Her Prints

I realize we have not yet shared Odelia's prints on here.

For scale, her footprint is less than 1 inch long.

Clay print, 10/11/2017.

Ink print, 10/11/2017.

My Blood Pressure!

lol I never thought I would post about this...

Today was the first read (108/78) in normal range, and most comparable to my pre-pregnancy blood pressure! My doctor also took me off meds this week!

HOORAY! Praise the Lord.

Birth Photobook

Decided last night to create a birth photobook for Odelia.

Don't know why it did not occur to me sooner. Wish I had thought of it when I had more time to work on it.

I made one for each boy, but especially wanted to create one for baby girl because it will contain all the memories we will ever have of her.

I rarely peruse the boys', but am certain I will frequently (at least, for now) look through Odelia's.

I miss her terribly.

The Lord's Care

There have been innumerable testimonies of the Lord's care this past week.

We were able to spend 1:1 time with each kid before Derrick returned to work. It reset the kids!! They are back: happy, telling me they love me, obeying much more immediately. I was elated.

I am rarely alone as people drop in here and there, working from home at our home, bringing their children to play with our children, etc.

Sweet cards in our mailbox, thoughtful gifts left at our door, book recommendations, one of our nurses writing me back.

He is sufficient and benevolent to show me His care so tangibly.

On a spiritual plane, I praise God that our hope is not in our children, or the age gap between our children. I praise God that He took care of my greatest need and illness: my sin, and yet reigns on high. I praise God that suffering is coupled with glory in Scripture -- His omniscience comforts and quells.

Jesus, thank You.

Lost

Since Saturday, I have become... a little lost.

After my sister's birthday dinner, we all stood up to leave. It was as if time stood still. I could see all the people around me but could not hear anything... and then I jumped when my sister gently put her hand on my arm and spoke in my ear, "It's time to go". I mumbled, "Right," and the world again moved and had sound and I told my legs to walk.

On Monday, I completely missed the turn to pick up Z. Just kept driving straight for nearly 10 minutes. I panicked when I realized that my mind was drifting, and I was behind the wheel.

I feel not ready to return to the Real World but know I eventually must.

A Baby's Secret

A friend sent this to a bereaved mother, who sent this to another bereaved mother, who sent this to another bereaved mother, who sent this to my dear friend, who sent this to me:

A Baby's Secret 
By J. C. Broomfield

I'm just a little baby
Who didn't quite make it there
I went straight to be with Jesus
But I'm waiting for you here.

Don't you fret about me, Mommy,
I'm alright -- and am most blest;
I'd have loved to stay here with you
But the Shepherd knows what's best.

Many dwelling here where I live
Waited years to enter in;
Struggled through a world of sorrow
And their lives were marred with sin.

So sweet Mommy, don't you sorrow,
Wipe those tears and chase the gloom
I went straight to Jesus' bosom
From my lovely mother's womb.

Thank you for the life you gave me
It was brief, but don't complain;
I have all of Heaven's glory
Suffered non of earthlings' pain.

I'll be waiting for you, Mommy --
You and Daddy, and the rest.
I'll be with you then forever
Then will give you all a kiss.

The Dust Has Settled

After the chaos of last week, the dust is slowly settling and I can see more clearly.

Last week consisted of determined decision after decision with changing parameters, basic survival for me to stay alive, and a determination to honor Odelia's life.

The shock has now worn, and I can feel again. I am slammed by the reality of what happened last week, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. And it is far worse than I had imagined. I had originally thought last week would be most difficult but was not prepared for this.

A dear friend expressed it best:

I found that the emotions were the strongest and the battles hardest, after. It's a different kind of pain, because it's not urgent, and there is nothing looming on the horizon anymore. There is nothing to face and fight and no concrete challenge to pray against, just a day to day existence that feels bleak and empty and I suppose what I imagine depression to feel like. I don't know if that's how it is for you right now, but when I think back on those first days, I am overwhelmed by the color gray. 

I also feel through with ZJ's constant whining, crying, tantruming, ungratefulness, and unhappiness. Every request we make is met by more whining, crying, tantruming, ungratefulness, and unhappines. I feel that I no longer have the physical stamina nor fortitude to continually discipline and train. I just cannot.

But God is faithful and will lead us through, moment by moment.

Updates

1. Last night, we had friends over for the first time. It was, in fact, 2 families, and we had to extend our dining table and bring every last chair we had in our house. These were good friends who have faithfully walked with us and offered so much of themselves to serve us. They knew where we were, served themselves, cleaned up our house themselves, and our children delighted in one another. They even brought gifts for ZJ to occupy themselves. And more food and snacks. Our childrens' happy screams and chatter lit up our home, and we could laugh like normal people. Yet we could also slow down and talk our sadness with them if we wanted. Our new life, without Odelia. Thank You, God, for the refreshment of last night.

2. Once my milk dries, the dark purple/angry blobs of bruises up and down my arms heal (from failed IV starts leading to collapsed veins, the every 4-hr lab sticks to monitor me), the bleeding stops... there will be no evidence that Odelia ever was. I think that will be hard for me.

3. We pick up Odelia's ashes this afternoon. Actually, Derrick will. I have grown in my admiration for Derrick and his leadership of our family through grief and loss. He has shielded me from having to deal with mortuaries, taking on phone calls, follow up, etc. so I would not have to.

Evidences of God's Mercy

- 5 blissful months of life with Odelia before knowing of her condition

- Odelia living for as long as she did

- Anticipation of her prognosis because of dear friends who allowed us to walk with them 5 years ago

- Opportunity to think through God's value of life, and to apply it practically

- Helpful OB friends who also love the Lord

- Family and friends' hearts who broke with ours

- Our church family who shouldered our burdens and carried them to the Lord

- OB friend's insistence that she give us a scan whenever we wanted, while we could still see Odelia alive

- Our wise pastors' counsel with little notice

- Just enough time to process, pray, and confidently decide to induce

- God making our decisions straightforward

- Mostly compassionate and competent medical staff. Sweetest nurses.

- Smooth albeit very painful labor and delivery

- We were able to hold Odelia and see her precious face

- Smooth physical recovery

- My life was spared, when it was

- We were able to get some clay and ink prints of Odelia's hands and feet

- Her story tells an even greater story of Love, and her Creator and Savior

One Week Out

Darling Odelia,

I remember every part of today, 1 week ago, so vividly still. I remember the contractions coming closer and closer together. I remember feeling excited about getting closer to meeting my daughter. I remember feeling sorrowful that this would also be the day that you die.

We miss you.

Your brothers repeat your name, "Baby Odelia, we miss you. We love you." They play with your bear and fight to sleep with it. We are all so happy that you are with Jesus instead.

Today, I returned to a little normalcy and celebrated it. I picked Z up for the first time, cried while telling my only friend (at Z school) why my pregnant belly is gone but smiled while explaining to her why God is still good, chatted with Z teachers/preschool director about you, drove by myself to the hospital to deliver thank you gifts to the exceptional nurses who took care of us, and even went grocery shopping afterwards!

The visit to the hospital was more emotional than I anticipated. I did not think I would find any of my nurses, and if I did, did not expect them to remember me. But in the Lord's sovereignty, I found all of them and they each recognized me by name. And I cried again at their kind hearts. And that they remembered you, my baby.

