older than he should be

My son turned six today.  Okay, he actually turns six at 1:51 pm.  But for all intents and purposes Nick is six.  At about the time I'm writing this, on the day he was born, Katy and I had arrived at Cottage Hospital and she was being hooked up to monitors.  We were both expecting to be sent home shortly as he wasn't due for another three weeks.  Like the rest of his life, he exceeded those expectations and was born before he medically should have been.

Some parents say their kid acts/looks/seems older than they actually are.  That may or may not be true, but for Nick, it is one hundred percent accurate. I know you're dying to know why, so let me relieve your anxiety.

Let's start with his stature.  While born on the smaller side, it took less than a year for him to break into the 90th percentile, and upon reaching that status, has yet to leave it.  He's definitely a "big" kid and while there are many, many boys and girls who are skinnier than he is, we're not concerned. For one, he never stops playing hard and as a result never stops sweating so again, we're not concerned. He and I were picking up dinner for Katy on her birthday back in May and the cashier said hi to him. He replied back with hi. She asked his name. He said Nick. She asked him how old he was. He replied, "I'm five...I weigh 62 pounds." As the girl was placing her eyeballs back in their sockets she stammered, "But I'm only 85 pounds and I'm 19!" Granted, she was maybe, MAYBE, four foot eleven. Still. That's my boy. Blowing people away.

The same is true of his height, reading ability, intelligence, strength, hand-to-eye coordination, and many other traits.  All are beyond what we thought it should be for his age. He's one of the most polite boys we know, a sensitive soul, and in love with anyone who will play board games with him.

There is a flip side to this huggable cuddly boy.  He is a sinner. He can lie, disobey, stall, disrespect, and sneak with the best of them.  He exceeded our expectations of these as well in that for each sin that manifested itself, we thought he was way too young to display those tendencies.  But in this matter, he is exactly like all of us.  Way ahead in our ability to sin than we should be.  Exploring and testing the boundaries of our Father's patience and tolerance daily on an exponential level.  Are we surprised by his ability to violate God's law?  Absolutely!  But not because he's able to do it, just that it points to our own sin so vividly in both dealing with it and displaying the traits he inherited from both of us. Again, breaking all of our expectations about himself and inadvertently showing us our own in the process.

The most important and heart-wrenching way in which he's older than we feel he should be, has been emotionally.  In the few short years he's had on this earth, he's seen his dog Lucy bolt between his legs as he accidentally left the front door open, only to be in the car when his mom discovered Lucy's broken and twitching body up the street.  He has and is enduring his new dog Hobbes scratch, destroy, and tackle him.

He was placed in Kindergarten early out of necessity for the multiple births to come, conquered the accelerated program presented before him, only to be switched to a different school for the following term.  His mother was put on bed rest and unable to help him with tasks he was so used to having help with.  This boy, has lost three brothers.  Two to a broken social system that caused him to believe it was his fault they were taken away.  The other died a premature death in a hospital room five feet away from him.  He was essentially an only child for five years with all the attention he could desire being paid to him by both his parents until both of them diverted their focus to two very needy infants.  He's watched his parents cry night after night in the weeks that followed his brother's death, been to his own brother's memorial service, had to endure two sleep-deprived adults who have all too often neglected him or at the very least paid him a minute amount of attention compared to the previous five years.  His trips to Disneyland went from almost monthly to virtually non-existent, as did park excursions, bike rides, and any other outside-the-house-fun-activity imaginable.  All the while, all around him his friends have been gaining sibling after sibling, close enough in age to have an at-home friend and playmate.  All in all, it has been a trying life so far for this little guy, and I'm sure in his little heart these are just the tip of the iceberg.

There have been times when the bewilderment on this boy's face has been emotionally overwhelming for Katy and I.  And yet, at the same time, extremely frustrating as he's been trying to figure out how to cope with his own emotions by acting out or seeking our attention in ways we wish he wouldn't.

Realistically, I realize and understand that there are kids the world over that have been through infinitely worse than Nick has.  But how much this kid can handle leaves us in awe.  Through everything, he doesn't appear to hold any resentment toward us and, more importantly, absolutely zero toward his baby brothers.  I would suggest there isn't a kid in the world who loves his siblings more than he does.  He lets them pull, drool, slap, interfere, delay, and demolish his life.  Yet every morning he sees them, every day after school, every time he has been outside for more than ten minutes and was able to forget about how they changed his life, the next moment they come into his peripheral, he has a grin from ear-to-ear and calls them by whatever nickname he's trying out for them at the time while gently grabbing their hands.  If given the choice, he will put off almost anything for the opportunity to make them laugh or help us out with them.  He is a GREAT big brother for "his babies" whom he has waited five years for.

