How We Grieve

Grief is so universal but so very individual. Just as each person gravitates toward their own style of music, clothing, and tastes—based on how they're wired, so does each person also journey through grief at his own pace and in her own way. It's unique to the person.

Therefore, no one can tell me or you how to feel or process. And there's certainly no timeline to this.

To be honest, a few people have either hinted or blatantly told me it's time to move on. In fact, at 57 days out, someone said, "The best thing you can do is not focus on what has happened. Leave the past in the past. Let's focus on your future instead." 

I'm sure it was offered up with the best intentions, but some free advice? Never say that to a grieving mother. That's my son you're asking me to forget. 

My past has bled into my present and will forever affect my future. For one person, it may take 6 months to fully grieve. And still for another, it may take 3 years to heal. For me? Who knows. I'll know when I know. None of these scenarios are wrong.

My introverted husband has wanted to be out in public. He's itched to get back into his job and be with the bros. And my extroverted self has holed up in the four walls of our home, paranoid that if I see you in the grocery store and make eye contact, I may have an epic meltdown. 

I promise we're getting better and better. But there are still triggers of our son's death all around us.

Brand-new babies in carriers. Hospitals right around the corner. A cemetery just a few miles away where Joel's body lies. Follow-up correspondence from doctors we visited. A sweet baby daughter that occasionally calls out, "Brudder," at random. A due date that just recently passed.

It is what it is. Give us time. Bless us in the grieving.

Literal waves of emotions can hit at any time that make me think I'll never be normal again. And the fact is, I won't. We may find our new normal, but the truth is, there’s no moving on from this as "The Old Us." Those people are gone. There’s only "The New Us" now—or rather "The Changed Us." (I like the latter one better.)

But hopefully, "The Changed Us" is a good thing. We'll be more sanctified when this window of sadness comes to a close. We believe Jesus will bring restoration and redemption as time moves on. 

So for that, we ask you to continue to pray for our family. Pray that God would be so very near, give us new hearts, and give us fresh eyes for the bigger picture in this grand story he's writing.

30 Days

We've needed our people now more than ever.

For 37 years, my dad and mom have walked closely with me through my poorest decisions, greatest accomplishments, worst heartbreaks, and highest triumphs. And so it goes with this, they've been imperative to this process. We literally could not have survived from one day to the next without them.

However, they've never experienced the death of a child, so they'll readily admit they can't speak from having worn these shoes before.

On the other hand, the death of a child isn't new for Nathan's family. His parents also experienced the death of their youngest daughter and Nathan's little sister, Esther, more than 25 years ago, just hours after she was born. As a result of their own heartache, they've been massive encouragers for us as we've tried to put the pieces back together.

For me, Nathan's mom has been a God-send since she's walked through this muck and mire before. Our hearts automatically bonded even closer when Joel died because of her loss of sweet Esther. It's no coincidence that God placed her in my life by marriage nearly three years ago.

I wish you could know her like I do. She's kind, thoughtful, considerate, and wise. And when she speaks, it's always carefully thought out, so you perk up and listen. Nathan is the same way. He gets it from her.

Just a few days after Joel died, I'll never forget the time she sat down next to me in my favorite chair in our living room as I wept. She wrapped her arms around me, and said, "Thirty days. Live fully in the grief. Feel every emotion. Embrace it all. Then, after 30 days, you'll see a difference. Trust me. It's biblical."

I listened because I knew she knew.

In those first 30 days, Nathan and I both experienced every sort of crazy emotion: anger, denial, depression, abandonment, sadness, anger, confusion, acceptance, guilt, regret. Did I mention anger? (That one came up a lot—and it still does.)

But by Day 31, I didn't feel any better so I thought her theory didn't apply to me. Then, in walks Day 32. Miraculously, I woke up and said, "I feel marginally better." And Nathan seemed to be better too.

She was right.

In that chair, she painted a few pictures to prepare me for what was to come. One was called "The Roller Coaster." Up and down and up and down. She said I'd ride it for a while—experiencing every emotion in the book—and then I'd start to see it even out more and more as time went on.

She was right.

Then, she painted a picture called "The Well." There would be days when we'd be in the bottom of it, in the darkness, wondering if we'd every get out and see light again. And other days, we'd find ourselves at the top looking down into it, thanking God we weren't in the bottom. But don't call it too soon because we could be back in the pits again within minutes.

