed an hour of pushing with hardly any progress. And then the nurses brought out the handle holds on the side of the bed, and a mirror so I could see where I was pushing. And something happened then. I focused on the mirror and pulled myself up with those handle holds and after a few rounds of contractions the baby finally came, in the proper position. Everyone was so surprised. Then they told me it was a girl. And I felt joy overflowing. My baby was here.

They put her on my chest for a few seconds only, suctioned her mouth a bit, and then took her to the other doctor who was called in to be sure the baby would be okay. They were concerned that she may have ingested meconium. Rory was with her and the doctor continued to work with me. I was so glad she was here. I was chatty with my doctor and pretty unaware of all that was happening on the other side of the room. I heard the nurse get on the phone and order a few things "stat." And I could see the seriousness grow on the faces of the nurses working with Hattie. I remember telling Rory, "Talk to her, daddy. Tell her who you are. Let her hear your voice." I was never fearful. Somehow I was protected from that. But Rory was. He was right there and heard the nurses and doctors talking. He could see her motionless body, completely still. I couldn't.

The x-ray team arrived and then the lab team to take blood samples. At one point I counted 11 people moving about in our room. It was about 7:15 and the whole staff changes at 7. So nurses were saying goodbye, while others were introducing themselves. My delivery doctor stayed around, but the new doctor was now on the clock and she came in fully caffeinated and took over. I remember thinking she was really loud for how exhausted we all were. She took everything in and then turned to me to tell me, "it is likely Harriet will need to go to another hospital to receive the best care." She explained the helicopter team that would come to transport her and I silently wept. I had finally had my baby. I had worked so hard. And I didn't want to be left behind at the hospital when my baby and my husband went to another city.

In the end, this doctor was amazing and exactly what we all needed in that moment. She came in with sound mind and heroically made some hard decisions early in the morning. She was sharp and later I was grateful. In the moment I didn't like her because I didn't like what she was telling me.

Everyone was talking of the fluid in Harriet's lungs, and the probable pneumonia that was visible on the x-ray. Rory went out into the hall to call our mom's and our pastor, telling them that we had a baby girl and to pray. And to get others to pray, too. And I asked him to call my friend Ali, asking her to come and stay with me while he drove to Minneapolis to be with Harriet.

The new doctor was getting Harriet ready for the helicopter ride when she said, "let's bring her to her mom." I'm still not totally sure, but I think she was just being kind letting me hold my daughter for a moment before we were separated.

But something miraculous happened when they put her in my arms. Harriet's breathing started growing stronger. And stronger. I talked to her and told her I was here mama. That I had carried her for ten months and I was ready to take good care of her. I told her I loved her and would always love her. The doctor said, "let's see if she'll nurse." And in moments we had a strong latch and Harriet was not only breathing on her own, but sucking. She nursed on both sides. In those ten minutes we think we had over 40 people praying for our little baby girl, and in those minutes, life came back into our daughter. You can see it in the picture below.

The NICU helicopter transfer team arrived, ready to whisk her away.

The NICU team was a wonder to me. They were so fast and direct and impressive. They ran a series of tests and in the end announced, "her lungs are clear. her breathing is strong. we think it's best for her to stay with her mom" And they packed up their things and flew away, leaving Harriet in my arms. No one could account for her miraculous recovery. Everyone was waiting for her to falter after she had been fed, but she never did. She didn't cough anything up. She never cried. And yet her lungs were clear of all fluid. It was inexplicable.

And I had my baby in my arms.

Finally things calmed down. The nurse took her foot prints. Ali took lots of pictures and then my sister and Rory's folks arrived, and we moved to the recovery room where my parents and our kids met us. It was a time of joyful introductions.

And then everyone left and Rory and I were alone with our little Harriet Joy for the very first time. It was quiet in the room, we had our baby in our arms and then we looked at each other and cried. A big, big cry. All the fear we felt when they told us she couldn't breath on her own, the exhaustion of a three day labor, the questioning if we were hearing God's voice at all, the disappointment of not having a home birth, the frustration that the baby would not get into position...it all made sense. We needed to be at the hospital. We needed God to write this story. We cried with gratitude, with relief, with thanksgiving and with love overflowing for the little life that had been trying her best the whole time.

We recounted all that happened after she was born, remembering the details, asking each other what the other heard and saw. We cried and held our daughter close. Knowing we were holding a miracle.