I came at shift change to increase my likelihood of finding the nurses. It was a flood of faces and activity at the nurse's station, and I blinked back tears as I gazed down the long Labor & Delivery hallway, at Room 12. I timidly asked for my nurses by name, and they appeared with huge smiles on their faces. We will not forget them.

Then, I did the same at the Mother-Baby Unit. My nurse for 2 days also cried with me and screamed my name when she saw me. She was so appreciative.

The double doors slammed closed behind me. I sat by myself in the waiting area, this time devoid of people. I would not be back to this place, as I had no business here anymore. I clutched my travel pack of Kleenex and wept for the memories still fresh, raw, and intimate. I was still sobbing in the elevator and as I exited the Women's Hospital with other people. No one looked at me or acknowledged me, and I felt even more alone.

But I know the truth could not be further than that.

But now thus says the Lord,
He who created you, O Jacob,
    He who formed you, O Israel:
“Fear not, for I have redeemed you;
    I have called you by name, you are Mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
    and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
    and the flame shall not consume you.
For I am the Lord your God,
    the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.
I give Egypt as your ransom,
    Cush and Seba in exchange for you.
Because you are precious in my eyes,
    and honored, and I love you,
I give men in return for you,
    peoples in exchange for your life. 
- Isaiah 43:1-4

Happy 1 Week Birthday in heaven, my love.

Unproductive Sleep

The first couple of night's sleep were good. I think we were physically exhausted from the constant monitoring in the hospital, and previous week's events.

Lately, though, my sleep has been restless.

I have many nightmares (PTSD is my guess.): Friends getting angry with me, assailants pursuing and overtaking Derrick and me, etc.

A Hard Day

"God is our refuge and strength,
    a very present help in trouble.
2 Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way,
    though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea,
3 though its waters roar and foam,
    though the mountains tremble at its swelling. Selah"
- Psalm 46:1-3

Today was hard in new ways.

I was up all night with J who was running a temperature, needed to blow his nose, kept trying to poo, wanted comfort, requested water, etc.

I could not sleep from engorgement pain... my whole upper body throbs and hurts. Even ran a fever. I have milk in my armpits, high up on my chest, and the skin is glistening and shiny. I fear for mastitis and clogs.

I missed taking Z to school, and when J came back with Derrick, he told me he loved only Derrick and not me. "NO Mommy."

Derrick and I have been fighting.

I feel so tired.

Gripping hard on Psalm 46:1-3. Praise the Lord for the truth of His Word.

Grieving with Hope

I have been thinking deeply about the surety in our salvation, which blessedly assures me to not be devastated or ruined by the "premature" death of our daughter.

We have never once questioned or been angry with God because we have a deep-seated trust in His kind wisdom already demonstrated through the Gospel.

And no, it is not a naïve or foolish trust.

God has already sent His best, His begotten Son, to die in our wretched place that deserved only eternal damnation. What more can we require of Him? He who did not spare his own Son but gave Him up for us all, how will He not also with Him graciously give us all things? (Rom. 8:32) What more could He possibly give us?

Lest we place ourselves as God, and order our lives around what we think is best.

Do we praise God only when He gives, and curse when He takes away?

This peace transcending that holds us through this time, is also the hope that vanquishes the fear of death, spiritual, and physical.

We will one day see our glorious God, face to face. As we will Odelia, restored and whole.

Hallelujah.

Our Pastor's Prayer

At church this morning, one of our dear pastors interceded this for us:

Our Father, we give thanks that you have displayed the immeasurable riches of your love in kindness towards us by sending your Son to be the propitiation of our sins. It is because of Jesus that we with confidence—not hesitation not reluctance, but with confidence draw near to your throne of grace to receive mercy and grace in our time of need.

And Lord, how we need your mercy and grace to be upon Derrick and Janette's family.  In your perfect wisdom you have brought Odelia to your side. No longer is she agonizing under the cruel effects of sin’s curse—she is perfect—free of suffering, sorrow, and pain—knowing your perfect love and perfect joy.

We remember Derrick and Janette. You know their exact needs and we ask that you would comfort and uphold them during this time of mourning and loss. Cause them to trust you deeply, to grieve with hope, and to have their loss matched by faith in Christ. Make their sorrow a bittersweet experience of communion with Jesus—our sympathetic high priest.

Philippians 4:4-7

"Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice. Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; 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." 
- Philippians 4:4-7

After some time in the Word and prayer, I truly feel the perfect peace of God guarding my heart and mind in Christ Jesus. Praise the Lord! My heart is well.

One Teaspoon

The mortuary told us Odelia's cremated ashes will be the amount of 1 teaspoon because she had very little skeletal structure.

My little sweet baby.

We were not sure if we should even have her cremated because what would we do with them?

I looked online to see what other people did, and liked the idea of scattering her ashes into the ocean on her 1st birthday.

Our Time at the Hospital - by Derrick

We rested and reflected, and wrote fearing that we would forget everything that happened.  The whole week has been a blur, especially the past 24 hours. We want to remember, but maybe it is better to forget? If they didn't draw blood so often or attach Janette to an IV, our stay at the hospital was like a hotel vacation: room service, and we had no kids to take care of. Janette's health wasn't significantly improving the first few days, but we were in no rush to go home.

The outside of our room's door had a picture of an old leaf with a tear on it to warn people that we had lost our baby. I noticed a very white rectangle surrounded by a faded border and some torn paint on a wall; they thoughtfully removed the "checklist for your baby". The baby next door cried all night. There is something painful about being in the maternity ward without a baby, seeing families come with joy or wait with anticipation, moms pushing their bassinet around, the cries of a newborn... but at the same time there is sense of healing, we also had a baby too, we belong here.

The nurses and doctors were all kind and sympathetic towards us. Most did not know details of the past few days, just that our baby was no more. There was a doctor that came in early in the morning to check on Janette. She said few words to us but what she said was comforting and sympathetic. We knew she cared. There are no magical words for people to say to us, we don't even know what is most comforting, but those who acknowledge our loss and pain even for a moment brings a sense of affirmation that we are feeling and going through is real and is okay.

The kids visit once a day. Sadly they were afraid of Janette and her IVs, but the allure of the buttons on the hospital bed was too much. We tried to explain to them that Mui Mui was no longer in Mommy's tummy, but with Jesus. I'm not sure how much they will remember from all of this. This is the longest we have been apart from them, I hope they are okay.

They prescribe some medications for Janette to take at home and we are finally discharged. I never thought it would be so hard to leave. We both broke down. It was as if we were leaving her behind or came out empty-handed. We sat in the car, crying and praying.

Goodbye, Odelia.

Are we ready for the real world?

“Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be His people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”
- Revelation 21:3-4

2 Days After

Today was much more emotional. I missed Baby terribly, and awoke in tears.

My milk was coming in, the last thing my body would do for her. My bladder was getting better; praise God.

My nurse asked for a massage for me. I never had this treatment with the other 2! I nearly fell asleep during it. So nice, and she rubbed lavender oil on me.

Derrick and I tried to spend the day blogging and remembering and reflecting.

My mom and sister visited with the children. They were much more comfortable at the hospital and sat in bed with me. They loved pushing the buttons to make the bed move up and down.

Discharge was quick without a baby.

Leaving the hospital was very emotional. I expected it, since it was emotional for me to transfer from Labor and Delivery to Mother-Baby. It was nighttime, which also made it more dramatic and depressing. Derrick broke down. It was the second time I ever saw him do that; first time was over the phone when I told him about Baby's abnormalities.