I'm well aware of the possibility that all of this is temporal.  But for the time being, I needed to document not to the world, but to our family, what we are witnessing in this little boy: a five-year-old who is years beyond his age in experience, emotion, and, with his brotherly interactions, maturity.

I could write all night about this kid, but after awhile I'm sure it becomes redundant and overly wordy if it isn't already. At the end of the day, what I've learned is my son's age can't be measured in earthly restrictions like years and days.  My son's age is measured in the love he has in his heart for his parents, brothers, family, and Christ, and if that's the case, he is already an old soul.

homecoming

I was browsing for some examples today of multiple birth announcements and came across this blog called Perfectly Peyton.  It's this woman, Stacey Skrysak, a tv news anchor in Illinois, who gave birth to triplets at 22 weeks 6 days. Shortly after giving birth, one of her triplets, Abigail, passed away. A month and a half later, her son Parker, also one of the triplets, passed away too. After 116 days in the NICU, they were able to bring their daughter Peyton home. I told Katy about this inspiring family and how Stacey had been blogging fairly consistently throughout. I expressed guilt at not having kept up our blog for the numerous people praying and thinking about us during our experience. Katy reminded me of my post regarding the NICU staff and how she had posted just over a month ago about how the boys were doing. I shrugged both of those off in light of Stacey's ability to continue posting throughout, what seems to us, overwhelming loss. So for hibernating, I do apologize.

That's what this post is going to be. Strictly an update. If I have the emotional energy, I may try and tackle a thoughtful post afterward. Without further ado, here's what's been going on since November 10th, the date of Katy's last post.

On November 13th, Samuel came home. All of us, especially Nick, could not have been more excited

 Even Lucy got in on the action. She was unsure, but at least she didn't shun him like she did to Nick for the first three years of his life. 

It was a long first night, but so, so, worth it. For the next nine days though, we struggled with spending too much time at home taking care of ol' Sam while not spending enough time at the hospital with David. We found ourselves splitting our time with David, rarely going as an entire family, trying to balance raising Nick and Samuel at home and getting quality time with David. Wrestling with guilt over getting to know Samuel so well at home and missing out on the same experience with David. We were faked out two days after Samuel was discharged when the NICU staff removed his o2 nasal cannula. 

They ran him through a car seat check, sitting him buckled up in his car seat and monitoring his levels for two hours. He passed the test with flying colors! That night however, he "de-sat'd" and was put back on o2 for a few more days. That was a tough one to swallow, especially since the 17th was their one month mark and they weren't living in the same place.

Soon it was over though and on November 22nd, our family was within our four walls, united at last. 

Having both of the boys home before Thanksgiving was amazing


We obviously can't say enough about the staff at Marian. They were amazing and will always have a special place in our hearts. That being said, we didn't realize how much of a toll it was taking on us emotionally to walk by the place where all of our triplets lived and where one of them died. We walked by the exact room where Joshua entered into heaven sometimes three times a day. We passed the operating room where we saw them come into this world. We sat for hours a few feet from where we saw Joshua failing to breathe. We daily saw the faces of the loving people who cared for Joshua in his few hours. These situations and associations were unavoidable and we wouldn't change what we went through by walking down those halls every day for 37 days. That number seems so small when its written out. Especially in light of the Skrysak's time in the NICU and especially our friends the Kostjuk's. But to us, it felt like a lifetime.

Well, life got in the way and although this post began shortly after Thanksgiving, it's concluding in January. 