Harriet's birth story, part 3: baby spinning

Alrighty! Part One got us to the point where my water broke. Part Two got us to the point where we headed to the hospital. Part Three is all about the six most athletic hours of my life. I'm smiling in the picture above because I have no idea what is ahead. And because I had just ordered a bowl of oatmeal off the hospital menu, and I loved ordering off that fancy menu.

We got to the hospital and I felt so welcome there. I didn't know if I would...we were a home birth that was now showing up without any doctor that had me on their charts. But the administrator who ran the birthing wing was incredibly warm and kind to me. And the nurse we had actually had birthed two of her four babies at home, so there was no stigma with her either. In fact, she was really knowledgeable in all sorts of baby spinning techniques, as we tried to get this baby to get into position to come into the world. I had read a bit about these maneuvers so I sort of knew what was coming.

They checked me and I was dilated to a three. They hooked up the pitocin and before we started the baby spinning I took the traditional walk down the hospital hallways.

I'd caption that picture above, "get back into life! With depends!" Because I was still wearing them... And then I'd caption the picture below, "I'm a good sport!" This smile was before the pitocin really kicked in. Also, it's strange to remember that between contractions life is bearable. The pain is not constant. Which is nice of it. I seem to forget this fact (that there is relief between contractions) from baby to baby.

But then the contractions come. And they do hurt. Oh land, they hurt so bad. My favorite birthing position was in the glider rocker, singing quietly little falsetto melodies to the music we were listening to. We were playing the new Sara Groves album (Floodplain) and the new Andrew Peterson album (The Burning Edge of Dawn). Both of which are incredible. And since they were brand new to us, I was listening to the words with great concentration. My little falsetto melodies went along with the songs and somehow the singing and the rocking lessened the pain for me.

Along with the contractions hurting like craaaazy was the penicillin IV that I had in case of strep. I hadn't been tested for strep and because we didn't know if I was positive they administered the penicillin as a precaution. And man that IV killed going into my arm. It burned on the way in and my arm felt like it might explode.

My nurse had me doing all sorts of things with my legs and belly. At one point she had me squatting as low as I could with Rory standing behind me holding my belly up from behind as securely as he could. Folks, I don't do squats on a good day, let alone through a series of three contractions, multiple times in a row. In the picture above, one leg is swung off the bed. We did other exercises with the medicine ball and after six hours of pure athleticism they checked me again and I was dilated to a four. After all that, I had earned one centimeter. I was discouraged and exhausted and called mercy. Which translated to: epidural. 

At 7:30 the lady with the epidural showed up. She told me I should be able to still feel my toes with the epidural. But a few minutes later I couldn't feel a thing from my belly button down and I could not have been happier. They kept one leg up on a medicine ball (under the sheets) still hoping the baby would get into position. They turned me every hour, changing the leg on the medicine ball. The epidural made me throw up (it has with all three kids) a total of twelve times and after a while it was obvious this baby was still not coming anytime soon. We decided to sleep for a while. Thankfully we didn't know it would still be eleven more hours before our baby would be born.

Harriet's birth story, part 2: hopeful for a home birth

Part one of this birth story got us to the gun shot: my water finally broke! Being so late I assumed that if my water did break, this labor would go quickly. But it didn't.

All night long I had a back contraction about every hour or so. It was sort of lame. I knew things were starting up, but it wasn't all that intense. We were planning for a home birth (another story for another day!) so Rory inflated the birthing tub. But things were so slow we didn't fill it with water. In fact, we woke up in the morning and things felt so relaxed that we decided to take the kids to preschool. Upon seeing the tub in living room Ivar happily danced around, pleased that there was a swimming pool in our house. And Elsie crawled behind the couch and cried and cried. She knew her world was about to change in a mighty way...

It was letter D week at preschool so I told the kids they could bring in one of mama's "duh, duh, diapers" and they respectfully declined. They went to school and one of our midwives came over and checked me and told us what we should be looking for as our next step.

Rory got the kids Happy Meals after he got them from school and then my mom came and picked the kids up to take back to their house which left Rory and I in our house alone. And it was really nice. And quiet. We had already walked our road in the morning, and then decided to take another walk to the apple trees. But once there we decided to walk into the harvested soybean field and in the end we walked about a mile to the end of the field and found a big rock by a pond and then a mile back to our house. It was so lovely and peaceful. We were so excited for all that was to come. This walk felt like a little baby moon for us...it was sweet to have such a long and peaceful day to prepare for all that was ahead.

