3-2-10 – Final Post – “Unfailing Love”
Those days in the hospital, I think the unknowns were probably the worst. I distinctly recall, after a particularly difficult meeting with one of the doctors, that God would not allow Finn to live.
Why couldn’t my baby breathe? Why wasn’t he thriving?
I latched on to a verse in Psalm 13:5, “But I trust your unfailing love.” I said that to myself over and over as I fell asleep when thoughts and fears crowded my mind. I knew that even if I were to lose Finn, I would have God’s love for me. I couldn’t trust a clear diagnosis to the doctors, I couldn’t expect smooth, quick release, I couldn’t even depend on Finn making it out okay or even alive, but I could expect God to love me, regardless of what I feared, gained or lost.
Finn was a bright spot to me, he was always eager to eat; he continued to gain weight. Wondering and waiting made each feeding time precious. 
I got my hopes up so high that he would only need 48 hours of antibiotics that I scheduled his circumcision and held his hands and sang to him during the procedure. But that night his inflammation count went up. He even had to go back on oxygen. My hopes were crushed. I cried so hard. I felt so empty walking to my hospital room time after time with my arms empty, without a baby to share the room with, to talk to and rejoice over with Dale.
There were just enough tests confirming that he had an inflammation area in one of his lungs. Doctors and nurses alternately called it meconium aspiration (inhaling some of the meconium from birth which naturally would inflame a lung) or pneumonia. Perhaps because of our high altitude combined with his size and need for large, full capacity lungs, he needed breathing help. Regardless it was eleven days before we finally got to take him home, on oxygen.
During that time I recorded my thoughts on my iPod shuffle because my carpal tunnel got quite a lot worse after my delivery (probably due to all those IV fluids). I listed things I didn’t want to forget like how it feels to hold your son when he’s connected to five different wires, looking at the flowers my friends brought to me, especially those lilies that made my hospital room smell like a garden instead of a hospital, the bubble baths where I’d try to wait and relax before the next feeding when I could see my baby Finn, the feeling that I felt every time I stood like my bottom would fall out from under me, the hundreds of emails that inundated me with the conviction that my friends understood and strangers prayed for us.
I will never forget the deep loneliness of sleeping by myself. Dale went home each evening around 10pm to tend to our three Welsh Corgis and get a good night’s rest. My body ached to be with him, I felt so solitary in that hospital bed. Such an irony that the fruit of our intimacy would produce this kind of separation between me and Dale, between me and my son. I would state out loud into the darkness, “I will trust your unfailing love.” Knowing God cared for me more than I could care for Finn, knowing that I could learn a lesson of trust from my son who was unbelievable trusting of me, helped me get through those long nights and days.
By the evening of March 3rd, I was strong enough to walk into the Nursery and see Finn, finally.
The first time, I felt both shy and proud, “Hi,” I told the nurse who opened the locked door, “I’m the mom of baby Finn.” It was the first time I identified myself as the mother of my son. It was strange to think the nurses knew Finn more than they knew me.
In the weeks following that would change. I met so many nurses, many who loved and cared for my son beautifully. Even though I would break down several times, I learned a lot of tips from them. It was still very hard, though. I still remember how I’d try not to think how I couldn’t get to my son unless I was allowed to pass through a locked door. Yes, I know it was for his protection, but it still felt like another level of distance between us.
The painfulness was broken by friends who came by to photograph Finn and us, by house church that graciously decided to meet at the hospital, by the flowers that friends sent, by the darling onesie my mom had hand embroidered for Finn, “freshly hatched” it read. I couldn’t wait to put it on him.
I remember one particularly hard night when the nurses had to change his IV from his hand and into his head. The one in his hand was not longer strong enough. They kept sticking him, but were unable to get a vein. It was unbearable to be asked to leave, though I longed to stay and sing and stroke his arms and comfort him while they prodded.
I was making them nervous, they said. So I trudged back to my hospital room and cried and cried. It was over an hour later when they finally called and told me they had got the IV in. I couldn’t bear to think of him crying and hurting, alone, in that room.
Now, holding him against my chest in the Moby wrap, listening to his strong lungs breath in and out and his little chubby legs kick against my stomach, I can’t hold my tears back.
It was such a hard time, only seeing him when he was hungry, trying to stretch out the nursing times as long as I could to maximize our time together. Choking back tears as I sang “Like a River Glorious” over and over to him as I cried looking at the needles in his arm, the monitors taped all over him. Looking at the hospital blanket that said, “Hospital Property” expressed the frustration in my heart perfectly. I didn’t feel like Finn belonged to me anymore. I saw his perfect arms that the nurses had all the rights to pierce and felt so so helpless.
I was just the feeder, I woke up whenever I could to be with him. But, I couldn’t make the decisions for him because I didn’t know enough.