Boy, was she right.

We'll still there. Some days, we're up. Some days, we're down. But each day since Day 32 has been an ever-so-slight improvement from the day before. I know in six months, we'll look back and breathe a bit easier. I pray after a year, we'll look back and see Joel's birth and death with eyes of joy instead of pure sadness.

Those practical pieces of advice from all sides have sustained us—especially on the days God has felt so silent. They've reminded us we aren't alone. We'll breathe again. There's hope for tomorrow.

The Aftermath

We're 54 days out and I still have no words.

I've never in my life been without them before. Typically, I can talk the bark off a tree. I've always been an external processor, easily able to share my feelings and regurgitate exactly what's going on in my heart and head. Maybe that's why writing has always come easy to me. I've got a lot to say.

But not for the past 7 weeks. I've been speechless.

Experts say there's a process to this thing called "grief." I have no clue what that is because our emotions and thoughts have literally been all over the place. There has been no rhyme or reason to this. We've never, in our lives, known this kind of crushing sadness and pain.

For the first two weeks after Joel's death, I felt like I couldn't take the next breath. I wondered how I was going to make it through each night to the next morning. You wouldn't have recognized me from how swollen my face was from the endless weeping. It didn't seem like his death was real, but the pain was oh so real.

Just days after he passed away, I can't tell you the number of times I heard my husband cry out, "I want my son back!" I can't tell you how many times he had to hold me tight because I told him my insides were going to burst from the overwhelming grief. My arms ached to hold him again—they still do.

When we finally left the hospital, I had my first coherent thoughts:

This is real, but it's not right.

I should be leaving here with my baby in the car seat behind me. 
He shouldn't be dead in a wooden coffin in our trunk.

I should be sore and barely able to walk, but full of joy knowing I'll get to feed my baby soon. 
I shouldn't be leaving here in such physical pain with nothing to show for it.

I should be going home to recover and hold my sweet boy as much as I want. 
I shouldn't have to leave and go directly to his funeral service this afternoon.

This is real, but it's not right.

I honestly don't know how I even made it through the funeral, much less that I showed up to it after just having had major surgery three days earlier.

Nathan tried to have Joel buried in Natchez where his infant sister, Esther, had been buried 25 years earlier—a special tribute to both aunt and nephew—but it didn't pan out. So we took his body back with us to Columbus and buried him in historic Friendship Cemetery.

Our family came to the small service—four parents, one grandparent, two brothers, a sister-in-love, a niece and a nephew.  Our dads spoke. I can't remember everything that was said, but I do remember my dad assuring us that Joel was no longer in pain and that we'd see him again one day in heaven. It gave me an ounce of comfort in those moments.

In the weeks leading up to Joel's birth and death, I made some pretty bold statements on behalf of our family. I called God good, faithful, and for us. I said that, come what may, whatever God chose for our son, our faith wouldn't be shaken.

I believed it then and I truly do believe it now—deep down in the depths of my soul.

But I'd be lying if I told you my faith—our faith—has been rock solid since he took his last breath in my arms on February 15. It hasn't. I've doubted and questioned. We've both dealt with anger, guilt, regret, and depression. I've felt betrayed and forsaken by God. I've wondered if he can be trusted again. And ultimately, I've felt like a complete fraud because of my weak faith.

Nathan has been the stronger one. He's helped me take the next step when I haven't had the energy to move an inch forward. He's filled my ears with God's Word when I've felt my emptiest. He's injected Christ's hope back into my heart when I've felt numb.

I've hesitated to tell anyone about these real, raw struggles.

What I really want is to be able to tell you that I have pure joy in my grief. But I'm not joyful. I want you to see me and be inspired by my strength in these dark moments. But I'm not strong. I want you to be awed by my faith in the midst of tragedy. But my faith stinks right now.

Instead, I'd rather you see the real me. I'd rather let you in on my brokenness. I'd rather be honest with you.

Nothing could've prepared us for this. NOTHING. We said we were ready. We'd suited up with what we thought was the appropriate armor. But grief pierced through our every defense and it crushed us. It blinded us and it has suffocated me. It's not just an emotional pain, it's also physical.

But just because I'm weak doesn't mean God isn't still who he says he is.