When we got home we remembered the acorn squash we had left in the oven. And we were glad we didn't burn our home down just before our home birth.

Rory went to Cub to get some groceries and later that night we got into a fight. Looking back I'd say we both had reasonable arguments. And that we were getting a bit stressed out that things weren't moving along. I think our fears were coming out sideways...at each other. In the end, we watched more interviews with the Back to Eden gardening guy that we like so much. I slept fairly well again. Just waking every hour or so with a back contraction, but nothing unbearable. And I was ready for unbearable.

We woke on Tuesday morning a bit more annoyed that things hadn't progressed overnight. We had passed the 24 hour mark with my broken water and there were no signs we were moving forward. I called our midwives again and the other midwife came to check the position of the baby. She told us that the baby was malpositioned, face up, fist under its chin, elbow extended out and still way up in the birth canal. The midwife explained that the baby was not on my cervix, which is what really causes to contractions to get going. Contractions were what would help get the baby into position. But without the baby being in position the contractions wouldn't start. We were in a holding pattern.

Given the amount of time my water had been broken it seemed best to go and get contractions started with pitocin at the hospital. And truly I was relieved. We had hoped to have this baby at home, but I had always said if we ended up at the hospital then that was exactly where we needed to be. And so we packed a suitcase and got in the car.

But it was so confusing. We really felt like we had been called to home birth. It's hard to explain but through so many confirmations I felt nothing but peace and excitement to have the baby at home. We had thought we were doing the right thing. And now we were left doubting if we had heard right or not. This is a tricky place in faith...when you step out and are left unsure.

What we didn't know was that we were right in the middle of a bigger plan, and that getting us to the hospital was going to be very important in the end. But sometimes when you're in the middle of your story, it's hard to understand why things are happening the way they are happening...

Harriet's birth story, part 1

Hattie is four weeks old today! Amazing! Life has been so full since she came. The first weekend we welcomed the kids home with us. The second weekend we celebrated Maddie's wedding. The third weekend I was down with mastitis and the forth weekend we trick-or-treated and celebrated Ivar's 5th birthday. These weeks have flown by. But here we are and I am committed to writing out her birth story...the story of the hours leading up to her arrival. This post today will be the abridged version. For some of you, this will be sufficient. But for my own memory keeping and for the few of you who love the details, I'm going to tell all the details over the next couple of days. 

There is so much suspense wrapped up in labor and delivery because you simply do not have any idea how it is all going to unfold. You just can't know. And after this last labor, I would say that it is God's good grace that you don't know how it's going to unfold.

Every phase of Harriet's labor felt a little too long and a little too eventful so that at each new stage Rory and I would think, "alright. surely now we've turned a corner. things should go smoother." But they never really did.

A quick overview by the numbers: When she finally made her earthly debut, Harriet was 10 days past her due date. It had been 54 hours since my water had broken, 37 of which were at home where I burned through a 24 pack of Depends. We ended up at the hospital where I enjoyed 17 hours of pitocin-induced contractions: 6 of those hours were the most athletic hours of my life, balancing on exercise balls, doing squats and lunges, all in an effort to get the baby to move into position. 11 of those hours were with a blessed epidural that unfortunately made me throw up 12 times. I pushed for over 1 hour and finally my 9 pound, 4 ounce baby with a head circumference of 15 inches was born.

And I was 1 exhausted mama. (This is also where a whole other story begins, but today I'm just writing about her labor and delivery.)

So you see, if a woman knew what her story was going to be before the whole shebang began, she might just cry. But you don't know it while living it, and that's definitely best.

On Sunday night of that week I stayed up late. We were seven days overdue and the birth felt imminent, even though it had felt imminent for over a week. I had posted this funny picture of me above on facebook and was getting lots of fun feedback which was good entertainment. I decided to read through Psalm 91 again, the Psalm that had come to mean so much to me and bring me so much comfort all throughout this pregnancy. And as I finished I closed my Bible, stood up from our reading chair and felt my water break.

I was so thrilled! Finally! I ran to the bathroom and then ran to Rory to tell him the happy news. This party was finally starting!

five is very, very fun

(Thanks to Kyle for taking this awesome pic of everyone at Ivar's 5th birthday party!)