The boys are amazing. We celebrated Christmas with both sides of the family, dedicated them at church this past Sunday with family and friends, and they're both double their birth weight now! They smile regularly, poop disgustingly, cry incessantly, and we love them unconditionally. I'll try and get Katy to post some pictures from the past month in her own post soon. Thank you for your prayers during our hiatus. Sorry it took so long. Taking care of two babies takes up a lot of time ;) 

three not two

It's been awhile since I've cried. The last time I did was during Joshua's memorial service. That was until three days ago. I know many of you may not agree with what I'm about to say, but we claim our children on our taxes. In order to claim them as a dependent, they must have a social security number. Well apparently when a child only lives for a few hours they don't issue one. So off we went to the social security office in search of this elusive number. Upon arriving at the friendliest place on earth, we were informed Joshua would never receive a number as he would never receive social security benefits. We were instructed to walk our behinds over to the IRS office and request a tax payer identification number. The equally sociable IRS agent (imagine a modern day Zacchaeus) declined our request and suggested we walk our behinds over to the social security office and request a number. After somewhat politely informing him we had just been there, he suggested we submit our taxes with a birth or death certificate to prove he was born this year. Thinking it would be a good idea to get birth certificates for all of the triplets, we journeyed to the county clerk's office where we met for the first time that afternoon a "civil" civil servant. After receiving all of the papers, we made a shocking discovery. Unbeknownst to us, and probably most people, when someone dies a person at the clerk's office stamps the word "deceased" in big red letters on their birth certificate. Apparently this particular government employee decided to make Joshua's birth certificate into a work of art by stamping it six times. Fast-forward to two days ago when I sat down for my yearly venture into the amazing world of Turbo Tax. After entering the other three boys' socials, I got to Joshua's info. I was fine filling it out until the last box where I was asked to type the word "died" in the blank space. At that exact moment, the song "Do You Wanna Build a Snowman?" from Disney's recent movie Frozen came on our iTunes. If you're not familiar with the movie, this little girl named Anna is singing to her sister Elsa, or, as it was in my head, two little boys to their missing brother. The lyrics go like this:

(Anna) Do you wanna build a snowman? / 

Come on let's go and play / 

I never see you anymore /

 Come out the door / 

It's like you've gone away

We used to be best buddies / 

And now we're not / 

I wish you'd tell me why

Do you wanna build a snowman? / 

It doesn't have to be a snowman / 

(Elsa) Go away Anna / 

(Anna) Okay, 'bye

It didn't help that earlier that day while on my newly adapted public bus ride home from work, I had been looking out of the window at the passing scenery, realizing I'd never get to see the excitement on Joshua's face the first time he saw the ocean, a field full of cows, sky-reaching mountains, and the like.

There are days I don't think of him too much. Then there are days like the above where I can't stop thinking about him. We only knew him face-to-face for a few hours, and yet I'm reminded of him everywhere. He's in his brothers' smiles. He's in the way they sleep. He's in any giraffe I see, as the stuffed animal waiting for him at home with his name embroidered on it was a giraffe. He's in the bright blue of the blanket he was wrapped up in. He's in every bath we give our boys as I remember Tara washing his hair after he passed away. He's in the grip of our sons hands, the way Katy looks in certain light, or the shirt Nick or I wore that day. He's everywhere.

I don't mind talking about him. In fact I enjoy doing so. It helps me feel like I'm remembering him and not forgetting who he was. It reminds me I will see him again one day by the promises of Scripture.

And yet, there are times I don't like being reminded of him. Times I'm caught off guard and feel guilty for not thinking of him enough. Times I feel like I'm dishonoring the memory of him by not acknowledging his existence.

By this I mean when people use a certain word to describe David and Samuel: twins.

Ninety-nine percent of the people who call our earthly boys "twins" are well-intentioned and merely curious as to why there are two babies who look and dress similarly. We always get looks when we go out in public. Looks that seem to be saying, "Are those...yes they are!" or "That man and woman are carrying the same style infant car seat...wait a minute...could it be?" or my favorite with an open mouth "Ummm....huh? What's going on here???"

Part of me wants to be sarcastic when the question comes, creatively quipping something similar to what Bill Engvall would say and conclude with "here's your sign." But I haven't...yet.

So here's a typical response when we're out and about: "Are they twins?"

The first time I heard this I didn't know what to say. I was not prepared in the least bit for dealing with this question. I'm pretty sure, but I could be wrong, that a family who lost one of their twins don't get asked, "Is your baby a singleton?" It seems to me this awkward question is solely reserved for parents of more than one. No one told us that it was coming until it did. My initial response to this innocent inquisitor was, "No, they're triplets." Fortunately, the curious stranger just gave a quizzical look, said, "Oh," and walked away.