I think the act of leaving the hospital represented the finality of us leaving Baby's body, leaving the sanctuary of hospital and nursing staff who knew our story, and us entering into the Real World and Real Life.

Again, I was wheeled past Labor and Delivery (I longingly stared at its closed doors, hoping to be back under happier circumstances), past all the waiting family/friends with flower bouquets + balloons. The nurse placed her hand on my shoulder for solidarity, and handed me a box of Kleenex. The waiting family/friends all stared at me, puzzled at my sorrow in such a place of joy. We had no car seat in my lap; we left even lighter than when we had entered. Just a few days ago, we had emerged out of the elevators with Odelia alive and happy in my tummy.

This chapter was now closed.

Mui Mui's Bear Bear

This is Odelia's bear bear, thoughtfully and prayerfully gifted to us a dear friend.

This bear was with Mui Mui when she was born and died. Providentially, this bear is the same length as Odelia was -- and Odelia was received in a white/gray polka dot blanket gifted to us by another dear friend.

Even if we did have time, I never would have thought to have prepared a stuffed animal. But I find her so comforting (I sleep with her sometimes), and she has been instrumental in helping the boys process and grieve.

Precious Conversations

The boys continue processing well.

At the hospital, J sat on my belly and exclaimed, "Oops, sit on Mui Mui."

I reminded him that Mui Mui had come out.

J: Where is she? I want to see her.
Me: She is not here anymore. She has died and is with Whom?
J: With Jesus. She is pao bo (running).
Me: (Astonished) Yes, she is running with her new, unbroken body in heaven with Jesus.
J: I like Mui Mui bear bear (snuggles with bear).

Her Name

We named her Odelia Mercy today.

Odelia is Hebrew for "I will praise God". She will praise God, and we will praise God, despite her circumstances. All she will know is praising God as she was born into the arms of her Savior.

Mercy signifies God's mercy to restore her broken body when He did, preserving my life in His timing.

The Day After

I woke to more agonizing pain: my bladder had not woken from the epidural. The pain was a 9 out of 10, and the nurses had to re-catheterize me to drain my bladder. That was super painful and my body shook again from more shock.

Today was all physical recovery. I spent much of it on the toilet, trying to coax my bladder to relax, faucet running, and inhaling the peppermint oil one of the nurses left. Every trip to the restroom was at least half an hour long: moving my IV stand, getting me out of bed, peri bottle, bleeding, etc.

My bottom hurt, and my arms were sore from holding my legs to push Baby out.

ZJ visited with my sister and our parents. ZJ were so afraid of me, the IVs stuck in my arm, and my hospital bed. :( Eventually Z wanted to sit with me on the bed. We enjoyed snuggles and talked about Mui Mui.

Seeing our children again was a balm to the soul. Thank You, Lord!

Day 7: Hello Baby, Goodbye Baby - by Derrick

Today is the day.

We rush to see the kids in the morning before Z goes to school. Janette's mom again reviews what to expect and we pray together. This morning is also Janette's dad's cataract surgery. Mom will be very busy today. The doctor calls and says we should be first in line for Labor and Delivery and they will call us to come in.

We call into the women's prayer meeting for us, and are thankful for the Body praying, crying, and caring for us. Many prayed for me too. My favorite was someone who prayed something like: "Pray for Derrick, you know men they do not share any of their feelings but they are hurting inside."

At 11AM, we are "invited"  to Labor and Delivery. All the nurses are very kind and sympathetic toward us. Everything happens slowly as if no one is in a rush. The nurse puts the first induction drug in around 2PM. The doctors did  not give a time frame for labor and delivery, but everyone estimates the induction will take about a day, worst case two.

We ask to hear the baby's heartbeat every couple of hours, knowing each time maybe the last time we hear her alive.

At around 5pm, Janette's contractions are getting stronger. The nurse puts in another dose. Later at night, Janette is starting to be in pain and asks for an epidural. They continue to monitor her labs and draw blood frequently; her health is slowly declining. After a couple hours they try to put the epidural in. The anesthesiologist runs into issues and is taking forever. Janette is in a lot of pain. I feel helpless next to her.

The epidural is in but she still feels a lot of pain. The goal was to have the labor and delivery be as easy and painless as possible so she can enjoy precious moments with our baby. I glance at the clock. If this is supposed to take 20 hours, how is Janette going to survive this?

At around 9pm, I keep on asking when the baby will come as they check on Janette. No one gives me a clear answer, but finally someone says soon. Soon! I don't feel ready, part of me wanted to go through this slowly and take everything in but I am thankful everything is happening  quickly since Janette is in a lot of pain. We haven't had a chance to discuss what we wanted to do when the baby comes. Will we take pictures? Will someone come and take pictures? Who do we want here to see the baby? Who will be in the room during delivery?

Another nurse comes in to set up the new baby station and warmer. I give her an odd look, what is that for? Our baby does not need to be there, there will be no Apgar score.

We check the baby's heartbeat one last time. It is fading and difficult to find. Our baby is dying.

--

At around 11pm, they start to tell Janette to push. No one seems to be in a hurry though, it is a little odd. It seems like the baby is not completely ready to come out, but the doctor can feel her and is trying to help her come out faster to speed things up.

We were warned what our baby may look like. All babies at 20 weeks are very red as their skin has not fully formed, their eyes are fused shut, and they are less than a pound. Our baby had extreme swelling around her head and whole body; we were prepared for her to have issues with her facial features and other parts of her body. The only normal part in the ultrasounds were her hands and feet.

At first, one of her feet popped out since she was breech. She had a normal-looking foot with tiny tiny tiny toes, and was deep red and swollen, but a baby's foot nonetheless.  She's coming, she is coming! Janette was screaming in pain the whole time, the doctor was reaching in, trying to carefully pull the baby out.  She pulled out the other leg. Next came the body and that is where she began to look a little different. Her body was swollen like she had a potbelly all around her. After this, we were telling Janette that she is almost out.  I thought she would just slide out by now, but  it was a struggle. Her head had the largest mass surround her, she surprisingly had a face! A peaceful, cute little face. A baby this age was supposed to be less than a lb, she came out weighing 2lb and 2oz. She had skinny little legs and feet like a normal baby.

They placed her in a bassinet, and worked on Janette. She was still in a lot of pain trying to get the placenta out.  The doctor was very concerned about the placenta and sent it to  Pathology. As they worked on Janette, no one seemed in a hurry to have Janette see the baby. Janette's mom and I looked at her, and took some pictures. I stared at her still lifeless body and cried. That’s my daughter and she's gone, that’s my daughter and she is clearly not well. In some sense, she was more normal than we anticipated. Taking a look at her lifeless, dark red and swollen body, there was a sense of peace that she was in heaven with the Lord. In her suffering she did not belong here, and she was sent to her final home quickly. 

Through all the commotion of taking care of Janette, the baby was just there on the side, lying there still, lifeless, unloved. I interrupted the doctor as they were marveling at the placenta, a little annoyed that was more important than our baby, and asked them to move the baby over so Janette could hold her. Janette held her for the first time, admiring her and who she was. Mom and I pointed out parts of her to Janette, and how they resembled some of our other children. 

Janette was exhausted and dozed off. I could see how hard she was trying to stay awake and she finally gave in and rested. Mom came back later with Dad and Janette's sister. They came in and looked at the baby. I asked if they wanted to hold her, but not to pass her back and forth over and over again since she was so fragile. Dad took her, and stared at her not saying a word. Janette's sister took a turn and wept, and Mom held her and was so sweet talking to her and admiring her little features. They then prayed with us and left. I am thankful for their support and cherishing our daughter with us.

