a staff like no other - 10/20/13 - 0w3d

Three hours and six minutes. That's how long we knew Joshua outside of the womb on this earth. 

Eternity. That's how long we will get to spend with him when God calls us home too. And we can't wait. 

Katy's operation began on Thursday morning at around 10:45 am. I was brought in just after 11:00. Shortly after, I met my second son David, then my third son Samuel, and finally my fourth son, little Joshua. David cried right away, Samuel right before he was laid on the resuscitation bed, and Joshua never did. While sitting next to my wife's covered body, we did the only thing we could in that moment: we prayed. While Joshua never did take a breath on his own, he did live longer than we thought he ever would. Both of us deep down were concerned we'd only get five to ten minutes with him. By all accounts, we should have. No amniotic fluid, no evidence of any kidneys, no lung tissue. And yet, somehow he survived off the ventilator for three hours while only gasping on average once every fifteen minutes. Joshua's tiny heart was pumping enough blood-carrying-oxygen to sustain life for 186 minutes. He wins the world's longest breath-holding contest hands down. 

There are so many details that I could document about those three hours and maybe I will in the days to come. All I want to do in this post is talk about how much love we and our boys, especially Joshua, received on Thursday and the days that followed. 

Let's start at the top. Katy's OB, Dr. Yin, came in to the OR and could have let the nurses be with her through her spinal, but instead hugged and consoled her through each stick, all the while assuring her of the process along the way. The tears she shed as she checked on Katy in the recovery room, even when she knew for the past 19 weeks the probable outcome. Her hugs and constant condolences in the hours and days that followed were not ones we expected from a doctor, but a friend and concerned advisor. 

Our perinatologist, Dr. Shields, normally doesn't attend the Caesarian and yet at our request, gladly was Dr. Yin's assistant, not hesitating when we asked if he could be there that morning. Our OB with Nick only checked on Katy once after he was born and yet we saw Dr. Shields everyday while in the hospital as he made a point to check on our well being even though his job was done. 

Marilyn, Dr. Shields' lead nurse, who had helped us through each weekly appointment and our endless questions, volunteered to don scrubs in a department she used to run, not to do her old job, but merely to support us by using our SLR camera to take pictures in the operating room. She answered our questions while the procedure was going on and in the NICU after, acted as a relay between our parents, and prayed with and for us and our sons in the turmoil that followed. While Joshua's team pushed oxygen into his lungs, she weeped as she put her arm around my shoulders and cried out to God for His will to be done. She took time before and after work in the days that followed to come over to check on how we and our boys were doing. Always smiling, always comforting. 

Dr. Turbow, the junior neonatologist on the team with 20 plus years experience in neonatology, counseled us around week 24 about what to expect right after delivery. He gave his most sincere gratitude to us as we explained our desire for Joshua to be a donor if he could, even though he ended up not being able to. His willingness to come in on his day off and electing to take on the greatest burden, the lead doctor on Joshua's resuscitation, knowing full well he would probably not make it. He never grumbled and was nothing but kind, professional, and genuine. He saw us in the hallways during the days after and always stopped to give us updates and if he couldn't would promise to follow-up with us when he saw us in the NICU in a while, and he always did. 

Nurses like Joan, who worked on Joshua and held it together until I put my arm around her to say thanks and her eyes closed as tears fell. Anne and Frank, who were instrumental in Samuel's survival. Mary, helping David's intubation to go smoothly and allow him to breathe. The floor director Ria, who left the NICU during the procedures because she could no longer hold it together while her staff labored so intensely to provide for our triplets. Labor and delivery nursing staff like Lindsey, Charley, and Mary who were so positive with us even if their experience told them the probable outcome.  Katy's nurses in post-partem, Lauren, Helen, and Chelsea, always firm but kind, smiling, and with Katy's best intentions at heart. All of the respiratory therapists, Katy's anesthesiologist, ultrasound techs and doctors, and x-ray techs. So many people, so many names that we could hardly begin to remember them all.  

Amazingly enough, one stood out above all others: Tara King, Katy's labor and delivery nurse for most of our stay. Aside from being assigned to help Katy everyday she was confined here before giving birth except for one, she went above and beyond in her effort to get to know her. She always spent extra time outside of her normal parameters to care for and just be a friend to Katy. We came to find out she knew our friend Rebecca and had her teeth cleaned by our friend Caitrin, further solidifying the connection between her and Katy. As the days went on, she made it clear that while she was not supposed to be in the operating room as she served no real purpose there, she was determined to get inside, not to help the other doctors or nurses, but to support Katy. And she succeeded. Two days before the surgery was scheduled, as she was getting ready to go home, she came in beaming from ear-to-ear, hardly containing herself as she informed us she would be there in the OR. She came in the morning of, got Katy all prepped, helped her do her hair, calmed her nerves with her ever-present smile, and was there for her every step of the way, never leaving her side the minute she entered the OR. The consummate professional, she didn't get in anyone's way, but made sure to help Katy out by keeping her calm and in the loop every step of the way. As we came to the conclusion that Joshua would not make it, tears fell down her cheeks. The hours we got with him she was minimally in the room, allowing us to have our time with him and our family. When Joshua passed away into Christ's arms, she assured us we could have as much time as possible with him and when we said we were ready she double-checked to make sure we actually were. When we decided to move Katy into her recovery room so Joshua's first and final bath could be done in the labor and delivery room, she got noticeably quiet. When asked why, she related how by moving Katy over to recovery, she wouldn't be her patient anymore and she wasn't ready to let her go just yet. I stayed with her as she washed Joshua with the greatest of care, treating him as if he was still alive with her gentleness. She kept me informed every step of the way with what would happen to him next in the death process. She combed his hair, what little he had, shaped it into a faux hawk like mine, allowed me to take what pictures I wanted, and gave me all the time I needed with him. She took her time setting up and creating a memory box for us, getting his hand and foot prints, a lock of his hair, his hospital ID bracelet, and his NICU blanket. Once she was finished getting him ready to take to the morgue, she asked if I wanted to take him into the NICU to get pictures of him with his brothers. I told her we had asked the NICU staff if that could happen and they politely informed us David was not stable enough to do such a thing. Tara was disappointed, but nodded her understanding. I said a final goodbye to Joshua, and Tara told me she would stop by before the end of her shift to see Katy. 

A few hours later, while Katy and I sat quietly in the recovery room, Marilyn walked in. She gave us hugs and asked how we were doing. While catching up on the whirlwind of a day we had had, Tara walked in beaming. She pulled out our camera and explained how I had left it in the NICU when I went to check on the boys after Joshua died. She turned it toward us and showed what she had done. Somehow she had finagled her way into the NICU on her way to the morgue with Joshua and convinced them to put all of our boys together in the same incubator. They moved Samuel's monitors next to David's and placed Joshua in between his brothers. Then Tara took pictures of them together, one final time. There were multiple shots, most of which contrast the red-life-filled skin of David and Samuel with Joshua's once similar and now opposite lifeless one. But in the pictures is a tenderness that while probably fictitious, shows two brothers, saying goodbye to another, turning toward him in a final display of affection, and reaching out to him as if to say, "See you again one day."

Katy and I can't ever repay the staff here at Marian Medical Center for what they did for our family. No words or presents will ever fulfill or display our sense of gratitude we have for the gift they gave us of these three boys. We won't always remember their names or even their faces in the not-too-distant future. From the very depths of our soul, we will forever be grateful for what they've done, are doing, and will do for us. They will always have an oh-so-special place in our hearts. They will never know what they all mean to us and we can never fully express the love we have for them. All we can say, is thank you. 

Thank you. 

Thank you. 

Thank you.