We have since dealt with many who are not-so-easily swayed. The question that usually follows after a silent head count is, "Well where's the third?" or "Is the other one hiding?" We used to go into way too much personal detail with the first few who asked, explaining exactly what happened to Joshua. We quickly realized we didn't want to make this innocent bystander uncomfortable so we began answering, "yes," to the question of twins.

Then the guilt settled in. We didn't have twins. We had triplets. They will always be triplets. Just because they lost one of their number does not change the fact that when they were born, Joshua and Samuel were identical and David was a fraternal triplet. Their birth certificates all read triplet. Every piece of hospital paperwork reads triplet. They are three, not two.

But how do you say this to a complete stranger? Do they really care? They're the ones who opened their mouths, attempting to be polite and engage the tired couple of two babies or just wanting to comment on a rare curiosity. We googled what people of multiples who lost one or more say. Some just succumbed to the new title. Others were sometimes rude about their response to these inquiring minds. One label stuck out to both Katy and I. It became our new answer.

Surviving triplets.

It seemed self-explanatory to us. Apparently it is not. This term has required us to go into more detail than when we used to just say they were triplets when asked. Katy is still using it frequently. I've taken a more direct approach.

When asked if the boys are twins, I politely say no, and continue about my business. It has worked brilliantly. Is it a little short? Sure. A little rude? Possibly. But I haven't made things awkward between the stranger and I and there is no guilt in claiming the boys are twins causing feelings of guilt for not discussing Joshua when given the chance.

There are times where I will talk about his passing, if the stranger is kind enough, but not often.

What we've learned from this debacle is that people are going to dig into your life, even when they shouldn't. It can't be helped. We can't change them, can't correct their behavior, all we can do is be kind to them and give them the benefit of the doubt.

Except in the case of a middle-aged woman Katy had the privilege of dealing with in the Costco parking lot.

Walking in opposite directions but close enough to speak to one another, the lady asked the customary, "Oh, are they twins?" Now what you must remember, is having two babies at home does not allow much room in the sleep department. When that is coupled with attempting to navigate Costco while also reigning in a five-year-old and comfort inconsolable screaming hungry infants, it makes for a not-so-patient momma. Katy, in her grace and mercy, answered the woman as she always does, by stating, "No, they're surviving triplets," and continued her expedition to the car. The woman, smarter than she spoke, realized what the term meant and, while turning to walk toward the building mumbled just loudly enough for Katy to hear, "Well that was awkward." Without missing a beat, the love of my life peeled off her normally kind-hearted spirit, turned on this unsympathetic human, and quipped, "Not as awkward as having your son die in your arms three hours after he was born, but hey, thanks for understanding."

I love my bride. Especially when she says things I would say.

The final piece to this enigma is interacting with friends and family who know what our situation is and call the boys twins. We know Joshua dying made you feel weird. It made us feel weird too. We also know most of us have never dealt with a family who gave birth to triplets and had one of them die. There's no right or wrong response to how the survivors would be labeled. It really will vary from family to family. Whatever the parents and eventually the survivors want to be called is what they should be called.

This whole ordeal has made us realize we can't judge those who have dealt with the loss of a child. Whether that loss was when the child was 60 and they were 80, or the child was 19 and the parents still had another one to love, or the mother miscarried, or the first ultrasound showed twins and a month later one "vanished." People have different ways of dealing with loss, grief, and sadness. If a family who's twin vanished called their babies twins for the rest of their lives, we have no room to judge. If another family next week had triplets, lost one, and wanted to call the survivors twins, then hey, that's what we should do.

It could be it hit us so hard because Joshua and Samuel were the identicals and the ones we thought we might end up calling the twins, and Samuel and David look similar but not exactly alike. I'm not sure. Either way, whenever someone calls them twins, we are instantly taken back to the hospital and are faced head-on with the grim reality that we don't have three living babies. We recognize we are extremely blessed to have two healthy baby boys at home and we try not to take that for granted, but we greedily and selfishly wish we had all three here on earth. We're thankful for the time we had with all of our boys, but wish that time was longer.

That being said, we aren't upset with people who have called our boys twins. We know it has never been to hurt us and we've never clarified what we want to call them so how could anyone know what was right and wrong to say? (One point of clarification, this post was originally written on Friday night, long before my conversation with anyone at church and I told them as much this morning, just so there is no misunderstanding) Our label for them, when talking about David and Samuel, is "the boys." If you want to call them the boys or the triplets that's fine with us. Both work. It may be confusing and we're sorry for that. You may disagree with us, but the fact of the matter is they will always be triplets, even if there are only two of them left. But for now, until we are all reunited, they are our boys.