Things I never want to forget:
- Holding Finn the 2nd night when I wasn’t allowed to feed him because they put him on formula until my milk came in (which it did Friday evening, with a vengeance).
- The tape around his temples holding his oxygen in, making red rings of abrasion on his sensitive skin.
- Wishing I could pull the tube out of his stomach so he wouldn’t have to struggle.
- The satisfaction of knowing I could breast-feed him. Wanting to keep that joyfulness even when I brought him home.
- Praying God would give me the strength, again and again asking him to show me that his love was unfailing.
- Amazement at how good my body looked even one day later.
- Watching in deep fear as Finn underwent a cardiogram, fearing his heart was damaged and insufficient to sustain him. 
- Long bubble baths, crying and listening to my labor mix “Strength” and “Peace.
- Carrying my boppy and small, inflatable donut pillow (for my backside) and shuffling in my slippers every three hours to see my son.
- How wonderful it felt to help clean up the adhesive when we took Finn’s IV out of his head.
- Getting the go ahead to dress him for the first time,
over 10 days after he was born.
It was a mighty fine day when the doctors and nurses told me Finn passed all his NICU tests (room-air challenge, car seat ch
allenge, etc), and that we could keep him in my room for one night. I couldn’t stop smiling and bounding around to get everything ready for his arrival.
Dale stayed that night with both of us, too. He called it our slumber party. It was delightful to wheel him into my room and put HIS clothes on him. Even though he was still on oxygen (we took him home on it) I thought he looked like a million bucks!
Well, I need to stop writing, my tears are flowing on Finn’s head and waking him up as he sleeps in the Moby. I think I’ll take us both outside to get another load of laundry.
I didn’t know it at the time, but one month after Finn’s birth I would experience several complications and have to be re-admitted to the hospital for a D and C, a tiny bit of retained placenta (5 mm) needed removing.
Now, over two months after Finn’s birth, with a 15 lb baby and my own body finally beginning to feel better, I can sigh and be grateful to God for seeing us through. Little things feel rather miraculous, like walking through snow (in MAY!) to do another load of this little guy’s laundry with Finn sleeping in the Moby. I want to close this 10 part series with the words of David in Psalm 13:5-6
“But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation. I will sing the LORD’s praise, for he has been good to me.”
May 15th, 2010 at 6:10 pm
Precious, thank you Jonalyn for sharing.
May 16th, 2010 at 1:47 pm
Thank you so much for sharing your story. So happy that you both are doing well. Give that little guy (or not so little guy!) an extra kiss on the head from me. God bless all 3 of you!!
Dana
May 16th, 2010 at 1:52 pm
Oh, beautiful! I had not known the complications were so serious. God’s hands carried you all and will teach you how to carry him
.
May 16th, 2010 at 2:21 pm
Thanks, Jonalyn.
I’ve enjoyed reading Finn’s story. I’m so glad you are both doing so well. He’s absolutely precious.
I could relate to much of your last post. Well, except for his size! I think it might have taken over 3 of Colin and Lauren to match his weight. =)
Enjoy this first sweet year of his life.
May 16th, 2010 at 4:01 pm
Thank you for letting me be on this journey with you through your beautiful words, oh the power of words and the ideas they convey, and memories they bring up! As I prepare to be my daughter-in-law’s doula in July, your birth story has put me back in touch with the awe and reverence of my own…so timely, thank you! can’t wait to meet this baby boy we have all shed tears over!
love, Robin M
May 16th, 2010 at 4:12 pm
Danielle and Dana,
Thank you… the kiss made him smile.
Deborah,
Nice picture of mutual carrying.. thank you!
Mandi,
Good to hear from you… I thought of you often while I waited in the hospital, how you told me that pumping was one really tangible way to help and how much you pumped
Enjoying this time to the hilt,
Jonalyn
May 18th, 2010 at 8:50 am
thanks for sharing your story quite the picture of a loving mother reminds me of how God loves us despite obstacles and locked doors– it never occurred to you to leave finn or not be near him as often as you could– it was just what you did– I think God feels the same way about his children– all his children–
May 19th, 2010 at 6:41 pm
Robin – you will be a wonderful doula. I still have the prayer in my journal about whether we should do a book on intelligent childbirth for women…
Catherine – I love this thought, thank you!
May 19th, 2010 at 8:50 pm
Thank you, Jonalyn, for sharing your beautiful story of Finn’s birth. I looked forward to reading each installment and learning about your experience. You have a beautiful way of expressing your thoughts and I always admire your honest, heartfelt words. I know you will enjoy having your story in writing to read again as Finn grows and I bet one day, he will read it too and realize how blessed he is to have wonderful parents!