At the beginning of October, while waiting for Hattie to come, I decided to plan Ivar's birthday party. And I had some thinking to do. Because last year, after his 4th birthday party, he sadly told me after everyone had left, "that was not a very good party." And that sounds like an ungrateful boy, but he was totally right. I had planned the party for all the adults coming to his party, and had somehow missed the point of the party completely: Ivar. I had made a homemade meal, we played trivia games...it wasn't very kid-fun.

So this year I was all ears. And what he kept telling me was Chuck E Cheese. Which sounded like a great plan to me. My sister said, "I think the year you have a newborn is the year you go to Chuck E Cheese." And I added, "and you buy the cake."

My fun boy had a few ideas for his party. He told me that "everyone needs to wear red to my party because red is my favorite color because Lightning McQueen is red." My dad, always the enthusiastic supporter of Ivar's latest interest, went to party city and purchased napkins and a hat and noise makers all with Lightning McQueen.

We ate pizza, cake and opened presents and then it was time to go play in the arcade. But Ivar wanted to play legos with his dad. Rory's mom had given Ivar the bucket of legos Rory had growing up...so there in the midst of ski ball and tunnel slides and tickets to be won Ivar and Rory played legos. I love that so much.

His birthday was on Sunday, so I asked him the day before if he wanted to bring a treat to share with his church family. I told him since we all had eaten so much sugar from trick-or-treating, it would be best maybe not to pick a candy. He thought for a bit and then said excitedly, "Lucky Charms!" (We clearly have some lessons to learn about sugar and nutrition!) But I loved his enthusiasm, so I brought boxes of cereal and gallons of milk to church and invited everyone for a bowl after the service.

The Lucky Charms sort of sum up the awesomeness this age. Ivar is so fun. He makes life so fun. And he makes me laugh and smile all day long. I'm so glad to be his mom.

a knight, a princess and a baby pumpkin

We had our first round of trick-or-treating tonight and it was so sweet. Kids, costumes, candy and community...I do love this weekend! The kids got plenty of candy, and you know who ended up with the tummy ache? Rory! Poor dad. He was used as an object lesson tonight as he lay on the couch. The kids noted his sorry state and decided one or two pieces a day will be plenty.

And this might be most fun for me, but these are some pretty great posts. Here are our costumes from the past few years: the shark and the cow, the peacock with hand foot and mouth disease, the farm family, a baby elephant, a groves family party, and the time that I, too, stuffed my child into a pumpkin.

how she got her name: Harriet Joy

When we were pregnant with Ivar we landed on two boys names and two girls names that we both loved. Ivar, Elsie, Harriet and...another boys name. (And because we're all about suspense and surprises, you may just have to wait a few years to learn what the other boys name is. Which is obviously dependent on if we have another baby, and if that baby is a boy!)

Elsie's middle name was going to be Harriet, but at the eleventh hour we decided to hang on to that name for a first name if we happened to have another girl one day. And then we did. :)

The name Harriet first came from Lake Harriet, our favorite destination in Minneapolis when we lived there. It is a happy and social lake, where you always run into someone you know. The feeling of Lake Harriet is always festive. There are bands and movies and ice cream and sail boats, beaches and walkers, runners and bikers. I think I've blogged about it umpteen times. (my favorite birthday party, our 9th anniversary, daily walks, etc..)

And I loved Harriet because it felt like a nod to my maiden name, Harrington. Which felt fun and fitting because I love family names.

But I didn't know how the name Harriet fit with Ivar and Elsie until I heard my friend Amanda talking about her niece Hattie, who lives on a hobby farm too. She told a story about Hattie and their chickens and I fell in love with the thought of a little farm girl, Hattie, running around our place.

At the moment we call her both Harriet and Hattie, pretty equally. I interchange them all the time, which is probably confusing, but I'm fine with both. We'll likely land on one or the other eventually, but for now she is Harriet, Hattie or most common El Hattie, because it is hard not to call your baby by their siblings name!

We were stumped on a middle name for a long time. Rory brought up Joy, which felt fitting, but I just didn't know if it was the one. And then at some point he mentioned that Joy was also his mom's middle name, which I loved. Because I'm all about family names and love having her share her name with Mimi.

