Still, And

I had a couple of other title options for this post: “Mercy’s Dip,” “A Bad Day,” “Here We Are Again,” or even, “This Faulty Pulse Alarm is Making Me Crazy Enough That I’m Considering Tossing the Entire Monitor Out The 14th Floor Window.”

We’ve had a rough couple of days. On Wednesday evening, Mercy was frantically crying - shrieking really - and I left our boys with Papa Rick to join Erica in the hospital. X-rays showed a large amount of air in her intestines again. I arrived just as they had removed her nasogastric tube, dropped in suction, taken labs, and called the surgeons to evaluate whether another operation was needed. Her labs and a surgical review of the X-ray gave the surgeons the confidence to adopt a wait-and-see approach, and they decided the plan would be to remove suction, re-insert the NG tube, and reinstate feeds at a reduced rate of 30ml/feed.

Mercy was clearly uncomfortable but calmed and eventually fell asleep. We didn’t want to wake her up to remove the suction tube and insert the NG tube, so the team agreed to wait until her 11 pm feed to make the switch. I stayed up and inserted the NG myself - it’s a requirement that both Erica and I insert an NG twice before Mercy comes home, so this was the perfect opportunity for me to get a rep. Mercy took a while to calm down after my technically successful but emotionally taxing attempt, and I headed to the Ronald McDonald room around 1 am.

On Thursday, Mercy was miserable. Her crying, our lack of sleep, and the incessant hospital alarms made it incredibly difficult to think about anything else besides how much we wished we were home. About how we wanted the noise to stop, for our sake and Mercy’s sake. About how far away from returning home we still were. We were still at 30mls. For the third (perhaps fourth, I can’t remember) time. The setback all but guaranteed we would still be in the hospital when one of our trusted doctors returned from her two-week break. I stayed with Mercy as Erica headed home for the first time this week, both of us feeling the weight of what was still happening.

Then on Thursday afternoon and evening, several things improved my perspective and reminded me that “still” cuts multiple ways.

First, we are still surrounded by skilled, compassionate people who know how to love us as they care for our daughter. Just when Mercy was at her most frantic and Erica was struggling to leave, Mercy’s occupational and speech therapists came to our rescue. Lee, the OT and legendary baby whisperer, calmed Mercy down, while Abby the speech therapist hugged Erica and provided the deep encouragement that Erica needed to extricate herself from the room. We still have people here when we need them.

Second, a friend from my office stopped by the hospital and dropped off a care package from our team in Army marketing. It included a onesie for Mercy with the new Army logo embroidered on it. Since a large part of my job over the past three years was working on the Army brand refresh, the onesie meant quite a bit to me. These past seven months have been anything but normal, especially at work. The package was a thoughtful, timely reminder that we still have people at work who care for us, despite the chaos.

Third, Mercy pooped Thursday evening and it seems to have kickstarted her digestive system. She’s been a pooping machine since, at least while I’m in the room. We found out Friday that she has a cold virus, likely contributing to her slow digestion and overall discomfort. But her intestines are still working.

Fourth, we still have all of you, reading, caring, praying, and loving our family. It’s been seven months and you’re still here.

Fifth, we’re overwhelmed, and God is still with us, sending us people when we need them most.

So that’s why I’ve been so impacted by the idea of “Still, And.” We’re still in the hospital, and people who care for us are still here with us. Life at work is still not normal, and people there still remember and care for us. Mercy is still in pain, and her intestines still work. We’re still posting these updates, and you’re still reading them. And we’re overwhelmed, and God still cares.

How to pray:

- Quick healing for Mercy from the cold

- Rest for us

- Pray I’ll be able to spend more time with Mercy

- That she’ll come home soon

Looking so fine in that Uncontained Star!

Super happy to see me!

Not so happy that I brought a camera.