At the end of the day, I know there's no reason to be ashamed of how we've responded. We're guilty of being human and responding exactly as we should. Until you've experienced this kind of loss (which experts say between this and the loss of a spouse are the two most difficult tragedies to recover from), you can't know how you'll think or feel in this kind of situation.

But please hear me say, we don't "grieve as people who have no hope" (1 Thessalonians 4:13). I may be a hot mess right now and it may seem like I've crumbled under the weight of this thing, but Christ is near. We've been shaken to the core, but...

• God is good—even though we don't understand him or his ways.
• God is faithful—even though he didn't answer the way we thought he would.
• God is for us—even though there are days when we don't feel his presence.
• Joel is no longer sick. He's healed and whole with Jesus at this very moment.
• We'll get to see Joel again in heaven one day.

In these darkest of days, I have no words, but I don't need them because he's carrying us. It's not the time for words and explanations. It's the time for trust. It's the time to be held. It's the time for healing. It's the time for renewal.

Blessings

Right now, I'm still struggling to spend time with the Lord. I've been taught that when I sit down to read the Word, I'm sitting down to spend time with the person of Jesus. And right now, I'm having a hard time talking with him.

I'll get back there again—to a new normal. But in the meantime, I've been advised by people, who have walked before me in these shoes of grief, that I should still find some way to connect with him. For me, that's through worship. This song has been on repeat in our home since Joel passed away.

We pray for blessings, we pray for peace

Comfort for family, protection while we sleep

We pray for healing, for prosperity

We pray for your mighty hand to ease our suffering

And all the while, you hear each spoken need

Yet love us way too much to give us lesser things

What if your blessings come through rain drops

What if your healing comes through tears

What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know you're near

What if trials of this life are your mercies in disguise

We pray for wisdom, your voice to hear

We cry in anger when we cannot feel you near

We doubt your goodness, we doubt your love

As if every promise from your Word is not enough

And all the while, you hear each desperate plea

And long that we'd have faith to believe

What if your blessings come through rain drops

What if your healing comes through tears

What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know you're near

What if trials of this life are your mercies in disguise

When friends betray us

When darkness seems to win

We know that pain reminds this heart

This is not our home, it's not our home

What if your blessings come through rain drops

What if your healing comes through tears

What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know you're near

What if my greatest disappointments or the aching of this life

Is the revealing of a greater thirst this world can't satisfy

What if trials of this life—

The rain, the storms, the hardest nights—

Are your mercies in disguise

17 Hours of Life

It's taken me weeks to write this. Some days, I've sat down in front of the laptop and all I've had to pour out on my keyboard are tears. I haven't typed one word. Other days, I've only made it through a sentence before I lose it.

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.
SaveSave

Our Valentine's Baby

We were operating on very little sleep from the "monitoring" that went on the night before, but we had a serious decision to make.

Our two options were:

1. Do we deliver Joel immediately?
2. Do we push the pregnancy further to give him a better chance?

From the beginning, Dr. Jackson #1 always told us we should be looking for the optimal moment to deliver Joel. It looked like we had come upon that moment, so we decided to move forward.

All along, it seems nothing had ever been set in stone. Remember? No cause. No cure. No permanent doctors. No plan. We wandered aimlessly, waiting for God to give us direction. We tried to be flexible the whole time.

But now, I can look back and see how we never needed a plan. At the midnight hour, God took care of all the details and put all the right people in our path.

1:00 PM

A doctor we'd never seen walked in and introduced herself as Dr. Shifflett. By this point, 5-6 random doctors had stopped by, so it was nothing new.

We soon found out that Dr. Columbus is a good friend of hers. She was concerned about us being in Jackson and not knowing anyone, so she called Dr. Shifflett and asked her to check in on us. We immediately connected with her. You could tell she loves Jesus because she talked about Him like we do.

We explained our situation and she said, "When my clinicals are over at 4:00 p.m. today, I can come back up and deliver your baby if you'd like."

YES, Dr. Shifflett, we would! Another miracle. God had provided an incredible doctor at the last minute to deliver our precious Joel.

2:30 PM

My mom and dad left Texas early in the morning and finally showed up in Jackson. They prayed over us and didn't leave our sides from that point forward.

4:00 PM

Another doctor came in and introduced himself as Dr. Hersey, the head neonatologist who, along with his team, would be taking care of Joel. Immediately, I could tell he had a kind, compassionate spirit about him. Another miracle.