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.

hear my humble cry - 8/26/13 - 25w4d

David in 3D

David looking at the camera...creepily

David Side Profile

Joshua Side Profile

We've been keeping you guys in suspense for a while, only to have another appointment tomorrow. Sorry about that. Katy kept telling me all week it was my turn to write. I've had trouble formulating how to write all of what I've been thinking.

Not much changed again this week. Joshua is still lacking fluid. The boys all got measured again. David now weighs in at 2 lbs 4 oz, Samuel at 2 lbs even, and Joshua at 1 lb 5 oz. Dr. Shields told us he wants us to meet with a neonatologist and tour the NICU this coming week so we'll do that after the appointment tomorrow.

The only thing new that was reported was that he took a pretty close look at Joshua's heart in relation to his chest and his chest is definitely not keeping up with his heart, which is good and bad I guess. Good in that his heart and head are growing as they're supposed to be, bad because obviously something is going wrong internally, we just don't know what. Best guess at this point is still that his kidneys are either non-existent or not functioning at all. Other than that, he's behind in his growth but still growing, so that is a praise that he's not stagnant.

Right now Katy and I are doing our best to wrap our heads around the possibilities that could occur. So far we can think of three scenarios:

1 - Joshua is totally fine, spends some time in the NICU, and comes out in a few months
2 - Joshua needs major medical attention and could make it
3 - Joshua comes out and can't survive on his own, and do we try and keep him alive, or just hold him while we can

We're sure there are other scenarios as well, but they all seem to be variations of those three. The first is easy. The second, tough but doable. The third, nearly impossible to comprehend.

The last scenario has caused us to consider things like, do we have a service for him? When? Before David and Samuel are out of the NICU as well? Should we keep him on life support to donate his organs? Should it just be the three of us? Should we bring Nick in? Should we bring family and friends in to meet him and say goodbye? Should we spread his ashes? Plant a tree? A plot?

Some of these may seem grim, but all of them are real. These are the sorts of things you think about. While sitting here writing this, I considered another question: Can we get them all together one time to hold all three at once? As I typed, this beautiful rendition of "Pass Me Not, O Gentle Savior" by Red Mountain Church was playing in the background:

Pass me not, O gentle Savior,

Hear my humble cry;

While on others Thou art calling,

Do not pass me by.

Savior, Savior,

Hear my humble cry;

While on others Thou art calling,

Do not pass me by.

Let me at Thy throne of mercy

Find a sweet relief,

Kneeling there in deep contrition;

Help my unbelief.

Savior, Savior,

Hear my humble cry;

While on others Thou art calling,

Do not pass me by.

Trusting only in Thy merit,

Would I seek Thy face;

Heal my wounded, broken spirit,

Save me by Thy grace.

Savior, Savior,

Hear my humble cry;

While on others Thou art calling,

Do not pass me by.

Thou the Spring of all my comfort,

More than life to me,

Whom have I on earth beside Thee?

Whom in Heav’n but Thee?

Savior, Savior,

Hear my humble cry;

While on others Thou art calling,

Do not pass me by. 

This is our selfish and direct request that we unashamedly pray for us and our boys. We are confident of our Joshua and the better existence he will have wrapped in his Savior's arms, but our concern is on the brokenness that is sure to come for Katy, Nick and I, as well as all that love us and our sons.

I was recently asked whether if I could do it all over again, both with Matty, our foster son, and with Joshua, if I would. If I knew ahead of time the grief that would come with Matty and the decisions involved with Joshua, would I do it all again. I related my answer to something I read recently. In our Sunday School class we're going through a new book entitled, The Meaning of Marriage, by Tim Keller, and in it he quotes C. S. Lewis as saying in his book, The Four Loves, this about love:

"Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglement; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket - safe, dark, motionless, airless - it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation."

This type of action, shutting the love I have for these boys up forever, is and never will be an option. My answer to whether I would go through all this again is whole-heartedly and unabashedly a resounding yes. No way I would even give up the love I have experienced with all of my sons for even a second. In fact I would go through any scenario a million times worse if it meant being given the opportunity to love my boys in the way I have. 

