A Hard Start to the New Year

January 18, 2015

The last seven months have passed in a blur of activity, as Jesse, Steph, and our one-year-old twin grandsons moved into our basement for a time of transition in their lives.  We knew it was temporary, (this is good!), and we also knew it would be hard when they left.  We had no clue how traumatic our last few weeks together would be. 

Steph was expecting our third grandchild in May.  In December she was still having a lot of vomiting, in spite of being out of her first trimester.  Sometime shortly after the first of the year, there was a middle-of-the-night run to the ER when she threw up so much her esophagus ripped.  Thank God Jesse's job with Dennis was tapering off, so he could be around to help with the babies and his ill wife.  Thank God I am no longer a full-time school nurse and was able to be home so much in the last few months. Thank God Scott is an awesome grandfather and pitched in with the babies whenever he could.

Five days later, when Jesse and Steph went for her check with the nurse midwife following the ER visit, an ultrasound revealed the cause of her hyperemesis: a very rare condition called partial molar pregnancy.  A tumor was growing along with the baby, taking over the uterus, threatening Steph's life through possible spread of the malignancy and preeclampsia.  They were given no hope for their baby, which was certainly genetically abnormal.  Induction of labor was tentatively scheduled for two days later.  The kids came home in tears, their heads swimming.  Later that night Steph's blood pressure shot up.  They were told to go straight to Labor and Delivery.

Long story short—the baby didn't survive, but Stephanie did.  She was released 24 hours later. This was the week they had planned to move to Bloomington, IL.  Jesse was able to move back his start date at Country Financial, and Steph came home to bed rest.  The next day our pastor came to the house—twice—during terrible cold and snow that had closed the schools, so he could ease the pain of a young couple he barely knew.  He held a funeral for the child they had named Cori.  The kids set up a little memorial with flowers Nicole had sent, a candle, and the only photo they had of their baby—from the ultrasound taken a few days earlier.  Ed read the  Bible and spoke words of truth and assurance.  Jesse read a letter he had written, telling Cori how much they had anticipated their lives with him or her in their family and how broken their hearts were.  Steph’s parents Randy and Karen, Scott and I, and Jesse and Steph wept, as the lights shone on the Christmas tree I hadn’t had a chance to take down. 

The next day Steph was readmitted to the hospital for two days of magnesium sulfate in an effort to get her blood pressure back down and prevent seizures.  Two days after she was released, Jesse went to Bloomington to start his new job. Through all this, we were upheld by the love and prayers of our family, church family, and friends.  People brought food, offered child care, sent cards, did jobs I would normally do, and most of all, prayed.  Steph’s parents again made the trip from Illinois and packed the belongings of the family of four, as Steph directed. 

At her follow-up appointment at Fairhaven Physicians, Steph was given the news she had prayed for—that she was healthy enough for her and the babies to move to IL with Jesse when he returned the next weekend.  

Words can’t express how grateful we are for all the hands that helped move our kids, including those who had been willing to do it the weekend it was originally scheduled.  Yesterday a caravan of trucks, trailer, and minivans made its way to the plains of Illinois and our kids’ new home.  Karen and I cried and marveled at the Lord’s provision through hardship.  OK, I cried and she drove.  At our destination, we were met by a party of family members, church family, and friends—17 in all—who made quick work of unloading boxes and furniture.  Steph’s friend Eva even helped me feed the babies and run after them in the play area of a nearby mall.  As Scott and I laid our heads down in our hotel room, we knew our kids will be looked after.  But I cried anyways! 

What’s next?  Recovery!  We’re going to reclaim our house and un-baby-proof it, at least for a while. : )  We’re going to do things for just us!  We’re going to miss “our babies” terribly.  And occasionally we’ll probably look at each other and ask, “What was that that happened to us last year?”  

It was a precious opportunity for three generations to live together-- learning, growing, loving.