remember

My cousin Amanda called me the other night out of the blue, as she had passed by her fridge and saw our birth announcement on it.  She told me she was thinking of us as she is giving birth to her second son tomorrow.  It reminded us there are many of you still regularly thinking of us and our trial which was now over nine months ago.  It also caused us to reflect, once again for the ten billionth time, on how much we miss our son.  Amanda chided me for not having any recent pictures of the boys and I admit, I am without excuse.  I'm sorry we don't post more, or any, depending on your viewpoint.  We're lucky to get our phones out quick enough to even grab a quick pic of something cute they're doing or some new milestone.  I'd like to say I'll be better about it, but that would be an empty promise.  We post when we can which is obviously few and far between.  The night Amanda called, we were playing on the floor of their bedroom with them and listening to my iPhone on shuffle when a song by Chris Rice came on entitled "Untitled Hymn (Come to Jesus)."  That night it held a deeper meaning and after a few days and many tears, I was able to put a photo montage together of the life and death of Joshua.  I feel like I shouldn't have to say it after so many other posts where the disclaimer was necessary, but I will anyway. Don't watch this video if you're concerned over people seeing you cry or if you're in an emotionally fragile state, as it will most likely evoke feelings you don't want to come out. With that being said, please enjoy a glimpse into our youngest son's life we aren't always able to properly describe, but feel this video does a small bit of justice.

perfect - 11/10/13 - 3w3d

I started to write a post that included some of my thoughts on my grief and sorrow over our loss of Joshua, but realized I had so much to say and it was so scattered that it needed some fine tuning. Instead, this is merely an update on how our boys came into this world and how they are now. 

On a day three weeks ago, I was not only blessed to meet little Josh, but I also got to meet his two womb-mates. They are perfect and while they have had to spend their days in the NICU, I am very excited for the day they will get to come home. 

At 11:04 am, on October 17, 2013, David Adam entered this world.

I heard him scream right away and then he was taken into a small room off of the O.R. called the resuscitation room. Rob assured me that he was ok just in need of some respiratory support. After surgery, the wonderful staff wheeled my bed into the NICU where I got to see my babies for the first time and at that time David was just getting oxygen thorough a nasal cannula.

Later that day he showed signs that he needed even more help breathing so he was intubated.

The nurse that night had her work cut out for her because she had the very unpleasant job of keeping me in bed to recover and away from the NICU and my babies. Rob spent the night trying to assure me that he would make sure I could see my babies first thing in the morning. So the next day when I finally got to go, I was very disappointed to hear that I could not hold David, only touch his head because he was too sensitive to touch. All we could do was standby and hope for the day we would be able to hold him. While I was being discharged, Rob sent me this picture:

He had been extubated! He was now on a cpap which looks brutal but in reality is just a cone that covers the nose.

That day was my last day staying in the hospital and we would start traveling to and from the hospital to see our precious babies. It is now three weeks later and David has made vast improvements. He went from the cpap to just a nasal cannula and from a central feeding line that went through his umbilical cord and allowed for a small blood transfusion, to an IV, down to nothing. He also went from a closed isolette where we could only stick our hands through to touch him to a regular open air crib where we get to hold him any time that we want.

This is my beautiful David today:

 At 11:06 am, on October 17, 2013, Samuel Abraham came into this world.

He did not cry right away but after some vigorous rubbing he perked up and let out one of the most wonderful sounds. They were able to keep Samuel in the O.R. as he did not need much lung support so Rob got to take pictures with him.

I was able to meet him before he was moved to the NICU.

After being taken into the NICU where I got to look at David, the staff moved me over by Samuel's isolette and I held him for the first time.

When we left the hospital, Samuel was receiving oxygen through a nasal cannula.   

By the next week he was taken off the oxygen, had his IV removed, and moved from the temperature controlled isolette to an open air crib. He is currently staying in the NICU only until he can take all of his feedings by mouth and not through the feeding tube. Currently this is what our little Sam looks like:

The boys are all perfect. They were on the day they were born...

And they are now...