I cannot predict what will happen, nor can Katy, nor any doctor we see. Only God knows what will happen. What I do know is where and in whom my faith resides, and He is greater than this situation and all of us, and in Him I go to and ask that in either tragedy or overwhelming joy, He hear my humble cry to not pass us by.

ain't that a kick in the head - 7/23/13 - 20w5d

Smiling David

Samuel

Joshua (No 3D as there was too much stuff for the machine to go through)

I'll tell you guys how it went yesterday as I'm sure that's why you're reading this, but first, you have to labor through, pun intended, my story.

I had a meeting yesterday with some Christian men with whom I had just recently met. We were sitting at lunch and one of them asked me why we had done embryo adoption. I told them the story of our two foster babies, Matthew and Zane, specifically Matty's story. I explained how we received Matty after he was born five weeks premature to a mother who admittedly took meth two days before delivering and how Matthew had meth and morphine in his system at birth. How he was born with a cleft lip and palate. How we had to literally squeeze the milk from a special bottle into his tiny throat as he had no sucking mechanism due to the gaping hole in the roof of his mouth.

I tried to paint a picture of what it was like to wake up every two hours to feed an infant who is so hungry and yet can't swallow fast enough so the milk inevitably comes shooting out of his good right nostril because of its accidental slipping into his open palate. So far, no crying from this big babbling baby.

I went on to tell how through God's mercy and love Matty grew and became healthy and happy. He was always full of smiles, even when we had to put tape on his lips and nose to prep him for the upcoming surgery. How even with splints on his elbows to prevent him from grabbing at the tape he still would babble and giggle at our silly faces and Nick's goofiness as he tried to make him laugh. How we got used to the strange looks and the innocent questions from children to their parents, "Mommy, what's wrong with that baby's mouth?!" How it didn't phase us when a well-meaning adult described his current condition as "grotesque" but that after surgery he would look great. I'm sure none of my true emotion was coming through, but I was trying and again, not crying...yet.

I continued on by relating what it was like to watch your six month old be prepped for surgery, to see him whisked away on a gurney, so small and helpless with the cutest baby gown on, still smiling, still happy. How agonizing it was waiting for word from the surgeon that everything was okay and that Matty did great. Being told how the sutures and tape couldn't get wet which meant we couldn't clean him up the way he deserved for a whole week and had to leave dried blood, snot, and boogers crusted on his nose and upper lip while we attempted to "live a normal life." 

How the poor little guy slept like crazy and almost two days to the minute began bouncing back like nothing had happened. Within a week, he was smiling again through a tight upper lip, trying to learn what it felt like to have your two upper lips connected as his face moved with limitless expression. 

I had no way of telling these awesome men of God how much joy poured into our lives abundantly more than we ever deserved or thought possible when we not only were able to watch Nick and Zane, but now a fully healthy recovered Matthew. Ever full of laughter, ever full of joy, ever bringing happiness into our home. The month and a half after his surgery where all our boys were happy and growing, was the best time of our lives, and the happiest.

Matty's progress from a premie baby to a thriving eight month old was something I will always stand in awe of God for how He accomplished it and will always feel blessed to have been a part of.

Obviously it didn't last. Obviously the system is broken and we lost him. As far as we know he's doing okay, but the day we lost him was the darkest day of my life. I've never cried so much as I did in the days following Matty leaving our care. 

It felt as if he had died. 

I told the men in front of me how to top it all off, a week after, Nick, Zane, Katy and I were driving and from the backseat, I hear a very quiet three year old voice whimper, "Dad?" 

I looked in my rear view mirror and saw Nick with his chin on his chest looking at his feet. 

"Yeah buddy?" 

"It's my fault that Matty left, isn't it?" 

We were done. At this point we already knew Zane was leaving in a week or so and the look on Nick's face was too much to take. I couldn't answer him. I knew of course the answer was no, but my stomach was lodged so far into my throat and my heart had fallen onto the asphalt we were traveling on, that it felt like one of those dreams where you try and scream but can't. Katy rescued me as the tears streamed down my face and she told him of course it wasn't. I quickly regained my composure, pulled over, turned around, told him to look at me squarely in the eyes, and said, "This is not your fault. It's not our fault. It's not God's fault. God has a plan for Matty. We don't know what that plan is yet, but we trust His plan."

In that moment, I couldn't quote Romans 8:28 as I couldn't remember it, but the promise was embedded deep enough within me to get the gist across to Nick.