It was just our family: Janette, myself and baby. I held our baby's hand, her little little hand, her whole body was fragile. I touched her hands, her face and her lips, tacky, with her mother's blood around her. Her little chubby hands, her fingers, her toes. She's mine, was mine, is mine.

I wanted Janette to enjoy our baby, to hold her to see her, for us to talk about her, but she just couldn't. She had just endured the hardest labor of our 3 kids, ironically for the smallest baby. I don’t know when or how we would know we were ready to say goodbye, never to see her again. Even though she wasn’t alive, she was with us. A little bit later, Janette woke up and held her. I sat on the bed and we talked, admired, and were saddened.  She was like something helpless and sad, you took a look and knew something was wrong, she needed help, she was not meant to be. We talked with the nurses and said we were ready to go. Goodbye Baby. As we were pushed out of the L&D room, we walk by every other L&D room and the nurses station with 10+ nurses there, weeping. They all look, some with more compassionate faces than others, all knowing why we were crying. We came out empty-handed.

Earlier, our nurse kindly said this is the worst day of our life - please ask for anything you need, don’t feel bad. If this is the worst day of our life we will be okay, I hope she is right. Our God is steadfast, we will get through this.

I come back with the nurses who kindly stayed a second shift to get imprints and prints with me of our baby. They were so precious and gentle in how they treated her while getting her prints, they  kept on saying "Sorry princess" as we needed to push hard her hands and feet into the clay and ink. This is what we will remember you by, little hands and feet. It is 4AM and this whole day is a blur, will we remember anything that happened?

Goodbye Baby, we love you. 

The Longest and Most Difficult Day of My Life

For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence, for my hope is from Him. He only is my Rock and my Salvation, my Fortress; I shall not be shaken. On God rests my salvation and my glory; my mighty rock, my refuge is God. Trust in Him at all times, O people; pour out your heart before Him; God is a refuge for us. Selah

- Psalm 62:5-8

A good friend sent me this passage the morning of our induction. I clung to it today.

.............

We were told to wait for Labor and Delivery to call before coming to the hospital. We ended up waiting the entire morning!

In God's sovereign timing, this allowed us to listen in on the impromptu prayer meeting with our church's women's group. Mothers and a grandmother -- all saints and friends -- willingly entered into our sorrow, faithfully and fervently interceding on our behalf. We acknowledged together our reliance upon and trust in our loving Father. I recognized each voice and broken heart over speaker phone, calling out to God with prayer requests I had shared the day prior with a sister. What a sweet picture of the family of God.

.............

11:50am We are admitted and the receptionists whisper amongst themselves, pointing to Baby's due date I wrote on the pre-admission form. I am led to the last room (Room 12) on the floor, away from the normal deliveries. I am thankful for that consideration.

~12:10pm The doctor on call enters our room, discussing the induction plan.

12:30pm Our first nurse happily obliges with my request to monitor Baby Girl's heartbeat. Her heartrate is strong and full of health. This nurse is an answer to prayer: She is just the right amount of humor and compassion. She feels like an old friend, and we are sad her shift is over at 3:00pm.

1:45pm Induction begins.

2:00pm What I thought were Braxon-Hicks I had felt early on in the pregnancy begins to ramp up. Our nurse tells me they were really irritations: that I had actually already been contracting. Could it be? My body had already begun the process of delivery, as Mom had told me? I am uncomfortable but not yet in pain.

3:23pm On-call doctor informs us of my labs. My platelet levels are low, the liver issues are worsening, and that I should get the epidural sooner than later. If my platelets reach a minimum, my blood would be too thin to clot and I would not be able to have the epidural at all. The doctors are all preoccupied with me getting the epidural, and understandably so. I feel fine, but am told I am at risk for HELLP Syndrome.

3:30pm Shift change. We snap a quick photo with our nurse, and meet our next nurse. She ends up staying with us for another shift to see us through. What a gift.

4:30pm Contractions become increasingly uncomfortable but not yet painful. Our nurse tells us the contractions are too close together -- on top of each other, she said, to administer the next dose. Another praise: Labor is going well, and my body is responding well to the induction drug.

5:10pm Vital checks. Baby's heartbeat is still strong; about 160. I get emotional with each Doppler check. Would this be the last time we hear Baby? Will labor be too strenuous for Baby? The nurse never takes the Doppler away until I say it is ok to. What a sensitive and sweet nurse.

7:10pm We facetime with grandparents to say good night to ZJ. I am beginning to hurt. I try to manage the contractions through breathing as we chat. We decide it is time to get the epidural as I was beginning to get uncomfortable.

7:38pm The anesthesiologist wants another lab drawn before giving the epidural. Super sad face. Our nurse offers me fentanyl, to which I eventually agree to. The epidural would take another hour since we would have to wait for my labs to return first. The fentanyl made me feel crazy; I was woozy, dizzy, and felt like I was flying out of the room.

7:45pm My parents and sister arrive. I cannot hide my pain. I never imagined laboring in front of my family. Each contraction lasts ~5 minutes long. I begin to feel despairing that I would not make it before the anesthesiologist returned.

8:40pm Anesthesiologist returns. My family goes home. It was the WORST epidural I have had. She could not place it, kept making comments like, "Oops! I cannot get it in. Let's try another pack." I must stay still the entire time, with my back curved. Our nurse and Derrick literally hold me up the entire time. The anesthesiologist takes 15-20 minutes. My legs go numb, tingly, warm. It is terrible. The epidural takes the edge off the contractions, but I still feel everything... every part of this birth is not as I had envisioned.

9:15pm New on-call doctor comes in. She tells me I am complete, and that my bag of waters is in the way of delivery. We decide to have her break my water to expedite labor. It is the biggest gush I had ever felt. We cannot believe we are getting close to delivery so quickly. On-call doctor then explains that my cervix was held up by the bag of waters, and it was just a 5 now. So we would wait before pushing.

9:37pm Dear friends visit with the rest of the clay prints. I feel the urge to push as we chat. Friends pray to end our time together.

10:23pm On-call doctor can feel Baby's feet as she is breech. I request a Doppler check, where we find the heartbeat slowing down. Baby Girl is dying. And I feel like dying in labor.

11:16pm I am not sure what the delay is about because I could have begun pushing a lot sooner. The delivery feels intimate: the bed remained unopened, and the doctor sat on the table next to me. The stoic doctor (who proudly performs D&Es -- my last pick for the doctor to deliver Baby) has her hands shoved up me, trying to pull Baby down. The pain is blinding. She says Baby is high, and I would have to do the work of pushing Baby down. Since I could well feel my contractions, I pushed with them. I had thought Baby would come out easily and quickly but it was difficult. Derrick encourages me by letting me know Baby is coming, that I was doing a good job. I scream as the rest of Baby's body/head crowns but try to channel my energy in getting Baby out because that would be the only way to end the exquisite pain.