So her name is Harriet Joy, and she absolutely is a joy. Hattie gets most upset when cold or hungry or if she has a dirty diaper. And don't we all. But other than those woes, I would say we have a very content baby. She loves to be held and swaddled. And she is good about letting her siblings hold her or place stuffed animals on her or force a pacifier in her mouth. And now she's fussing, so I have to go and hold my baby. :)

***
Click here to read how Elsie got her name. And here to read how Ivar got his name.

fall at the grovestead

I nearly missed it. It was when we drove home from the hospital with Hattie that I gasped, "the maples turned red!" And then we came home and hunkered down. Driving to Maddie's wedding I saw more fall colors (her wedding pictures will be stunning!) and then I came home and hunkered down again. Finally yesterday I set out with the camera to get the very, very last of fall. Most leaves have fallen, but it was a great day for a fall walk, and taking pictures with the big camera (still on auto...got to figure out manual someday) is really good for my soul. It always feels like a little scavenger hunt to find fun pictures.

Rory has been splitting wood in every free moment. (And mulching the whole farm in the other moments.) We've had a fire going the last few nights and we're so excited for this season to begin. His wood pile is growing and though not all of it will be seasoned for this winter, it is fun to watch it grow. Soon enough the farm will be white, so we'll take it these last bits of color until then!

if I had blogged on Tuesday...

If I had blogged on Tuesday I would have written about how good I am feeling after this pregnancy. How sincerely strong and able I feel. We had the whole Frick family over on Tuesday (Rory's mom's side of the family) who were here from Colorado for the wedding. It was a joy to be together and as we all love to say, it was a Frick n' Groves good time.

If I had blogged on Wednesday I would have written about how seasoned I feel at this motherhood thing. Babies do seem to get easier, because I know what I'm doing. (Plus, Hattie is pretty low-key...) And I know not to put my baby in anything with snaps or complicated foot holes for bedtime because I just don't have patience for that stuff at 3 am. I know to go to bed at 8 so I can get in that first sleep cycle before 11. I know that I can't actually sleep when the baby is sleeping, so I must sleep when the big kids are sleeping. Things aren't brand new, this isn't my first rodeo and I feel great. Also, it was Rory's birthday. Which I did absolutely nothing for because something had to give. I'll make it up somehow...though all he wanted was wood chips for his garden and look what he got:

If I had blogged on Thursday I would have written about how I started out the day noticing a blocked duct and how by the middle of the afternoon I was pretty sure I was dying. I got so sick. I was supposed to speak with Rory at our local pregnancy center banquet and by the evening I was in bed with the shakes, the sweats, and painful, painful nursing. It was bad news. By the middle of the night I was sort of wondering if I'd survive it all.

If I had blogged on Friday I would have written about how I lay on the doctor's table, answering questions with my eyes closed, how I felt so sorry for myself being so sick and in so much pain and still having to feed my baby through the pain. And then by evening I would have written about the horrors of mastitis and the miracle medicine that is the antibiotic. Because two pills in and I knew I was going to make it. I also would have written a sonnet to my mother, who came back on Thursday to sleep over and take care of me (and make me my third batch of mini monster cookies since the baby was born! because oatmeal is good for nursing! right?!!)

If I had blogged on Saturday I would have written about what a difference a day makes, how easily Harriet took my pumped milk from a bottle (my first baby to take a paci and a bottle!) And how my pump, after two other kids, sounds like a rocket about to take off and doesn't have a whole lot of power left in it. Then I'd write about how Rory's folks came in the afternoon when my mom left and how my mother-in-law sent my father-in-law to Target to buy me a new pump. And bless his heart, he went to that baby aisle and stared at all the nursing pumps and later told me that he found a woman with two young kids and asked her opinion as to which one he should buy. He came home with a great pump and it felt like Christmas morning. He said to me, "13 years ago when I was driving the tour bus and you were Troy and Sara's assistant, I could have never seen this day coming..." Oh we laughed. I don't remember the last time I was so grateful for something new. I adore my new pump. It's quiet and fast and I'm feeling so much better. And Harriet seems to love her bottles, a totally new experience for me as a mom. And I would have written about how we finished Mary Poppins with the kids and how hard Ivar laughed at all the funny parts. That movie was a joy to watch with an almost 5 year old.