4:55 PM

I was wheeled back and prepped for surgery. I didn't have a C-section with Madelyn, so this controlled chaos and unknown atmosphere, surrounded by 8-9 people shouting things I didn't understand, was completely new and scary. But my heart and mind were stayed on Joel and how he would fare once he made his debut.

Nathan had already prepped me with a battle cry before I even entered the room. From the moment they began with the spinal block, I was praying and quoting Scripture out loud: "Fear not, for I am with you. Don't be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you. Yes, I will help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand" (Isaiah 41:10). Over and over and over again.

Guess who stopped what she was doing and came over to stand in front of me, hold my hands and, I believe, pray with me? Dr. Shifflett. Another miracle.

5:05 PM

Nathan joined me and they began the procedure.

5:26 PM

After what seemed like forever, I heard finally heard, "Happy birthday, sweet boy!"

My heart leapt with joy. He was here at last. But there was no crying or squealing—not what we remember hearing from Madelyn when she took her first breath outside the womb.

They lifted my precious, fluid-filled baby boy up over the curtain so I could say hello for 2.2 seconds, then they whisked him away to the resuscitation room.

As I sit here and type this, I'm weeping as I think of that moment. (Nathan and I have done a lot of that over the last two weeks.) That first snapshot of Joel's face will forever be etched in my mind. 

My first thought was: "Thank you, Jesus, for bringing him this far! He's so beautiful, but he's such a sick baby. Be with him. Heal him. He needs you. We need you."

I was still doped up from the C-section, so I don't really remember much after this for the next hour or two, but I do know I told Nathan to go and be with our son—and he practically ran out of the room to join him.

As for me, it's like I never had preeclampsia. My blood pressure normalized, the headache went away, and I started to feel normal again--almost in a matter of minutes after Joel was delivered. 

As for our boy, we both still prayed and hoped God would come through and heal him.

24-Hour Monitoring + Preeclampsia

Many of you have asked how we got to where we are now. It started the week before Joel was born.

I started experiencing several things physically—and they all came on fairly rapidly:
swelling
contractions
blurred vision
high blood pressure
excess fluid (polyhydramnios)
an overall sense of not being well
constant headache (that OTC meds wouldn't cure)

Sunday, February 12

This day was the worst. We went to church and lunch out at a restaurant after that, but I had to leave the restaurant to go sit in the car early. I'd been having contractions all morning, and I knew something wasn't right.

We got home that afternoon and I think Nathan realized how serious things were getting. So we decided to pay Dr. Columbus a visit the next day.

Monday, February 13

3:00 PM

At Dr. Columbus' office, we explained my symptoms—except they ran an additional test and added "protein in urine" to the long line-up. Apparently, this is a key marker in determining whether a pregnant woman has developed preeclampsia.

Dr. Columbus called to talk with Dr. Jackson #1 (who, if you'll remember, is on maternity leave) and they both decided it was best to send me to Jackson immediately for 24 hours of monitoring. That's all. Just monitoring. Nothing else—or so we thought.

5:00 PM

We dropped Madelyn off with our awesome neighbors. (They've been a God-send to us throughout this.) They readily took her into their home and we took off with just an overnight bag. Because remember? Just 24 hours of monitoring. We'd be home the next day.

My parents were already planning on coming to Mississippi that week to help me with Madelyn. I was getting way too big to pick her up or walk long distances (see: excess fluid build-up). So we called and explained to them the monitoring that would take place overnight. They agreed to leave Texas the next morning and even stop by Jackson to check on us before they went on to Columbus to get Madelyn.

8:30 PM

We got to Jackson and I was admitted to the Women's and Children's Urgent Care Center—basically an ER for women and kids. Immediately, they began to check vitals and draw blood. Needless to say, the whole experience didn't even start off well.

The first nurse who tried to take my blood gouged around my veins so many times that I passed out and woke up not knowing where I was or who I was. I opened my eyes to Nathan hovering over me along with a team of nurses trying to raise my blood pressure back to normal and asked, "Where are we? Is Madelyn OK? Am I OK?"