11:27pm Baby is delivered in a big goop. Mom and Derrick inspect Baby, weeping. This is the first time in 3 deliveries that Derrick tells me that he is so proud of me, that I am so brave and strong. Our nurse takes Baby to another bed, where Mom and Derrick take photos. I still have not seen Baby. Mom and Derrick call to me that Baby is a girl. I then work hard with the doctor to deliver the placenta. It is not coming, and I feel worried. Eventually, it comes and I thank God. The doctor says the placenta is so abnormal and to send it to Pathology. Mom says it is 3x the normal size. I watch the nurse pour the huge organ-looking thing into a take-out looking container for further analysis. The labor and delivery felt wildly traumatic and violent.

12:00am I am cleaned up, and meet Baby Girl for the first time. I feel an overwhelming, sad love for her but know her spirit is already with Jesus. She has a face! And the sweetest one, at that. Mom commented that her nose looked like J's. She has sweetly-formed lips and chin, little hands and feet. Mom had warned us that her skin would be bright red because she was so premature. She is swollen everywhere, just like in the scans. But I am utterly exhausted from the labor and delivery. I beg for someone to take her lest I drop her. My eyes just keep closing, though I will them to stay open to take in this moment we would never again have.

12:30am The rest of my family arrives. They each hold her, cry, and love our Baby Girl. I am so thankful they recognize her life.

1:05am My family leaves. I feel sad that Derrick is by himself with Baby, but I am catatonic. The doctor and nurse leave us. Derrick sits next to me on the bed, while I doze off. I hope to take a quick nap and then return to the moment.

1:51am We are ready to say goodbye to our daughter. We pray. I watch the nurse weigh her -- 2 lbs 2 oz!, and take other measurements.

3:00am The nurse pushes me to the Mother-Baby unit. I look back to where Baby lies, and our nurse asks if I would like to see her one last time. I whisper, "Yes, please." I tearfully tell Baby, "Goodbye, I love you," and nod to the nurse. I weep as I am wheeled away, away from my baby, and into somewhere new. Somewhere where there are happy families celebrating with balloons and flower arrangements, DSLRs ready, newborn babes crying. I am the only mother wheeled out on a wheelchair vs. a bed because I have no baby to hold. Family members waiting for loved ones currently delivering stare at me, a teary mess, clutching my belongings. The nurse hugs me, makes sure I am taken care of, and returns to Room 12 for the next hour to make ink + clay prints with Derrick. Mom told me later the nurse cried outside of our room. I brush my teeth and pass out. I then wake every hour with nurses coming in and out, vitals, labs, etc.

.............

I feel so saddened that I had to bring forth Baby Girl in so much physical labor and pain that I could barely enjoy her afterwards.

Last Belly Shot

See you tomorrow, Baby Girl. You are 20 weeks today. I will miss "us", together.

Happy Birthday tomorrow. I am so sorry it will also be the day you die.

Day 6: What is Happening? - by Derrick

This whole day we were in a haze.

The first hour was spent with the technician getting more pictures of the baby, then the doctor came in doing the same. She said very little in the beginning and stared intently at her monitor and pictures of her heart. Maybe there is hope? Maybe she is trying to figure out how to save our baby?

She presses the 3D ultrasound button. This is our first real glimpse of the baby and immediately we gasp. Our baby does not look well. Her hands and feet look normal but the rest of her looks swollen like a balloon. Poor Baby. We weep as we see her, and the doctor finally speaks and says, "I'm so sorry".

She finishes her scan and writes on a paper everything wrong, and says that her swollen body is "100%  lethal". Her broken heart, missing kidneys and everything else do not matter. Then she looks at Janette and says, "I think your life is in danger too and that you are starting to show signs of a rare syndrome where the mother's body mirrors what the baby has." She explained that Janette's body was swelling, and her blood pressure was elevated, and her liver would have issues. The doctor says we have to decide soon how we want to terminate the pregnancy.

Janette and I stare at each other in disbelief. Is this real? We have to decide if we want to medically extract the baby out, or induce her early and have her come out like a "normal" delivery. We are both taken a back at the extraction procedure, but everything is a blur now. 

What is happening? We were preparing for this appointment the past couple of days, and had planned to carry her to term. Now what? What is God doing? 

We talk it over with Janette's Labor and Delivery nurse mom who gives us sound advice. We pray a lot, we sit confused. It feels like we are deciding to kill our baby. How could we do that to her? Why can't we allow God to take her when He decides so? 

Five days ago, we found out our baby is going to die. Today, we have to decide how to end her life tomorrow.

We wrestle with what to do next. It is clear we want to induce the baby, see her, and hold her one last time. But why now? We know that if there was no risk to Janette's health, we would carry her to term. And if Janette was going to die in the next hour, we would take the baby out right away. But what about in between? Janette is not going to die in the next hour, and the doctors were not clear on the exact timeline. Is there value in prolonging the baby's life a few more days or weeks at an unquantifiable risk to Janette's health? Is it unjust to speed up our baby's impending death? I don’t know.

We seek the advice of our pastors. We are thankful for them and pray for them on the way there. We try to explain our situation and what we are thinking. Somehow Janette is more composed than I am; how is she so strong? They affirm that what we are deciding is not unethical. We are comforted by their reminder that there is nothing we can do to outmaneuver God's sovereignty.

We return to Janette's parents' home and see our kids again. The doctor calls with the lab results and they do not look good. It confirms the doctor's diagnosis of Janette, and we need to decide what to do tonight. We discuss what we should do next. We cry and we pray.

We have decided to end the life of our daughter. It sounds so wrong in so many ways. Never would I have imagined in my lifetime to have to make such a decision.

Tomorrow we will see our baby, tomorrow our baby will die.  

The Maternal-Fetal Medicine Appointment, Part III

We returned to my parents', where we received a phone call from the high-risk OB.

"Your labs returned. They are not good. Your liver is beginning to fail and you have pre-eclampsia, as I suspected. We are very concerned, and you need to deliver in the next 1-2 days. Please take some time to make a decision you are comfortable with, and let us know. But we need to deliver the baby for your health condition."

Derrick and I again reconvened to pray and talk about the quickened timeline.

We were beginning to feel overwhelmed but we thanked God for making the decision more straightforward.

We easily decided on the induction first thing the next morning to dignify Baby's life, and for an opportunity to hold and say goodbye to our beloved.

We shared the decision with our parents who whole-heartedly supported us, and we shared with the children. Our children were happy to spend the night with PoPo and GongGong, and we left. I knew I would miss them terribly for the remainder of the week away from them.

We went to bed late, packing our hospital bag, taking care of last-minute things like a birth photographer. Sweet friends assisted with medical consults, researching/purchasing clay and ink stamp kits for Baby's handprints/footprints, etc. to be delivered to us the next evening in the hospital. We were so humbled by how quickly friends and church family sprang to action to care for us.

Another fitful night of sleep and prayer.

The Maternal-Fetal Medicine Appointment, Part II

We had lunch, where we discussed what would need to be discussed, and then had a a quiet pensive ride home to pick up the children. More tears as I kicked up my gigantic and painful swollen feet on the back seat.

My mom urged us to talk alone, so we prayed and talked alone.

Was there value in prolonging Baby's life? Who is to say whose life to preserve: mine or Baby's? How do we leave time for God's healing? How could we decide when the likelihood of my health worsening was unquantifiable? Shouldn't we allow God to take Baby away in His timing?

Our pastors kindly agreed to meet with us for counsel. Derrick suggested we meet in person, so we drove over to church. I prayed for our pastors -- if I were them, I would definitely not know what to say, especially with such little preparation or notice. I came away from our meeting even more appreciative and esteeming of our dear pastors.

