Weening

Since Monday, February 13th, Missi has been staying at Baptist Medical Center in hopes that if anything were to happen with the baby in her belly, the right people and protocol could be taken much more quickly than if on bed rest at home.  For those who are pregnancy illiterate (like me a couple months ago), a typical pregnancy is about 40 weeks long.  At the 24-week mark, a baby is called "viable", meaning that if born, the chances of survival increase greatly than if born at 23 weeks.  Missi's water broke at 19 weeks and it's a miracle that the baby didn't die shortly after.  At home on bed rest for weeks, having multiple appointments each week to check on the baby, Missi and I have been giving every moment to God in prayer, knowing that only He was in control and had the power to keep the baby alive.  Every heart beat that was registered on the ultra-sound was a continuously pulsating blessing.

Philippians 4:6-7 says, "do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God, and the peace of God which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."  

An amazing byproduct of prayer has been his peace, which has guarded our otherwise anxious and fearful hearts.

Isaiah 26:3 says, "You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you."

These words have kept us calm even in the frustrating times that we weren't sure what was going on or why this all was happening to us.

February 21st, this past Tuesday night, I got off of work, drove to get some burgers for dinner and bring them to the hospital for us to enjoy.  We had started to get comfortable with our private room with a pull-out couch, refrigerator, and television.  Missi would get visited often throughout each day by nurses to get the baby monitored, to be given water, food, and medicine.  Twice daily, our baby's heart rate got checked for about a half hour, making sure it ebbed and flowed normally.  But something was different about these numbers that night.  The pattern was different this time.  It was on the higher end and was staying too consistent (consistency sounded like a good thing to us but with babies, it's better that they show variation).  So down to the labor and delivery floor we went for the monitor to be continually checked.  Missi's temperature was at 100.0 (100.4 is declared a fever) so there was fear in what this might mean.  The nurses mentioned possibly delivering the baby. "What?" was kind of our thought.  We were just getting settled in to a routine and weren't really expecting the baby for at least a few more weeks, maybe months (I was optimistic [or in denial]).  After sort of dealing with that possibility, we began to pray, knowing that everything has been in his hands and was currently in his hands as well.  Missi's temperature went down to 99.0 and the baby's  heartbeats started to look better, according to the deliver doctor.  There seemed to be hope that after a while we'd go back to the room and continue back to normal, back to comfort.  It was as if God answered our prayers by lowering Missi's temperature, calming the baby's heart rate, and bringing in the head doctor to tell us we should be fine after a little while.  Within another half hour, our doctor, she comes back in and suggests that we deliver the baby at that time rather than later when another heightened heart rate from the baby might complicate things.  So, having already calmed down from the initial scare, I firmly believe that God was weening us off of our own understanding and comfort and helping us adjust our hearts to his will, which was at that point to have the baby.

After confirmation that the baby was coming

Missi had to have a C-section because we were at about 25 weeks.  She got some anesthesia to numb her up, but her shoulders and up were awake.  I was able to come in and sit with her top half while the room had like six or seven people (felt like twenty) doing their part to make the birth a success.  There was a sheet creating a wall to block our view from all the cuts and blood and stuff that you can't unsee.  They played Missi's request of music in the background which was Hezekiah Walker (at one point his lyrics mentioned God as our deliverer and I couldn't help but internally giggle at the pun).  The whole surgery seemed quick, only like 30 minutes or so.  They pulled him out (yes, him. We were convinced for days that he was a she) at 1:31am, Wednesday morning, February 22nd, showed him to us for about two seconds, I snapped a very timely picture, then they rushed him off to the NICU (neonatal intensive care unit) to get him hooked up to a respirator as well as other things that I'm still slowly learning the purpose of.

About an hour later, while Missi was in recovery, I got the chance to meet our boy for the first time without mommy-supervision.  He was so tiny.  His eyes looked fused shut.  His belly went in and out.  His ribs looked so fragile.  This being was alive.  I checked and yes, he has ten toes and ten fingers.  Every wire, bandage, monitor, piece of clothing, incubator setting had its purpose and was almost so overwhelming that I didn't have to understanding what everything did or if things were working.  He is alive and that's the most important thing right now.  From head to toe, he was about 12.2 inches but when he's in his position, he's about as long as it is from my thumb to my pinky if stretched out wide.  He was 1 lb. 6 oz. when born.  Who knew that a baby that small could make it?  The NICU nurses asked me what his name was.  Because that night's events were a surprise, and only having picked a girl's name, I gave her no answer.  It was only a few hours later that Missi and I agreed on the name Maximus (Max for short) Von (meaning hope) Vollmer.  We liked the name Max, weren't feeling the elongated name Maxwell, and then were excited to discover the name Maximus.  With thoughts of Gladiator, this name sounded strong, hoping that he would continue to fight every day for growth and life, showing off his life and telling onlookers "ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!?!?!"  We had named this baby Hope while in the womb, and that sort of went out the window when we discovered it was a boy.  Von sounded the most normal boy name that means hope, and it rhymes with my middle name (John) so in my mind, the name seemed to flow.

I took pictures, showed them to Missi.  Anxious to regain feeling in her legs and the ability to get on a wheel chair, she was able to see her oven bun about eight hours after delivery.  I'm grateful that I captured this moment of her seeing him for the first time.  Missi did amazing.  Her faith in God has been so beautiful these past few weeks.  Praying to the only lifeline worth holding, we are so thankful to God for all that he is.  Thank you for your prayers and encouragement throughout this process.  The transition from working to bed rest at home, from bed rest at home to bed rest at the hospital, from bed rest at the hospital to delivery, God has been helping in every change of setting and circumstance.  We know that we won't be in our current circumstances forever, yet we know in faith and now in experience that God is in those transitions as much as those circumstances.  Pray that the transition home and away from the baby goes smoothly as well.

As for right now, the baby is doing well.  It's the nature of the NICU that babies have good days and bad days.  On good days, he is weened off of certain things.  On bad days, he is put on certain things.  The progress is slow, but it is progress.  He will most likely have to stay at the hospital until our original due date, June 7th (give or take a day).  I'm reminded of the times when I'm teaching a new concept in math to a student, like fractions.  I gauge how much they understand, maybe I do one of their problems for them and slowly teach each step until they can finally do it on their own.  Same with the baby.  If he can't handle breathing on his own, he needs a little more help until he can finally do it on his own (he can't right now by the way).  The nurses call our little guy feisty, moving his arms and legs.  He's already had to be (gently) restrained.  Praise God for all he has been doing.  It's amazing how he created life.  It's overwhelming to think about how exactly he does it, but I don't understand it, so I can just rest and not worry.