11:00 PM

We were moved to a room on the Labor and Delivery floor to begin monitoring. They started me on Magnesium Sulfate to bring my blood pressure down, plus a bunch of other stuff I can't remember. (P.S. "Mag," as they call it, is ridiculous. I felt like I'd contracted the flu. Now, along with everything else I'd been experiencing, I also had body aches and shivering. Ummm—thanks a bunch, medical community.)

They started a 12-hour series of tests to monitor the levels of protein in my urine. If you've ever had a baby, or been with someone who had a baby, you know as soon as you step foot in the hospital, all modesty and propriety goes straight into the toilet (excuse the reference, but since we're on the topic). I was poked, prodded, and awakened every hour on the hour all night long.

Tuesday, February 14

9:00 AM

Maternal Fetal Medicine called and they wanted us downstairs in their offices to check on me and Joel. This was the same place we'd visited so many times over the last 10 weeks. As we entered the room, guess who walked through the door? Dr. Jackson #2.

Not. Kidding.

What were the chances? It wasn't even supposed to be his day in office. Where was Dr. Jackson #3? Wasn't she supposed to be here today?

I could see the blood in Nathan's face rising. He was moving and shifting in his seat, ready to protect his wife and baby if anything untoward was said or done.

I grabbed his arm and said, "Not today, Babe. Let's just do this and get out of here."

So we sat silent and let them do their job. They did a routine ultrasound and found that Joel was still stable with a great heartbeat and no worsening of fluid.

But Mama? Not so much. I think I freaked them out. They were very concerned about my condition and said urine tests were no longer needed to determine that I did indeed have preeclampsia.

Dr. Jackson #2 and his colleagues highly recommended that we move toward delivering Joel as soon as possible for the safety of us both. At that point, additional steroid shots to boost Joel's lungs wouldn't help him. In fact, we were told that I was hours, if not a few days, away from a deadly seizure, so time was of the essence.

We had a lot to think about.

Update on Baby Joel: Week 30

About Joel

• He's still stable! Praise the Lord. Prayers are being heard and answered.
• His heartbeat was 148.
• His dopplers are all completely normal.
• The fluid around his heart, lungs, scalp, abdomen, and lower extremities has not worsened.

Once again, Dr. Tupelo announced, "I can't believe you're 30 weeks pregnant and still here. His Hydrops is still very severe, but this is surprisingly encouraging."

This time, we wanted to laugh and say, "Duh, Dr. T! We've been trying to tell you all along that we, along with so many others, have been praying God would sustain this little boy—and he has."

On the way home, I told Nathan, "Think about this. All along, all these doctors have done is take pictures and talk. There haven't been any surgeries or medicines or procedures performed on Joel. It has literally been the hand of the Lord that has sustained him. It's incredible. It's just what he wants."

About Mama

There are some new developments with me. 

Over the past week, I've noticed my blood pressure going up and up and up very fast. We've documented one reading every day and it's definitely either at the threshold of too high or just over—something the docs asked me to watch for.

Also, on Friday, I was diagnosed with Polyhydramnios (fancy word for excess fluid in the womb). I look and feel much bigger than I'm supposed to be at this point (measuring at 34 weeks), but this isn't atypical for moms carrying Hydrops babies.

Right now, docs are monitoring me for preeclampsia and Mirror Syndrome. I've had some contractions and severe headaches and blurred vision—all sporadic, but all things that point toward these conditions.

Keep praying! We're believing.

What We're Learning: Weeks 28+29

There's just a lot we're learning right now, so I had to publish a separate post this week. You can read the latest update on Joel here.

Here goes everything.

I (Kaylan) go to a weekly women's Bible study at my church. A few weeks ago, we started Priscilla Shirer's study called Gideon. 

Honestly, I decided to jump in on this study simply because I wanted the community and encouragement from other women during this difficult time—not necessarily because I thought it would be applicable to our situation right now. 

(Silly, Kaylan. Don't you know Jesus better by now?)

Over the last two weeks, it's like Jesus has written personal, daily letters to me upon the pages of this study. He's reading all my mail these days. I've jotted down notes so fast and furiously in my notebook with my favorite red ink pen that it looks like I've bled all over the pages. 

Then, after each Thursday morning session, I've sprinted to my car, dragging Madelyn behind me, to call Nathan and share with him what the Lord has said. It's turned out to be a HUGE encouragement to us both. 