We explained the updates, and they agreed that this was a gray area: whether to deliver now or later. But that it did not make sense to gamble 2 lives when it was pretty sure that 1 was fatal. They each shared that they would save their wife, deliver now, and that their conscience would be clear to do that. Further, Christians have a different confidence in God's healing (not promised in Scripture) vs. a confidence in our salvation (promised in Scripture). They then prayed for us, and I felt a lightness to our decision-making.

The Maternal-Fetal Medicine Appointment, Part I

After another fitful night of sleep, we dropped off the children at my parents' home and headed for our higher-level scan. My parents prayed for our appointment before we left.

The examination room was equipped with a large TV monitor across from the examination table. I wouldn't be staring at the ceiling this time.

Something felt different in my body from the previous night; I wondered if perhaps God allowed Baby to pass. Our baby filled the screen. I quickly noted the heart beating strong, as it always had. Baby was still with us. My heart sank a little, knowing that future decisions would not be as straightforward.

A technician took some preliminary scans, and we immediately saw the large mass surrounding Baby. It was still there; nothing had changed. The technician gave us a guess at Baby's gender: girl. Derrick and I exchanged a tender look. It was the girl we had hoped and longed for.

Next, the high-risk OB came in and completed her own ultrasound images/videos. She spent so long with us that the nurse came in 3x for other patients. I tried to study the doctor's face: it looked concerned and focused. The doctor spent much of the time examining the heart over and over again, tracking the flow and output, listening to the heartbeat in different areas and registers, the anatomy... it gave me hope that maybe she was thinking about how to reconstruct Baby's heart after birth.

The doctor then zoomed out to see Baby's entire body and clicked the 3D button. She spun the 3D image around slowly. I gasped, crying silently with my body trembling as I saw the fluid-filled mass that enveloped Baby's head, face, and abdomen. Only Baby's hands and feet looked normal. "I'm sorry," the doctor whispered and continued with the examination.

What happened to you, Baby? My poor Baby. Why do you look like this? What is God's plan for you?

My salty tears cascaded down my face, wetting the bed sheets around my head. I prayed for Baby, and for our friends' baby as they were getting their anatomy scan at the same time.

The doctor completed her assessment, and turned away from the ultrasound machine.

I sat up on the table in my cold, jelly-soaked maternity leggings.

"Your baby's condition is 100% lethal. There is no chance it will survive outside of the womb. I am surprised you didn't miscarry already. A fetus with this many abnormalities does not live this long. The edema is so severe that the other anomalies are inconsequential -- the congenital heart defect, problematic kidneys/bladder, clubbed foot -- they do not matter."

I looked up at the monitor behind the doctor, now dark. It read "XXXXX, JANETTE" with Baby's gestational age. Was this really happening? Was I in reality? The doctor was confirming what we predicted would happen... and then some.

"You can probably carry the fetus to term because it does not need much in utero. Your body can sustain the fetus. IF you carry the fetus to term, you will get very sick. Your liver will fail and you can stroke at any time."

The doctor glanced down at my feet. "Yep, it is as I suspected. Look how edemic [swollen] your feet are. This is not normal for 20 weeks. The sick placental hormones are crossing over to you. This is indicative of a rare syndrome named 'mirroring syndrome', where the mother's body begins to mimic the baby's. Your blood pressure is high. We are highly concerned about you, pre-eclampsia, and HELLP syndrome."

Never once did I think that my health could be in danger.

"I know this is a lot of information. You do not need to decide immediately but soon on delivery options. The first delivery option is a Dilation and Evacuation (D&E). Not all doctors have this training. In the OR, you are dilated and then the fetus is scraped and vacuumed out. It is quick and you can go home the same day. Additionally, some doctors offer to inject potassium chloride into the heart guided by an ultrasound before the procedure. This stops the heart before continuing with the procedure."

"The second delivery option is an induction on the Labor & Delivery floor, much like a normal induction. It will take longer since the body is not ready to deliver at 20 weeks. You can vaginally deliver, and will be able to hold the baby afterwards."

"We don't know why things like this happen. Chromosomal abnormalities are not genetic. They just happen, and it should not happen again. The chromosomal abnormality is extremely severe with this one. I'm so sorry."

We were then led to the genetic counselor, who was not helpful. The genetic counselor told us she would be coordinating the delivery details.

Day 5: Are We Ready? - by Derrick

I'm back to work on Monday, with my pinky splinted. I will type some interesting emails today with remarkable typos.

We know our decision to carry the baby as long as possible will not be popular one with everyone.  We think we are prepared to explain ourselves to others, though the hardest will be those who are closest with us who may adamantly and vocally disagree.

We are trying to mentally prepare for tomorrow's doctor visit. They already scheduled us with a genetic counselor, which is probably not a good thing. I have no clue what genetic counselors do, I envision they help you deal with bad news after the doctor's visit and go through your options including termination.

We imagine the doctor giving us a clearer diagnosis and using some phrase like "your fetus will not survive outside the womb". The doctor will tell us how long she thinks we can carry her for, hopefully it is close to term which is the end of February.  The doctor would discuss and encourage termination options, we would say no, and then ask her what the next 4-5 months would look like. The genetic counselor might then hand us some pamphlets and information on chromosomal abnormalities and support groups.

When this becomes "official", I am not sure how we will handle it. Will it change any of our thoughts and feelings? Will it make us sulk further into sadness, or just reaffirm what we have been preparing for these past few days? We trust that God has prepared us and will sustain us for whatever may come.

Who knows, maybe this past week we have been like the people who pessimistically diagnosis themselves on the Internet and drive doctors crazy.

Maybe we will be told our baby will be born alive.

"Whom have I in heaven but you?

    And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.

My flesh and my heart may fail,

    but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever."
- Psalm 73:25-26

Day 4: He Will Hold Me Fast - by Derrick

Today is Sunday. Most of the families at church have a glimpse of what is going on. We are thankful for our church body and soon will let more people know about our baby. We have no desire to be the center of attention or to have our baby be the focus of all our conversations until she is born, but today she is all that is on our mind.

Singing at church today had all the songs we have been thinking about the past few days and more: Blessed be Your Name, It is Well, He Will Hold Me Fast. These songs reflect the sadness in our hearts, but our desire to cling and hope in God. There is something special about singing together today holding Janette's hand. We will be okay. Today we are singing these songs through a new lens, maybe our best worship is when we sing in hard times.

Maybe it is God's gift we have children to distract us, or maybe it makes us not deal with the situation in full. The engineer or project manager in me is tempted to think of our situation as a set of decisions to make rather than deal with the reality of what is going on, to prioritize the intellect and the tangible over the emotions. 

We are thankful for the care, wisdom, and experiences of our friends that God has given us. The genuine words of those who have experienced loss are especially comforting, their encouragement has an extra ounce of hope.

One brother genuinely asked, "How are you doing?" When I responded with a "we" (Janette and I), he interrupted, "No. How are you doing? Don't hide behind her, though she is important. How are you doing?" I'm naturally not a very open person, but I never thought I would be tempted to mask my feelings behind Janette's. This helps me think about my own jumbled emotions and feelings a little more. Again thankful for genuine love and care.

I told a handful of people today at church. I started to break down every time. I could not get the words out clearly through the tears. The words come out as a broken whisper: "Our baby is going to die." I know it is okay to cry and be sad, it is nothing to be ashamed of, but it is not easy to share. Maybe over the next few months it will get easier, should it get easier? It is almost as if I don’t say it, it isn't real. But it is real. 

