Today marks one month since we lost our son on Wednesday, February 15. Most of the last 28 days, we've been crushed under the weight of grief and desperately want Joel back. But as each day has passed, the pressure has lifted ever so slightly so that we can breathe a bit easier and see Christ more clearly. Let it be known—we certainly grieve, but not without hope (1 Thessalonians 4:13-14).
Today is one of those hard days for us. It's a milestone of sorts. But it's important that I share the story of Joel's birth and life. I believe it will honor him—especially today.
Back to Tuesday, February 14...
5:26 PM
Joel entered the world. I saw him for two seconds after the C-section before he was taken to the resuscitation room nearby and I was wheeled into recovery. The NICU team worked and worked and worked on him while Nathan stood as close to them as allowable so he'd know we were with him.The first thing they did was get a breathing tube down his throat. (Remember? Doctor after doctor didn't even think that would happen.) Praise God! Another miracle.
They first estimated he weighed 8 lbs 4 oz. But after they drained vials upon vials of fluid from his chest and abdomen, their second estimate put him weighing in at 7 lbs 5 oz. They could only estimate his weight because actually putting him on scales meant they would have to remove tubes and wires and that wasn't possible.
At least they were able to initially remove some fluid and he was stabilized.
Meanwhile, God bless my poor nurse in the recovery room. I probably told her no less than 17 times, "My baby is in the NICU. When can I go? Did I tell you my baby is in the NICU? Is it time for me to go yet? Get me out of here. I need to get to the NICU right now."
I think she got sick of me saying that—or maybe just sick of me in general—because it didn't seem like I stayed there long before she finally released me.9:30 PM
Since I couldn't handle a wheelchair quite yet, I was rolled down to the NICU on a stretcher where I got to actually spend time with our baby.He was housed in an incubator and hooked up to everything imaginable. Cords, tubes, and IVs protruded from his little body. His little chest rose and fell in perfect rhythm, and you could hear him occasionally wheeze, trying to catch a full breath on his own. But he'd still not cried, opened his eyes, or moved very much. He was so very sick, but he was ours and we still had hope for his healing.
Exhaustion doesn't even cover what we felt. We'd not slept in what seemed like forever. But we journeyed back and forth and back and forth from our L&D room to the NICU. We'd stay with Joel until we couldn't keep our eyes open anymore, then we'd go back to the room for 30 minutes of sleep—a pattern we kept all night long until the next morning.
During our visits to the NICU, we didn't care that there were 4-6 people always within earshot—we held him, rocked him, sang to him, prayed over him, read Scripture to him, and told him how much we love him.I played with his hair, felt his soft skin, kissed all over his face. Nathan said he was proud of him and reminded him what a fighter and Mighty Man he was. And there were a few times when we both held his hand and he squeezed back! That tiny gesture gave us so much hope.
At one point, I looked over to Dr. Hersey standing nearby. His eyes were closed and his hand was outstretched toward Joel's bed. He was praying over him. I knew it! I just knew he was a believer from the beginning. He radiated it. (And Dr. Shifflett confirmed it for us later.)
How amazing is it that God gave us these incredible believers at the last minute to walk us through such a difficult time? This was another miracle we couldn't have seen coming. We'll never forget God's providence in ways we never could've anticipated.2:30 AM
Dr. Hersey visited us in our room with an update. The previous evening, right after he was born, Joel had somewhat improved. But by this point, things had started to "trend downward." They were getting bad. His blood oxygen levels were low, meaning he was struggling to take in oxygen and process it out as carbon dioxide.They'd done everything they could: given him plasma and transfusions; pierced a hole in his chest to drain more fluid and release pressure off his lungs; and raised his oxygen levels significantly. The bottom line was that his little lungs were just too underdeveloped.
8:30 AM
Dr. Hersey and a team full of people met with us again in our room. He introduced one of the team members as Dr. Driver, the neonatologist who would be taking over for him, as his shift was ending. She invited us to their morning meeting at 9:30 a.m., when the next shift of NICU doctors visited all the babies, discussed their prognoses, and prepared treatment plans for the day.
Dr. Driver said they would start with the sickest baby in the NICU—our Baby Joel.
9:25 AM
We were at Joel's bedside, ready to hear the status of things. At first, they spoke in a language we didn't understand.Dr. Driver then turned to us and said, "Let me explain. Your baby is very sick. His blood oxygen levels are very low and he's on 97% oxygen right now. We've done everything we can. I've been told that when you've held him throughout the night his heart rate and blood pressure stabilize, so I want to encourage you to hold him as much as possible."
10:15 AM
I immediately asked the nurse to take him out of the incubator and give him to me.
It all happened so fast. Within a few minutes, numbers on the screen started dropping fast. Lights started flashing and monitors started screaming at us. I looked down and my precious baby grimaced in pain.
I panicked and handed him back to the nurse, who then placed him back in the incubator and called for help. The same team of doctors and nurses, who had just been at his bedside, rejoined to stabilize him. I can't express enough how much the whole scenario was chaotic and surreal.
Oddly enough, my mom and dad joined us at that very moment. Only two people per patient were allowed in the NICU at a time, but my mom had a feeling something was wrong, so they raced down from our room and blew past the NICU front desk to check on us. They made it just in time.
As doctors hovered over Joel, poking and prodding him, something happened in me in that moment. Maybe it was the Holy Spirit who spoke to my heart.I knew. I looked at Nathan and he knew too.
Through a torrent of tears, I said to him, "We have to say goodbye."
He shook his head yes and said, "We do."
Right then and there, Nathan asked Dr. Driver, "Are we sustaining the unsustainable?"
The pained look on her face said it all. "Yes, you are."
That was it for us. We didn't want to see our child suffer anymore. We didn't want to see any more blood drawn or needles put through his chest or grimaces of pain. I asked them to take the wires out and put him back in my arms. I didn't want to watch my baby die hooked up to machines.As I cradled him, the nurses started removing things. I helped—frantically but gently peeling off tape. All the while, we told him how much we love him, how he wasn't alone, and that Mama and Daddy were right there with him. Then, they removed the final piece that was keeping him alive—the breathing tube.
He was struggling to catch a breath. I knew the end was coming quickly, so I handed him to Nathan so he could say goodbye. That little fighter—who hadn't had the strength to move much or open his eyes since he entered the world—raised both of his arms in the air as if reaching toward heaven. We know Jesus was there to take hold of him.
I said, "Joel, you're not alone. We're here with you, baby. We love you. We're going to hand you over to Jesus now."
He was ready to go home. And at that moment, our precious son took his last breath.
10:30 AM
I'll never in my life forget those moments. EVER. Neither will Nathan.
They put us in a quiet room, away from doctors and incubators and watchful eyes. The sadness hit us like a ton of bricks. We wept like we've never wept before. We held that baby so close, trying to make time stand still just for a few moments and take as many mental snapshots as possible before we had to hand over his body.I've said before that Joel's story is coming out in pieces, and there's even more to his story in the aftermath of his life and death that I'll write about later. But I will say this for now until I can post again:
Even in those first devastating moments, when we had to give our son back to Jesus, when we felt like we couldn't breathe at the loss of him, when we didn't know how we'd move forward from this heartbreak, what we've said all along was still there at the core of us—even when we couldn't understand or fathom His ways.
He's good.
He's faithful.
He's for us.
To God be the glory.