Please go and read the story of Gideon. Much of what I'm about to say will make so much more sense if you do. Either way, here's what Jesus has been teaching us:

• The crisis we're in isn't powerful enough to put us out of God's reach. 

Listen! The Lord's arm isn't too weak to save you, nor is his ear too deaf to hear you call. —Isaiah 59:1

• The crisis we're in positions us for God's calling on our lives.

The angel of the Lord appeared to [Gideon] and said, "Mighty hero, the Lord is with you! —Judges 6:12

• God is more interested in changing our hearts than He is our circumstances. Ouch.

"Well done!" the king exclaimed. "You are a good servant. You have been faithful with the little I have entrusted to you, so you will be governor of ten cities as your reward." —Luke 19:17

• Everything that happens in our lives is either God-allowed or God-arranged. Nothing happens without being sifted through His fingers first. That means, everything He allows in this chapter of our lives is transforming us and preparing us for the next chapter of our lives. How dare we try to jump ahead to the next chapter before Jesus completes the work He's started in this chapter? Let the Man finish, Preuss Family.

And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns. —Philippians 1:6

• We're definitely not the same people we used to be before this crisis. We certainly have no business going back to where we used to be before this crisis. And we're learning we don't need everything we thought we would need to get through this crisis (i.e. doctors, causes, cures, plans, back-up plans, back-ups to our back-up plans, etc). 

He said, "My grace is all you need. My power works best in weakness." So now, I'm glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me. —2 Corinthians 12:9

• In Gideon's story, God reduced his army from 32,000 men to 300 men. Then, He sent them into battle against 135,000 Midianites. What in the world? How would the Israelites ever beat them with so few numbers? God had stripped away all his soldiers, resources, skill, etc. Want to know why? Because God didn't want just a little bit of recognition—He wanted ALL the glory. It seems God has stripped away a lot from our situation as well. Again, we have no cause, no cure, no doctor, and no real plan. I'm pretty sure He wants all the glory for Himself in this too.

The Lord said to Gideon, "You have too many warriors with you. If I let all of you fight the Midianites, the Israelites will boast to me that they saved themselves by their own strength." —Judges 7:2

So that's what we're learning. Get ready. I'm sure we'll have more to hurl at you next week as well. 

Update on Baby Joel: Weeks 28+29

Hi, friends.

Many of you have reached out and asked why there was no post last week. The reason why I didn't update was because of the following scenario that's recently unfolded with us and our team of medical professionals. We needed to get more details and set things up before I could tell you what's been going on.

About Joel

First things first, Joel is still stable. Thank you, Jesus!

His dopplers and blood flow still look great. His little heart is pounding away at a perfect beat. He's wiggling and moving and kicking and punching in the womb every day, multiple times a day. He's made it 9 weeks after being diagnosed, so that's a huge miracle. He's such a little fighter.

As of yesterday, he's weighing in at a little over 5 lbs, but most of that is fluid. And I'm measuring between 34 and 36 weeks pregnant (depending on what part of Joel's body you measure). That means Mama here is feeling and looking like the size of a big red barn these days.

The fact that there's so little to report on him, except that he remains stable, is such good news for us.

The Medical Players

Let me introduce you. I know I've mentioned them by name before, but I think this may be easier to determine who's who in the line-up. I'll call them:

Dr. Columbus – Our regular OB. She's awesome. She's a believer. She's a mom. She goes to our church. She delivered Madelyn, so we know her well. We trust her. She's 110% on our team.

Dr. Tupelo – The specialist who originally diagnosed Joel with Hydrops. He referred us to the Fetal Medical Center in Jackson. We like him. He's honest but compassionate. As of right now, to ease the heavy driving load to and from Jackson, he's agreed to see us every other week for a routine ultrasound and remain in cahoots with the specialists in Jackson about the results.

Dr. Jackson #1 – The first specialist who saw us in Jackson. She's amazing and her bedside manners are impeccable. She's one of a kind. She's a mom herself, really cares about her patients, and originally assured us she'd walk with us. But then she went and had a beautiful little baby girl three weeks ago. Now, she's on maternity leave for 8 weeks and she's out of the game.

Dr. Jackson #2 – The second specialist who's seen us in Jackson. He's on the same team as Dr. Jackson #1 and has agreed to pinch hit for her while she's out. His bedside manners are terrible with a capital T. Every time we've left an appointment with him, it takes two days for us to emotionally recover. Unfortunately, you can tell he's become desensitized in his profession.

