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