Now it's Sunday and I actually am blogging. So I'd probably wrap this whole thing up saying that there are so many highs and lows in motherhood. There are joys and challenges, good days and hard ones. There are moments I feel like I rock at this gig and moments I feel brand spanking new to it all. There are moments of self-confidence followed by moments of self-pity. And it's all a part of the ride. Hattie and I stayed home from church today and I gave her bath and then we lay on the bed and looked at each other for an hour. And then I made myself a cup of fully caffeinated coffee with maple syrup and cream, which has put it me in the chattiest and happiest of moods. Plus, this afternoon I walked around our farm with the big camera and the big kids and took in all the pretty things happening around here. I'll post those pictures soon.

wedding weekend

On Hattie's 10th day of life we got all spiffed up to head to our niece Maddie's wedding! It was a glorious day, stunning for pictures, and so fun to see so many friends and family of the Groves clan. It was a blast and we were so proud to introduce our baby to the world. We had to be careful because she still shouldn't be with a lot of people...but your niece only gets married once in her life, and we weren't going to miss it!

Maddie's colors were black and white and gold. Mimi got the dresses for the girls (adorable!) and we borrowed a suit from my friend Beth for Ivar (so handsome!) and my mom helped get shoes and tights and ties to round everything out. Elsie loved her dress and walked like a princess all day. And she was quick to mention that "For Maddie's wedding she likes black and white, but for my wedding I like purple and pink." So we'll hold her to her choice in colors when the time comes...

Here are Mimi and Papa with all of their grandkids. Mimi is holding her littlest granddaughter while watching her oldest granddaughter get married. As I watched Kyle and Lisa (Maddie's mom and dad) I had this overwhelming feeling that this whole ride is going to go very, very fast. So I'll snuggle my kids when I can and hope and pray that one day they will each fall in love as wholeheartedly and beautifully as Maddie and Chase.

A Story of Joy

This story is so precious, and Rory and I have been trying to process it all week long. I actually haven't been able to write about much of it at all and feel like I'm still finding the words. Rory, on the other hand, has been writing ever since, not wanting to forget one detail. 

I'm a bit tentative throwing it out there though because there is a funny thing that happens when you share a miracle story. The world wants to try to make sense of it rationally, try to put a medical reason to the wonder. But Rory and I were there. And we know that not one doctor or nurse had any reason why our baby would make such a miraculous full healing just minutes after prayers began being spoken from all over the country.

I was on the bed and unable to see a lot of what was happening. But Rory saw our little, still baby. He saw the doctors faces and heard the phone calls being made for teams to show up stat. He wrote the following and I asked him if I could share it here. I'm sure I'll expand on parts of this at some point, but for now it feels right to be getting this out. 

For months before she was born, Psalm 91 kept coming before me. It started with a sermon at church, then a card I received. My kids came home from the school library with a book that was based on Psalm 91. I came across word art, and many friends even sent portions of it my way before she was born, without knowing its significance. It was uncanny, and I knew this was our baby's Psalm. I read the whole thing through many times and the last time I read it through entirely I stood up, closed my Bible and my water broke. At the time it made me laugh because this Psalm was confirmed so many times as the baby's psalm.  And so, in the midst of the fear surrounding her first hour of life, these were the words I kept hearing in my heart:

I will be with her in trouble,
I will deliver her and honor her,
With long life I will satisfy her
and show her my salvation.
PSALM 91

Meet Harriet Joy Groves. Her first act of life was a miracle by God.

It was 7:22 AM, one hour after her birth when the decision was made to emergency transfer Harriet to a neonatal intensive care unit in Minneapolis. She was born unable to breath on her own, but we didn't know that right away. Seconds after being born, nurses whisked her away from her mother's arms. A brief whimper was all we heard at birth, but no more crying. While Becca was being tended by one doctor, another doctor began checking Harriet's vitals, suctioning fluids, and listening to her lungs. The doctor could hear fluid, most likely meconium ingested during a difficult 54-hour labor. Her hands and feet were turning blue. Sensors on her foot registered in the low 30's. I asked what that number was. Blood-oxygen level. I asked what is it supposed to be. Above 90. She was hooked up to oxygen and the nurses turned the dial to 30%. Then 40%. Then 100%.

There are many moments of brief panic during pregnancy, labor and delivery. Becca and I both thought this was procedural, that within a few minutes Harriet would be breathing normally and back in her mother's arms. But as I watched fear grip the nurses, I felt the pit in my stomach grow. God, where are you?