Dr. Jackson #3 – The third specialist in Jackson we've been recommended to go and see. She's not quite Dr. Jackson #1, but she's also no Dr. Jackson #2 either (we've been assured). She's smart, honest, and compassionate. We'll see. We haven't met her yet. Stay tuned. She's coming on the scene soon.

The Situation – Week 28

Last Friday, we saw Dr. Jackson #2. Let me first say that Nathan and I have no doubt he's incredibly smart and good at what he does. But he could've cared less about our baby and/or well-being. He was more interested in going to lunch as soon as possible than answering our questions.

At one point, I asked him if he'd be taking care of us and Joel from here on out. His response? "Well...I mean...I guess so...if you want me to."

This was the third time we've seen him. It was also the third time he's explained to us everything about Hydrops from top to bottom, in the exact same way, with the exact same tone, and with the exact same lack of hope. Dude, we get it. He obviously doesn't remember us at all.

We asked if the plan presented by Dr. Jackson #1 was still the same, and he said, "If that's what you want."

We asked if he would still be draining fluid and administering steroids before delivery to help Joel's lungs. He said, "I really don't think it will help. The probability of this baby making it just isn't good."

Needless to say, we left mad. I was more worked up than Nathan was and said, on more than one occasion, that he obviously needs Jesus. I'll try to pray for him, but I'm still glaring and Mama Bear-ing him right now for not giving a care for my kid. 

We certainly don't put our hope in people. We trust and believe in a God who's bigger than what this doctor thinks or says. He doesn't determine if Joel will make it or not (even though he thinks he knows)—only God does. But I think it's fair to say we also want someone who's on our team, someone who will own us as patients, someone who will walk with us down this road. 

The Situation – Week 29

We talked with Dr. Columbus on Monday and explained what happened last Friday (i.e. I said to her, "I'm never going back there again if he's going to be our doctor from here on out.") She completely understood.

So at the last minute, we canceled our appointment in Jackson this week with Dr. Jackson #2 and went to see Dr. Columbus yesterday (Thursday) to figure out what to do next. Before our appointment, she'd already consulted with Dr. Tupelo and Dr. Jackson #1. 

Confused yet?

During their three-way discussion, new specialists in Memphis and Birmingham were thrown out on the table as options. But at the end of the day, they all agreed it would NOT be beneficial for us to start all over again at some new place with all new specialists and neonatologists and geneticists. Instead, they recommended we switch to a brand new specialist out of the team of seven in Jackson at the same practice where we began.

Enter Dr. Jackson #3. 

We haven't met with her yet, but we will. As for now, it looks like we'll flip flop back and forth between Dr. Columbus and Dr. Tupelo until we hit 32 weeks. Then, we'll go back to Jackson to meet with Dr. Jackson #3.

I'm snapping the rubber hair band on my wrist right now, trying to keep that flexible perspective I mentioned a few weeks ago. Everything seems to change from week to week. It's quite hard to keep up with. But we're trusting God's bigger plan in all this—even if, at this point, we have no earthly clue what's really happening from week to week.

Prayer

Thank you so much for praying. We're both completely overwhelmed every single day by the people in our life—near and far—who reach out to us and minister to our hearts through meals, phone calls, e-mails, text messages, etc. 

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. We need you.

Please pray...

• For Joel's complete and total healing—especially that the fluid would go down in his little neck and head so they can get a breathing tube in once he's delivered.
• That God would prepare Joel even now to be a Mighty Man—a little fighter who will never hesitate to share with others that "Yahweh is the Lord," to proclaim that salvation comes from Jesus, and to remember that his life and story are a part of God's bigger plan.
• For patience and protection for our family. The enemy is looking for loopholes and weaknesses in which to stick his foot in and pummel the mess out of us at every opportunity.
• For endurance during this time of waiting.
• That we would keep our eyes fixed on Jesus and use every spare moment to bury our faces in God's Word and worship Him in this storm.
• For Madelyn, that she would be unaffected by any arrows the enemy throws our way. 
• That Jesus would give us exactly what we need to make it through each day—nothing more, nothing less.
• That we would live with grateful hearts for each and every day that God gives us as a gift with our sweet Baby Joel.