Fast forward to the present again. Here I was, sitting next to and across from Christian men I barely knew, welling up again, over a year and three months later, reliving the same emotions I did at that time with my son in sorrow. I explained to them that I wasn't strong enough to go through that again. I knew there were kids out there that needed caring for, but I couldn't handle it. Both for me, for Katy, and for Nick. It's not that I care more about these kids than a foster parent does, they're just stronger than I am, able to shoulder that burden and keep on loving. I am in paralyzing awe and admiration of a good foster parent who loves kid after kid after kid. It's not because they are withdrawn or void of emotion or disconnected or dehumanize the situation. I believe a good foster parent has just as much love for these children but is able to deal with the loss better than most of us can.

That's why we withdrew from the foster care program. 

They then asked the obvious follow-up question, why didn't you guys try in-vitro with your own embryos instead of someone else's? I informed them how we still felt a deep desire to help children who needed help the most, and what child is in more need than one still in a petrie dish and in cryogenic freezing? We made the decision not to have more embryof created but to give the embryos already created a chance to grow up. 

I left that lunch a little down, finished work and came home to find Nick already sleeping. After making sure he was tucked in and kissing his forehead, I walked out into the living room and sat next to my bride. I put my hand on her engorged belly as I usually do when we're just sitting there, and suddenly I felt them. It felt like Rock-em Sock-em Robots going on inside of her! Kick after kick after kick for a solid ten minutes and I was in heaven. Katy tried talking to me but I have no idea what she was saying. I was so intently focused on making sure I didn't miss a single kick that I couldn't hear a word she said, not that I can do anything else plus listen anyway. It took 20 weeks, but it was amazing. I don't know how Katy is doing it with those three banana-sized babies treating her insides like a bounce house, but it is overwhelming to feel them in there.

Back to the reason you're all here. Yesterday's doctor's appointment went just fine. Still status quo from the week before and nothing new to report. But again, all three are growing, hearts are beating, and no additional problems other than Joshua's non-existent amniotic fluid. And yesterday, after reliving our loss, it was the perfect news and a perfect ending.

what's in a name - 16 weeks 6 days - 6/26/13

Baby A's Hand

We waited in nervous anticipation for the next few days. Obviously it was going to take a while for the two doctors to communicate as we all know how doctor's offices are with their crazy schedules. But it seemed to be taking forever. We had an appointment scheduled for the 27th which would put Katy at exactly 17 weeks, but on Tuesday morning the 25th, Katy received a phone call from Dr. Sheild's office. The receptionist was requesting us to come in that afternoon at 4:30. She explained that Dr. Shield's had been attempting to contact Dr. Chmait for us and asked us to see Dr. Shield's as soon as we could. Katy's heart stopped. I was in the middle of my crazy sleep schedule, preparing for graveyards that night and dead to the world at ten in the morning, when Katy woke me up to tell me all of this. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Immediately we both assumed the worst, that Dr. Chmait had seen something on the ultrasounds that led him to believe something was very wrong with baby C to the point where he couldn't operate on him. I asked Katy to see if they could schedule it just a bit earlier as I would have to miss work with it being that late. Katy called back and the receptionist related she would try. She called back a while later and said she rescheduled it for the next day at 2:30, which was not what we wanted at all! Obviously we wanted this appointment to come as soon as possible to either give us the bad news to begin coping with it or at the very least figure out what was going on. Now it was too late and we just accepted the appointment as is. 

It seemed like every time we went to Dr. Shield's office, we were always waiting for the other shoe to drop. This time it was magnified by ten thousand. We have been in constant prayer for these boys, unceasing in our requests to our heavenly Father, but that day was different. The car ride over was eerily silent. We left Nick with some friends as we didn't want him there for any horrible news or to see his parents completely lose their minds. In the parking lot, we held each others hands, closed our eyes, and asked God to heal our son and if He chose not to, to give us the strength to make it through and the wisdom to share the news with our four year old. After feeling as at peace as we could, we made the long walk up to his office. For the first time, the nurse said that Dr. Shields wanted to do the ultrasound himself, and not let her do her regular measurements. This just made us about lose it, again assuming he wanted to be the one to tell us the horrible fate that was sure to come. Our faces easily gave away our inward emotions when Dr. Shields entered the exam room as he told us we looked like we had seen a ghost. We nervously smiled and waited for the prognosis. After what seemed like an eternity of him quietly scanning the ultrasound, I asked him exactly why we had been called in early. He asked me what I meant. I told him how we had been called in early as our scheduled appointment was not until the next day and what had transpired the day before. Dr. Shields quickly apologized and said he had merely wanted to make sure we were being seen as he did not think we had any scheduled appointments that week. He assured us that all three boys' hearts looked fine, that baby C's fluid was at this point virtually non-existent, but that they all had grown and had strong heartbeats. The relief and stress that exited from Katy and I was palpable, so much so that we both ignored the mistake and were just thankful that all the boys were okay for now. 