Though we are aware it is not easy for everyone to hear of such news when we share, there is no great response we are expecting. We appreciate everyone's simple words and genuine sympathy. Some ask how they can help and support us but I do not know what we need. 

On a side note: After church lunch, I caught 2 children falling off a chair and broke a tendon in my pinky finger. It wasn't even a hard fall, I am getting old. I texted a doctor friend who immediately diagnosed it correctly and went to Urgent Care for x-rays to double check. Thankfully, it was taken care of right away and does not really hurt. It is more of an inconvenience. I will have to wear a splint for the next 6-8 weeks. With everything going on, I showed Janette my bent pinky finger and just laughed. Life can be funny sometimes.

Those He saves are His delight

Christ will hold me fast

Precious in His holy sight

He will hold me fast

He’ll not let my soul be lost

His promises shall last

Bought by Him at such a cost

He will hold me fast

2 Corinthians 4:7-12, 16-18 - by Janette

Our dear OB friend prayed this for me today.

Photo: The only normal-looking shot of Baby Girl. Her sweet hands and feet were the only things not encased in the mass. They moved with vigor and life. "Hi, World."

But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us. We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our bodies. For we who live are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh. So death is at work in us, but life in you.

[. . .]

So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.

- 2 Corinthians 4:7-12, 16-18

Day 3: Step by Step - by Derrick

This morning, we went to a fall-themed farm event with friends.

On the way home, we received the official report of our anatomy scan. It was as we thought (though not officially mentioned in the report): our baby is going to die. There is something wrong with the heart, something wrong with the kidneys/intestines, something wrong with a foot, and there is there is a large mass surrounding most of the baby.  We are blessed to have 2 OB friends to help us prepare for what may come and interpret the obtuse medical jargon.

Months ago, one of our OB friends kindly offered to give us an ultrasound to take extra pictures and double check the gender (our oldest son was thought to be a girl). We had at first planned it to be a fun time. Instead, it turned into a precious time to see our baby alive.

Janette did not get a chance to see anything from the anatomy scan. They purposefully did not give us any pictures and turned the monitor away from her. It was if they did not want us to know about our baby.

Our OB friend gave us a scan this afternoon. She explained what we were seeing, printed a long strip of photos for us to take home, and guessed that our baby is probably a girl! These are rare snapshots of our baby: black and white and grainy, but precious nonetheless. Our OB friend thoughtfully prepared us questions to ask, and what to expect for our Tuesday scan. She prayed for us.

We are thankful for the community of people around us, who loves and cares for us, who we trust, who we know understand us. We could not imagine going through this, whatever this is, and whatever this looks like alone, without God, without eternal hope, without the grace of the community around us. 

Janette has a special attachment as she is caring for the baby. However, it has been hard for me feel a connection with our children until they are born. Now with the 2 boys to take care of most of the time, this baby has taken even less room in my mind. I know our time is short with the baby with only 4-5 months left, so I'm going to write letters to her during our brief time together.

Hello Baby,

We don’t know have a name for you yet, but maybe baby is appropriate: small,  precious to us, and in need of us. Hi Baby, I can only see you filtered through a black and white gaze of a grainy ultrasound image on a 2D plane at these special visits. It's like you're in a prison and I'm restricted from seeing you and need a special machine to watch you suffering in your cell. We love you. We love you because you are ours, you can't do anything or tell us anything right now and never will, but we want the best for you. We want you to live and thrive and grow. I will never hear your heart beating when I hold you close, but only with this machine amplifying the rhythm of your heart. Thankfully, I hear a pulse of normalcy, of strength, thump, thump, thump, 160 beats per minute. You are alive and sound strong, though I know you are weak and the doctor says your heart is broken. Your mom and I rejoiced at your hands moving. You're alive, you're alive, we rejoice like we rejoiced when your brothers first talked, walked or rolled. Oh, the simple pleasures.  The ultrasound image of your hands looked normal and baby-like with cute fingers on each side. The doctor explained that your whole head and body are a like a swollen mass,  like a down jacket  surrounding and connected to you. I'm sorry, Baby, I don’t know what you can feel, I hope it’s nothing. This will all end soon, it will get better. We will love you to the end."

Love, Baba

There are a million questions racing through our heads.  Some questions are trivial, some are more important than others.

What does it mean to care for our child under these circumstances? To sacrifice for our child? How do we love our baby? How do we do carry our baby out of a love for our baby and not merely out of a sense of conviction and duty? We're not always sad every moment, is that wrong or bad of us? Is it because the kids are distracting us? How do we cultivate our marriage and relationships in this? How do we make sure our conversations with friends and life during this time don’t revolve around us and our sadness? How do we rejoice in others' babies and their new life? How do I lead my family through this? Is it wrong to try to avoid thinking about it sometimes? Is it wrong if at one point we don't cry anymore?  How do we glorify God in all circumstances, in this circumstance? How do we make the most out of this? What is this, what is it, what is our circumstance?

I believe God has the power to heal our baby and perform a miracle. Is something wrong with me that I don't think He will. Is it to lower my expectations to prepare for the worse? Is it because I know it is not owed to us? Is it because I lack faith or because I know He is under no obligation? Would it be arrogant to believe that He will heal?

How do I believe in the hope of the miraculous yet prepare for the present?

We know we need to take this one step at a time and decide to make real decisions when this all becomes official on Tuesday. 

One step at a time, one step at a time. I am not in control, the Lord is.
I am never in control, the Lord always is.

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,

When sorrows like sea billows roll

Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say

It is well, it is well, with my soul

It is well

With my soul

It is well, it is well with my soul

Unplugged - by Janette

I feel like a terrible human being writing this post, but I must be honest.

When the doctor relayed to me that there were problems with the anatomy scan, something instantaneously switched off in me. It was like this natural self-preserving defense helping me to cope. But I do not like it.

For the first time, my affection for Baby turned cold. I even felt angry toward Baby for putting me through half of a pregnancy and its current miseries -- for nothing. I still could not feel any movement from Baby, so our connection felt tenuous at best. Anger sprang up in me every time I looked down at my painful elephant swollen feet due to Baby's extra fluids, during my awful morning vomit, and held my sore, aching pelvic region. It was like the maternal side in me died with the news of our ultrasound.

As I look out toward the horizon of further testing, procedures, and heartache, I feel nothing but duty and responsibility as the vessel carrying Baby. I know termination is not an option for us, that we must fight to give Baby any living chance... that I must. I must endure for the sake of Baby with the cost steep.

With these wintry feelings toward Baby, I find myself not taking care of Baby or myself as much today. I bend over, do not watch my diet, carry heavy things... what kind of mother am I? Why did God choose me to sustain this child?

Derrick reminds me this is our precious baby, dearly loved and created in the image of God. God allowed us to be his/her parents, and we ought to care for Baby with everything we have. We stand for life.

And that our baby is not dead yet.

A dear friend who walked through something similar shared Matt Hammitt's song, "All of Me". I had not known it was about struggling with investing in and loving his son, Bowen, with a congenital heart defect. Thankful for her encouragement to choose to love.

Afraid to love
Something that could break
Could I move on
If you were torn away?

