When Spring Is Underground

We recently celebrated the first day of spring. There was still frost on the ground when I got up. My lilac trees are just shivering skeletons, and the naked maple in my front yard still lets all the sunshine filter down between its branches. We still have to wear hats and coats when we play outside. But do you know what else? The daffodil shoots by my downspout are already eight inches high. I saw a purple crocus blooming in my neighbor’s garden. And even though it still feels like winter, I know spring is coming. 

Seven Weeks and Counting

You may remember that my baby, Eva, is in NICU. It has been seven weeks that we’ve made the daily trek back and forth between home and hospital. I still feel the strain of this double life, but I have so much to be thankful for. Slowly but surely, Eva is getting better. Thank you, God!

Just over a week ago, we were afraid that she would need a second, corrective surgery. From what we could tell by the amount of fluid being pumped out of her stomach, the first surgery site seemed to be obstructed or inadequate. The surgeon was patient: she offered us two ways to try fixing the problem before jumping right into the second, more invasive surgery. The first strategy was to give Eva some IV medication to encourage her stomach to contract and pass more fluid down. There could be side effects, she warned us, but they weren’t likely. Given the dangers of a second, non-laparoscopic surgery, we felt the risks of the medication were worth it. 

The Threat of Impending Surgery

But I could decipher the surgeon’s tone. The medication was worth a shot, but it may not be enough. I left that conversation almost resigned to the idea of a second surgery. It seemed just about inevitable. After all, we had been begging God to heal Eva for weeks. Hundreds of people had been bringing her tiny body before the throne of God every day, and yet it seemed he hadn’t answered. My heart would leap when I heard that her fluid output had gone down during one shift, but it would sink again when she put out even more fluid the next time. She just didn’t seem to be getting better. 

Before the surgeon would move on with either medication or surgery, she had planned an x-ray to see the flow of fluid through Eva’s stomach and organs. They had done this same test on Eva two weeks after the initial surgery, and the fluid that made it through her system was little and slow. Based on what I could see on the outside of Eva, this test wouldn’t yield much better results. But still we prayed for a miracle. 

Requested but Not Expected

On the day of Eva’s test, I was nervously waiting for news at home. I logged in to her online medical records and refreshed the page again and again, hoping the results would post and put my mind at rest. Nothing posted. Finally, after I’d put my son down for a nap, I received a text message from the surgeon. 

“Hi there! I just reviewed today’s study. Things look a lot better this time! Like really  good!! Are you guys around today so I can come by and we can chat?”

My heart had been on a roller coaster of ups and downs for weeks, but now it shot up like a geyser. “Really good,” she said! “Really good!!” We planned to talk with her as soon as possible, and she confirmed that Eva’s stomach was able to pass fluid much better than she’d expected. Hopefully, with medication, Eva would be able to avoid another surgery after all!

Progress

I was shocked. Maybe dumbfounded and flabbergasted are better descriptions. I kept on whispering to myself, “Jesus, how did you do that??” He had been so sneaky! While I was hovering between hope and fear, my eyes glued on her fluctuating external progress, God was busy healing her inside. I couldn’t see it, but he had been at work all along. 

We still have a way to go before Eva can come home, but she has made wonderful progress in the past few weeks. She is finally rid of the infernal stomach pump tube that had been down her throat her entire life. (In fact, she registered her complaint of the tube by yanking it out eight times in four days.) The mystery rash on her face is slowly getting better. And most exciting of all—she’s finally able to drink my milk! They’re slowly increasing the amount she can have each feeding, and we’re praying she can keep it down and continue to digest it well. Please pray that she will make speedy progress so we can be rid of her IV fluid and all the complications it causes. Once she’s free of that, she’ll be free of NICU, Lord willing. We can’t wait to have our little princess home with us!

Grace to Trust

My half-hour commute to and from the hospital is usually quiet. I don’t have much extra mental bandwidth for music, books, or podcasts at the moment. But the one album I keep coming back to is Shane and Shane’s live Hymns album. The lines from one old song sucker punch me every time: 

“Jesus, Jesus, how I trust him. 
How I’ve proved him o’er and o’er.
Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus,
O, for grace to trust him more.”

“Tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus” by Louisa M. R. Stead

That last line is my prayer. I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief.

Spring Is Coming

Let’s be honest: God knows the extent of my belief (puny, apparently) and of my unbelief (fairly extensive). I know for a fact that he can heal Eva in an instant if he wants to. I just don’t know for a fact that he will do that. And I’m not sure which of those qualifies as belief anyway. After all, God isn’t a genie I can summon and force to do my bidding. He certainly hears and answers our prayers in his time, but he also knows best and will do what is best. And the best may not be what I’ve asked for. 

So while I will continue to pray for the miracle of a quick recovery, I will also remember the miracle of a slow healing. When the frost is on the ground and the lilac trees shiver, spring is still coming. We’ve seen the crocus bloom, and we know the rest of the flowers are underground gearing up for a grand blossoming. God is still at work.

“O, for grace to trust him more.”