Dr. Shields also told us about his conversation with Dr. Chmait who was not convinced that there was enough evidence to diagnose TTTS at this point. Dr. Shields explained how it now appeared baby B did not have any excess fluid or an enlarged bladder, which would suggest he was the receiver in the TTTS scenario, even though baby C's bladder was not visible and his amnio sac had shrunk significantly. At this point, the only thing we could do was wait another week and see what transpired. We asked what it would mean for the rest of the pregnancy since baby C's amniotic fluid was completely gone. He told us how it was not a guarantee that baby C would make it to full term, but that some babies can be born without any amniotic fluid. The risk for fatality obviously increases due to baby C's lack of protection for his umbilical cord, thus increasing the possibility for the cord to be pinched and the blood to his brain to cease. That slim glimmer of hope was enough for us and that concluded the visit.

We came in to the appointment expecting the worst. While it wasn't great news, in light of the situation we had envisioned it was fantastic news! Our boys did not seem to have TTTS and we did not have to make a decision at this point as to whether we should go forward with the laser therapy or septostomy as there was not enough evidence to make that decision either way. 

As we drove away that afternoon, we both decided we were done referring to our boys by letters. We were going to give them names, even if one or all of them did not survive, to humanize them as we knew they were, and give them the love and respect a name can bring versus a letter. We decided we couldn't allow these three boys to not be a part of the embarrassing tradition of a consonant first initial and middle initial of "A," so here's where our family stands:

RAG - Robert Andrew Grindy

KAG - Kathryn Ann Grindy

NAG - Nicholas Andrew Grindy

DAG - David Adam Grindy - Baby Boy A

SAG - Samuel Abraham Grindy - Baby Boy B

JAG - Joshua Aaron Grindy - Baby Boy C

We're torturing our children. We know. 

Almost 2/3 there!

Katy just informed me this morning that she's almost in her third trimester. Crazy. In only a few more months the Grindy's will be parents. From my perspective I know Katy's ready, but I'm not so sure about me. Give me some advice dads, and moms from the dad's perspective. Here's the list of why I think I'm ready, and then I'll juxtapose that with why I'm not:

Why I'm ready:
God seems to think so
Katy's pregnant
I love kids
I started my career
We have decent health insurance

Now I know the last two are a bit superficial, but I needed to get at least five! Now here's the other list:

Why I'm not ready:
Katy's due in a little over 3 months
I love kids in less than 4 hour doses
I don't know how to change a diaper
I like to poop but I don't like other peoples poop
I laugh at my audible bodily funcitons
I laugh at other people's bodily functions even more
I drink out of the milk carton
I like to sleep
I don't wake up when I sleep
I'm loud and wake up others when they're sleeping
I'm quite hairy and give the boy a lot to grab onto (maybe I should wax...naw, that hurts, a lot!)
I don't feel like I'm where I want to be spiritually, so how can I lead my son when I'm not there
I don't pray enough, fast enough, read the word enough to set an example
I fall short of the glory of God more than anyone else I know

Maybe it's these last three things that will get me through being a father. I may not be the best dad in the world, but I promise I will give it my all. Maybe being a parent is the next step for me in my walk with Christ, sort of a mirror to look into and realize I was there once, with those questions and those sins, but now I'm here with a whole new bunch of questions and sins I didn't even know existed then. Maybe this whole parent thing is partially to raise up more believers for the kingdom of God but also to increase the faith and reliance in Christ among those already in the fold of God. Isn't it funny too how just writing down your thoughts as you think them through can sometimes bring you to the most awesome conclusions. Praise the Lord for the Lord for His wisdom that he can give me in this new chapter in our lives, and praise the Lord for having the most incompetent child rearer be paired with a child development major who has been taking care of kids her entire adult life and will be the most awesome mother you have ever seen!