They don't always get to be in the same crib, but we snuck them in to get a shot of three of our boys.

We'll try and post soon about our memorial service and how we've been dealing with our loss, each in our own posts but in the mean time, thanks again for all of your continued prayers and thoughts. They are definitely helping us to keep going.

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.

fear - 10/17/13 - 33w0d

     

At 10:30 am PST Katy will be having a c-section. We are just over 8 hours away from delivery. When we were this close with Nick, I was so excited I couldn't sleep. The anticipation of being a father, the excitement of all we'd get to do together, watching the love my bride would have for her son, was something I could hardly wait for. It's a lot different this time around. Our friends the Patterson's are two doors down and just delivered their second child, first boy. I know my buddy Jimmy is having a lot of those same thoughts as he watches his bride and newborn son. It's not that I'm not looking forward to those things. It's just that I want them to happen. I know there are lots of people, like us, who have struggled to have children. I know it may seem selfish of me to think the way I do, but I want those things with ALL of my boys. Not just Nick, David, and Samuel, but Joshua too. It's so much different this time. I have a hard time being excited. 

A few days ago I realized something that may seem pretty obvious. I'm stressed. I don't know why it took me so long to realize what should be so obvious. But I finally got to the root of why I'm stressed; I'm terrified of what the morning brings. It's not even so much the probable outcome that scares me. It's the unknown. Not knowing is the scariest part and I know it's my own desire for control that drives the fear. Sure I'm sad and if he does pass away I'll be a wreck. But deep down, I know the unknown is what is eating me up. 

On a different note, having Katy on bed rest this last month and in the hospital this last week has opened my eyes to a lot. First, I don't know how single parents do it. Working full time and coming home to a second full time job is exhausting! How they have time for anyone other than their kids is beyond me. It also made me appreciate how fortunate we are to be able to have Katy be a stay-at-home mom. The little things she takes care of throughout the days of the week made my life so unknowingly easy. Having to work and then come home during the week and on the weekend just to do those little things has been enough to almost drive me insane. Aside from the obvious reasons my love for my bride has gone up during this pregnancy, realizing all she does for our family without complaint raised the bar even higher. 

When people take care of you, it usually makes you happy. But when people take care of the people you love, it warms your soul. Every time I came in to the hospital to visit Katy and saw a new note or package I was elated. Whenever she told me someone had stopped by to visit or I walked in on a prayer time with friends, I was comforted. There's a sense of guilt you get when your spouse is laid up in a hospital and you aren't with them 24/7. So to know others were caring for her when I wasn't, was awesome. Thank you to everyone who came, sent a card, made a call or text, mailed a care package, or just prayed for us during this time. Your love was overwhelming! And if you want to come visit us while we're here the next few days, please do, just not after 9 as we will be passed out!

Our God is a god of truth. He makes promises and keeps them sustaining the trust in our relationship with Him. When you lose that trust, a relationship is broken. I know there are so many people who don't trust God for any number of reasons, but it seems as if many of them are self-imposed promises thrust on Him that He never made. If we look at the promises of scripture, He hasn't broken one. Sure some haven't been fulfilled yet (Christ coming back) and others took forms that were unexpected but ended up being better (Christ coming to overthrow a spiritual enemy not a political one), but He always keeps His promises. We've known a few friends over the years who have sadly lost children either through miscarriages or complications post-partem. These friends have all said that their babies were in a better place and they knew in their hearts they'd see them again. Some of these friends are Christians, some not. Both are right in where their children are now. The neat thing for us is, that if Joshua dies, we truly know where he will be, that we'll see him again, and he'll immediately be in the presence of Christ. We know this, not because it feels or seems right, but because of our God who cannot lie telling us so in His Holy Word. There's an overwhelming peace that comes with that kind of assurance and guarantee, and it's one that passes all understanding. 

Tonight on the way home from AWANNA, Nick said that Joshua was probably going to die. My mom began explaining to him how that might happen and we would be sad if it did, but we were praying it didn't. He calmly looked at her and said, "Why would we be sad? Joshua will be in heaven with Jesus." Out of the mouths of babes.