Minutes away from birth she had a CPAP mask covering her mouth and nose, IV needles in her scalp, and a lead plate under her body as the lab techs set up a chest x-ray.

I remember reaching out holding her tiny hand and introducing myself: "Harriet. This is your daddy. I love you. I don't know what else to do right now, so I'm just going to hold your hand."

***

Throughout this pregnancy we made plans for this child's birth. Being our third, we knew enough that nothing goes according to plan when it comes to babies. But still, we did our best to prayerfully follow God's leading. And we felt peace about it.

The first detour was Harriet being born 10 days late. In those last weeks Becca would talk about how she started writing the birth story in her head, a great blog post in the making: "So there I was in Econofoods buying the ingredients for peanut butter pie when my water broke..." But each time she would hear God respond: "Let Me write this story."

So it was with great anticipation that we waited for this story to play out. But many hours after her water breaking, and only irregular contractions, we were forced to induce. This was a difficult, doubting hour, dashing months of repeated confirmations. How is this a better story, God?

Each stage, though, kept getting worse. The late pregnancy and contractions were followed by a mal-positioned baby causing excruciating pitocin-induced back labor for 6 hours while Becca tried various positions to turn the baby without success. Finally we ordered the epidural but still the baby did not come for 11 more hours. After losing count of the number of times Becca lost the contents of her stomach, it was finally time to push. The delivering doctor was called in and asked me how long Becca pushed with our last child. "Not long at all. Two pushes." Everyone was in agreement. Third child, long labor, this was going to be over soon. Which was good because Becca was utterly exhausted. I don't think I've ever seen her more depleted, physically and emotionally. An hour later, the nurses stopped counting off the contractions and the doctor couldn't stop yawning. Progress had been made, but barely (though we didn't let Becca know). It had been made clear to us that a c-section was a possibility because of the baby's position. Now that seemed almost inevitable.

But in the final 15 minutes Becca found her strength and rallied. And to everyone's surprise the baby was born in the ideal position.

"Cut the cord daddy!" At long last, Harriet had arrived.

***

One-half hour after birth the doctors tried to wean Harriet off her supplemental oxygen. Her color was much better but they were unable to keep her stable with less than 40% oxygen. The X-Ray had come back showing possible pneumonia in one lung. It was when Harriet started shallow breathing, unable to even keep up with forced oxygen that the head doctor made the call to emergency transfer Harriet to a NICU. Things were deteriorating rapidly and we were running out of options.

Through tears Becca asked me to call Ali, her close friend from town to come be with her so I could travel to Minneapolis to be with Harriet. I stepped into the hallway and called Ali. Then I called our parents. We hadn't announced Harriet's birth yet to anyone. If I concentrated I could force the words out, but if I thought about it I was too choked up to talk. Born 6:22, girl. Trouble breathing, transferring to NICU in Minneapolis. Please pray. I remember asking Becca's mom to pray with our kids who were staying with her. I remember understanding how pure and powerful are prayers of children. How God hears and is moved by them.

I called my pastor who spread the word to staff and church. All we had left to us now was prayer. We felt so helpless. Becca later told me her frustrated prayers while pushing, "You said, 'you began this good work in me.' You have to complete it.  You said, 'when I'm weak, you are strong. I have nothing left. You have to do this."

I returned to the room to pack and get ready to drive to meet Harriet at the NICU. Harriet was still rapid-breathing, the doctor listening to her lungs. She explained that the transfer team would bring their own equipment to stabilize her before transferring. So they would need to remove the IV's and monitoring equipment before replacing with their own. As the nurse was preparing Harriet for the transfer she briefly removed the CPAP mask.

As she went to reaffix the mask the doctor stopped her. "Wait." We all watched the oximeter. It stayed above 90. The doctor listened to her lungs. "Let's bring her to Becca". The nurses looked concerned but promptly complied.

They placed Harriet in Becca's arms. All our eyes were locked on to the oximeter. Could this be happening? It started rising. 95...96...97...

"Let's try to feed her." The nurses positioned baby and Becca and she immediately latched on and started nursing. Then she switched sides and kept nursing.

Ali arrived during this scene. I don't know what I said to her because there wasn't any explanation. Only minutes had passed since Harriet was rapidly deteriorating. The doctor explained that Harriet might be able to keep this up for 15 minutes, but then she would tire and need to go back on oxygen. We all kept watching the monitors and heard a helicopter in the distance getting louder.

