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.

Introducing Harriet Joy Lovie Treetop Groves

It is with gratitude overflowing that we introduce Harriet Joy Groves. She was born on October 7th at 6:22 in the morning weighing 9 pounds 4 ounces. Her labor was hard and long but she is here! She was born with fluid in her lungs and they even sent a helicopter from the Minneapolis Children's NICU to take her into their care, but minutes before they were to take her away she miraculously began breathing on her own...even nursing! And when she was checked again they reported there was no fluid and the helicopter team left, leaving Hattie with us. (One day I'll write out the unabridged version of this most amazing start to her first hour out of the womb.)

She is a miracle baby and we are so, so grateful. The doctors instructed us to have no visitors for the first few weeks until her immune system improves. So in the meantime, we are hibernating and getting to know this newest, sweet member of our family of five. 

The kids were a bit disappointed their names weren't picked. Rory and I named her Harriet (Hattie) Joy, but Ivar was sure Lovie would make a nice middle name (It would have!) And Elsie is sure Treetop would have been a better pick (Not quite!). But we'll keep them in the mix for as long as everyone needs to feel ownership for our sweet baby girl.

wiping and waiting

My friend Tiffany has this hilarious bit where she talks about when she finally figured out her true call in life as a mom. She says that when she reduces everything down the her actual work as a mother, it all comes down to one task. Wiping. She wipes noses, wipes up spills, wipes off counter tops, wipes butts, wipes crayon off the wall, wipes toothpaste off the bathroom sink, and wipes tears. She calls herself a professional wiper.

Oh that makes me laugh so hard. And I think of her words often, like when I'm down on the floor trying to pry off dried banana under the kitchen table. Cement could be made from dried banana.

This week I've been thinking a lot about waiting as I am now officially 41 weeks pregnant. I'm waiting for a baby to come, but there are so many other ways mothers wait.  I can think of a few friends who are waiting for a good guy to marry so that they can have kids of their own. I have friends who are waiting and wanting desperately to get pregnant. I know a woman at church who is waiting and praying for her wayward son to turn his life around. I've watched mom's cling to the picture of their child, living in an orphanage in another country, waiting for paper work to be sorted out so they can bring their baby home. Some mom's have to send their kids off to war and wait for their return. I've even thought of the grandma's at the nursing home I worked at, and how they would wait and anticipate a visit from their adult children. Or how one of my dear friends is waiting with full expectation to get to hold her babies in heaven that she carried, but never got to raise.

Few things are as monotonous as wiping. Few things are as taxing as waiting. And yet the wiping and waiting of motherhood lead directly to the complete joy of motherhood. It's all a part of the same thing. And I can think of no greater calling.

cupcakes, combines and so much crying

I woke up this morning, once again surprised that the baby is still on the inside. We are three days past the due date now. I lay there and thought about the open day ahead of us and could hear the kids talking in their room. When I go into labor they will go with my folks for two nights and then to Rory's folks for two nights. And suddenly I just wanted to shower them with love and time and tenderness, knowing that our daily routine is going to look very different, very soon.

They came down and we snuggled. Rory built the first fire of the season in our stove and we sat by it. We had bagels and cream cheese and then put warm clothes on for the day.

And then I told them our plan.

Today I was going to take them to the river to build sand castles. We have a beautiful arboretum by us with trails and it leads to a sandy bank that we love to frequent. They loved that idea. And then I told them we'd go and get cupcakes to eat as a treat when watching the combine working in our field. I couldn't think of a more perfect morning and was personally excited for a carrot cake cupcake.

We loaded the car and when Ivar got into his carseat his pants slid down a bit. He got out and tried to pull them up, but then back in the seat they had slid down a bit again. And he absolutely fell apart. I tried to help but he screamed with so much frustration. I told him I'd go find other pants.

I was digging in the dryer when he came in the house, sobbing and angry. He kicked off his crocs and took off his pants. I told him he needed him to go upstairs to find different pants, as I had already gone up and down the stairs four times this morning and was tuckered. Instead he rolled on the ground and I sat on the couch watching. Elsie was still in the car, buckled in and eating gold fishes so I knew she was okay.

I sat there and recognized that I had time to deal with this. All we have is time. So I asked him what he wanted to do with his day. He told me he didn't want to do any of my ideas. He said he wanted to stay home and read books.

Which sounded so awesome in my tuckered state, I could hardly handle it.

I went out to get Elsie who was delighted to tell me that both kittens had jumped in the car through my open door and had been drinking from my water cup. I told her the new plan and then she fell to pieces. Obviously. I mean, the word cupcake had already been spoken. No doubt she was angry with the changes.

So I unbuckled her and she cried and I told her she could come and read books with us for just four books, and then we'd go find an adventure again. It took her a long time to come into the house.

Which was good because it was in that time that Ivar cried into my arm while sitting next to me on the couch. And then he said the thing that finally explained everything. He choked out, "What is going to happen when the baby is crying and I am crying too?!!" He was sobbing at this point.

Our whole family is feeling so much right now. Change is just around the corner (or so we've thought for about a week now...) and Ivar sort of summed up all the questions of not really knowing what it's going to look or feel like. I showed him how I had one arm around him in that very moment, but that I had another arm that can hold the baby. And I told him this is why God gives kids a mom and a dad, because I will be able to snuggle with him when Dad helps the baby. And I told him sometimes he or the baby will have to wait a minute until I can get to them. But I will always get to them.

Elsie came in the house and we talked about it all over again with her. And she said confidently, "I will hug the baby when you are crying, Ivar."

We read four books, all snuggled together. And then we made three glasses of chocolate milk and drank those at the kitchen table. And then I asked them what they wanted to do next and they both knew: "Go to Target to buy Elsie her high heels!"

Apparently they had discussed this plan last night after we tucked them in. Elsie had birthday money to spend and has been talking about getting cinderella high heels for weeks. I just hadn't been informed of their plan when I made my own this morning.

So that's what we did. On a glorious, stunning, fall day in Minnesota, we went to Target for two hours. And found the high heels. And then found all sorts of other things we never knew we needed. Mostly I kept running into friends and was enjoying the fellowship that can be found in random Target aisles all throughout the store.

We came home and ate cheesy chips for lunch (microwave nachos!) and now they're up for quiet play time.

There are so many emotions under this roof right now. And in the end, today ended up playing out exactly how it needed to because we had the time to talk about some big feelings that had been hiding under the surface. It felt good to all cry a bit, to feel the feelings and talk about them. And isn't this the whole point of motherhood? Today I was grateful for this waiting time and the added time to get to mother and reassure and cuddle with my older two.

Though I still am craving that carrot cake cupcake...