Our Savior and Lord Christ Jesus chose to love through His death and resurrection from the cross. For people who would never repay or thank Him. We are reading Tim Keller’s Meaning of Marriage in the women’s group, and there is an entire chapter on love as a choice for our husbands. Keller points out the parent-child relationship is a microcosm of that: that it feels like an easier choice vs. daily choice to love husband. But that in the daily decision to choose love (whether it is husband or child), your affections catch up. Specifically for your child, it takes decades for your child to understand the magnitude of the infant care, sacrifice, cooking, cleaning, nurturing, etc, and may never become “lovable”. But your child/spouse will always seem lovely to you because you have rolled up your sleeves and put in the work to love and love without return.

Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer. - Romans 12:12

My song I keep coming back to for Baby.

I will carry you
While your heart beats here
Long beyond the empty cradle
Through the coming years
I will carry you
All my life
And I will praise the One Who's chosen me
To carry you

The Things of God - by Janette

I thank God that our children are processing the news of Baby well.

The children have had many questions to my surprise.

This morning, as the children climbed into their seats for breakfast, they asked when Baby was seeing the doctor again.

          "Is the Baby well now?"

They asked who would be caring for them, and I felt a twinge of sadness that they would already feel neglected or anxious because of Baby's health.

At lunch, they asked again:

          "Is Baby still sick?"

          "When will Baby be well? I want to love Baby, though."

          "Will Baby die?"

          "Will Baby die in your tummy?"

          "Will Baby still come out of our tummy?"

          "What do dead people look like?"

          "When will I die?" Only God knows. 
          Z then shouted, "God, when will I die?"
          A few moments later, Z commented: "Mommy, God didn't say anything."

So grateful for these added Gospel opportunities to teach biblical truth to our children.

Day 2: God, Help - by Derrick

We decide it is best for me to go back to work today. We do not know what the future will look like, and I should save as many off days as possible.

Throughout the day, a million thoughts race through my head. I look up random diseases and issues our baby may have on the Internet. No one has said clearly that our baby will die, but no one has said that our baby will live, either. Not everything is fatal according to the Internet, maybe there is still hope. Work is a helpful distraction; I hope Janette is okay at home alone with the boys today.

I am thankful that Janette and I have the same convictions, attitudes, and thoughts on everything going on. I am thankful we have and will have each other; I could never imagine going through something like this alone.

We did not have to discuss or say very much to each other last night. We both assumed that on Tuesday, the doctor would tell us that our baby would not be born alive. The doctor would probably encourage us to abort the "fetus", and we would have to prepare to be insistent on keeping our baby to term.

Everything we have been planning and preparing for the baby is no longer important. The cleaning of our house, rearranging of furniture, training the boys to sleep in the same room together, gathering back newborn items from friends, our last family vacation as a family of 4, our babymoon. We have a whole list that can wait. Few things seem important to us anymore, we try to spend extra energy with the boys tonight but we both just want to sit in silence and crawl into bed.

Janette's Labor and Delivery nurse mom also comes to the same conclusion as us: our baby is going to die, though she doesn’t want to say it either. Janette tells some of our friends. I don’t think most people understand what is going to happen until we clearly say our baby is going to die.

I hope we are wrong.

God, help my baby.

God, help me to lead my family. I don’t know what to do.

Psalm 139 

"O Lord, you have searched me and known me!

You know when I sit down and when I rise up;

    you discern my thoughts from afar.

You search out my path and my lying down

    and are acquainted with all my ways.

Even before a word is on my tongue,

    behold, O Lord, you know it altogether.

You hem me in, behind and before,

    and lay your hand upon me.

…..

For you formed my inward parts;

    you knitted me together in my mother's womb.

I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Wonderful are your works;

    my soul knows it very well.

My frame was not hidden from you,

    when I was being made in secret,

    intricately woven in the depths of the earth.

Your eyes saw my unformed substance;

    in your book were written, every one of them,

    the days that were formed for me,

    when as yet there was none of them"

The Anatomy Scan - by Janette

Everything about this pregnancy has been different, even opposite, of the others. But I chalked it up to it maybe being a girl (still do not know gender), or that I had 2 others to run after and care for. Of course, I had that nagging suspicion that something might be wrong but I do tend to be the pessimist.

I couldn't sleep last night after 4am. Was it the half cup of coffee I had that morning at breakfast? Or anxiety sinfully jostling me awake, though I did not feel worried and kept prayerfully submitting the outcome of the anatomy scan to the Lord?

Derrick's parents arrived early in the morning to watch the boys, and we were off.

My heart pounded in the waiting room, and we were promptly called in.

The technician told us it was her second day (what), couldn't get the computer to work, and we were transferred to another room. I thanked God for the technician's gentle hands, remembering how deep and hard the technician for the other 2 pushed that I feared for their well-being.

The technician told us she would first take measurements for the doctor, and then show us pictures of the baby + gender. We never got to that latter part.

After a few minutes of scanning the heart, the technician pushed the screen away from me and I had the company of my own breath, hum of the sonogram machine, nausea from laying down so quickly after breakfast, and an expansive view of the ceiling for the next hour. I prayed for the technician, for Baby, and tried hard to read Derrick/the technician's faces. Derrick made faces at me, and I knew he had no idea what he was looking at either.

I thought the technician was pretty fast; she only repeatedly asked me if I had earlier scans, and if I had gotten genetic testing.

"No, it would not change anything for us."

She then left for a long time to speak with the doctor.

When she returned, she curtly reported that we would need to schedule a higher-level scan due to the positioning of the baby and showed us the door.

I felt like we had wasted the entire morning and came away with no information, no pictures, no gender... and would have to schedule childcare + Derrick would miss work again for another scan.

We took this photo to remember our visit, nevertheless:

As I picked up our Chick-Fil-A lunch mobile order from the counter, my phone rang. I dropped off the bags with Derrick's parents and ran outside.

The doctor on the other side asked if I had time to speak and if I could sit down. I could hardly breathe. She told me she was very sorry, but the ultrasound showed problems with the heart, kidneys, and fluid all over the body. We would need to schedule a higher-level ultrasound. She related the phone number, to which I hastily scribbled onto the back of a CFA napkin.

I wasn't surprised that we could receive a problematic report because I know God never owes us health. All I could think was: our baby is going to die. There would be no addition to our family in February, we should probably not take our November vacation, I should basically conclude all future plans that included Baby.

I called Derrick, and couldn't help but break down. I heard him unravel as well. I heard myself tell him to stay at work; his parents were with me, and he may need to take time off of work later. I wiped my tears with another CFA napkin.

I tried to pull myself together in the bathroom, and then got a bloody nose. What a mess.

I told the kids after their naps.

J responded: "Oh no. What happened to the Baby, Mommy?" And then wanted to sing "The More We Get Together". Z had more questions: "Why isn't Baby healthy, Mommy? What happened to Baby?" I explained sin and its entrance into the human body.

They both kissed my tummy and said they loved Baby. I told them Mommy and Baba may be very sad sometimes because Baby is very sick. Then, we played Legos.

At dinner, J wrapped his arms around me and told me he loved me. "I love you, Mommy. Mommy sad. Love Baby, kiss Baby." What sweet children!

Our next appointment is Tuesday 10/10 at 9:45am for 2 hours.

Told lots of people today, met only with warmth and kindness by all. So many offers to help, to babysit, to pray.

But we will be fine. We are very sad, and my eyes are red and puffy from crying... but we know we will be fine because we know Christ and He knows us. We trust Him with our lives, and with our children.

Soli Deo Gloria.