***

The transfer team arrived in the room and waited for Harriet to finish nursing before taking their turn to check vitals. I remember thinking how serious these doctors and nurses looked. Their jump suits alone made their arrival feel all the more overwhelming.

I told Becca the lead doctor looked like the Commander in Chief of doctors. They connected monitoring equipment to Harriet and watched. "Stats are perfect." She listened to Harriet's chest. "Lungs are clear." The question was raised if she even needs to be transferred. One of the nurses smiled at me and whispered, "she's not going to transfer." After a brief consultation with the hospital doctors, they carried Harriet back to Becca's arms, packed up their things, and left.

Then God spoke. This is My story.

Within the span of 10 minutes we went from needing an emergency transfer by helicopter to save Harriet's life to it becoming a precautionary measure to her not needing to be transferred at all. And the recovery was instantaneous. She didn't get worse, worse, worse, then better, better, better. She got worse, worse, worse, then healed completely. Within an hour we were in the post-partum room celebrating with family.

The acting pediatrician later said he’s never heard of a NICU transfer team leaving without the baby.

Many of the nurses and some of the doctors rotated off-shift during the course of events and didn't know how the story ended. The next day the delivering doctor came by the hospital to check on us. She noted that mucus that had been coughed up the previous day was the only reason she could think of for the sudden turnaround with Harriet. Except the mucus wasn't coughed up until several hours after she started breathing normally, while in our recovery room. Between the time doctors heard fluid in her lungs and the "lungs are clear" diagnosis was given, Harriet never coughed or cried.

When the family left and Becca and I were once again alone together, we looked at each other and wept. We knew what we had seen. We knew what we couldn't explain. We knew God had gotten us to the hospital and had been writing this story all along. We would have never imagined this would be her story. No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him.

Before leaving for the day the hospital doctor stopped by. She was more involved with Harriet's resuscitation than anyone else. "Sometimes these things happen," is all she would offer about the abrupt recovery we experienced that day.

Yes, we thought, we call those things miracles.

Lord, you have been our dwelling place
throughout all generations.
Before the mountains were born
or you brought forth the earth and the world,
from everlasting to everlasting you are God.
PSALM 90:1-2

week one with Harriet Joy

As I type this I am very aware that one week ago tonight I was in the throws of labor, and at this moment was just getting my epidural. I had pitocin for six hours before I finally called mercy (which translated to: epidural). And even with the epidural, labor still continued for eleven more hours before I was ready to push. I'm exhausted just thinking about it and I'm so glad to be heading to bed in a few minutes.

Hattie will be one week old tomorrow morning at 6:22. After the initial scare of her first few hours of life, everything has greatly calmed down. We had a lovely stay at the hospital. I love room service and I loved my nurses that helped with everything. We came home on Friday and the kids came back on Saturday. I asked my mom to come out on Friday "for just an hour" and then didn't let her leave until the sun went down, telling her to come back the next day with her suitcase. I said I'd like her to stay "for just a night or two..." and I still haven't let her go home. She is the secret sauce to keeping everything running around here...dishes, Ivar and Elsie emotions, holding Hattie so I can shower, and laundry. There is so much laundry with a baby!

I think the most amazing thing is the passage of time during these first weeks. I feed Hattie every two or three hours. And it takes a while because we're both still learning how to do this together. And then between feedings she gets her diaper changed, often an outfit change if she spits up and it all just takes a lot of time. In between feedings I have to eat, or lay down or shower, or pay special attention to big siblings and just like that, it's time to nurse again. Our days go slowly and calmly and then all of the sudden it is nighttime again. My friend Shannon calls these weeks "soft focus"...sort of a blur of naps, nursing, sleepiness and slowly adjusting to the new normal.

And it is good. So good. I am so grateful to have Hattie here and healthy. I am grateful for her big brother and sister who adore her. I am grateful for my mom who came to mother me while I learn to be a mother of three. And most of all I am so grateful for Rory who I grew deeper in love with through this whole ordeal. He was so steady through all the twists and turns of Hattie's birth, saw the fear in the doctor's eyes, the exhaustion in my own eyes, rallied prayer warriors when we needed God to intervene and took great care of me all the while. I am so grateful and my heart is overflowing.