Isaac had an appointment with Neurology last week. It was a follow-up, checking on his progress in the time he's been home to see if there are any warning signs that would indicate mental delay or damage. Because of his severe prematurity and CMV, there is basically a long list of things he's seriously at risk for. Cerebral Palsy, mental delays, seizures, deafness, blindness, and the list goes on (and on).

Isaac passed the evaluation with flying colors. :) The doctor was quite surprised that he is doing so well. She was very happy about it, but also amazed. She was asking about Isaac's name, and she said, "I hope Toivo means something like miracle in Finnish because that's what you've got here--a miracle baby." I responded, "Yes, we certainly do," and gave Isaac a little squeeze.

As I told her that his name means hope, I couldn't help but think about all that that word means to me now. Our fledgling hope at the beginning that Isaac would be fine turned into a stronger beam of hope and then faith as time went on. Now? Somewhere during that process, hope turned to belief and belief to knowledge. There are no more doubts in my mind as to Isaac's future. I know that he will be fine--both Jaska and I have known that for some time now. Every doctor who says the same only confirms what we already feel.

There are still some things for him to overcome--he's sick right now with a basic cold that has taken a downturn and essentially ravaged his little body. He's back on steroids and we're trying to kick it with a strict regiment of tlc, meds and many fun adventures with the nasal bulb syringe. (You should see how much he hates that--it's almost funny how mad he gets at us. I'm sure his "roid rage" doesn't help it much.)

Despite these small things (and they are small), he is, and is going to be great. I saw him roll over for the first time yesterday. He's been doing it in his crib a lot (we know because he starts yelling because he can't get back the other way :) but it was the first time I actually saw him do it. I couldn't help it, I started crying.

It's one thing to believe that he will do all these things. It's another to actually watch him do it. It was too much for this mama's heart. One of the many extraordinary gifts that has come from Isaac's life and journey is the fact that I will never take anything in his life for granted.


I'm not sure what he's chewing on, but it sure looks tasty! :)

Life Goes On

A very important thing happened this week. Most would not see it as such. There is no reason why anyone else should have noticed it. But this very small thing is a very great gift to our family.

With the ending of this week, Isaac has now been home with us longer than the time he spent in the NICU. Five months in, five months out. It is hard for me to imagine, but here we actually are. Lennon and Mcartney were right--Life goes on.

I remember that during some of our darkest days, the medical staff would tell me that there would come a day when our time there would feel so distant, almost as if it happened to somebody else. That Isaac's time in the NICU would be just a small part of his life--that we would have so many other things to think about and celebrate. I appreciated their support and wisdom so much. I knew they were right, but it was just so hard to believe.


I know there are many happy times ahead of us. I feel like we are finally embarking down that road to recovery. Slowly but surely, my memories of Isaac are filling with his bright smile and infectious growls instead of isolettes, machines and surgery dates. I am finally able to look at his earliest pictures without breaking into sobs.

I don't want to replace my memories of our time in the hospital. They are just as much a part of us as he is a part of us. That experience shaped me and honed me and taught me the greatest lesson of love that I will ever learn in my life. But I don't want that time to forever be a shadow and pain for us either. I don't want it to always be something I have to "get over". I want to embrace it for what it was and is and weave it into the story of our lives and do it with joy. I want to do it with acceptance for the miracle it was and is and the profound struggle that it continues to be.

In order to be able to do that, there is a natural path to grief and healing that we are still walking on and it is definitely going to take some time. I need to be able to feel what I feel about this experience and acknowledge it--even if it scares me--and then move on. That is the part that most don't see.


I was in a joyous state of shock when we first brought Isaac home. I would love to say that in the last five months everything has been restored in the happiest of endings. In some ways that is positively true. Isaac is an amazingly special little man and having him home with us is more than I can put into words. I guess I was secretly hoping that once Isaac came home though, that God would give me a pat on the back and say, "Yup. Job well done Jenn. Welcome to the end of that pesky enduring to the end stuff and put up your feet. Here's some cocoa."

Apparently my Heavenly Father and I have VERY different ideas regarding endurance and what I can handle :) Upon Isaac coming home, I was finally able to let go in a sense, and as a result I essentially fell to pieces. It's been a really tough summer, exacerbated by Isaac's continuing reflux and health issues. There's some reconciliation that has had to happen with the hope and ideal we had in our hearts, and the reality of caring for a baby with medical issues when you are still emotionally and physically ravaged.

I don't blame them at all, but people only want to hear about the happy ending--how beautifully Isaac is doing, how wonderful it is to have him home. I love sharing that joy because it is my joy as well. But despite this incredible miracle, we are still left with this other piece--the human piece and God doesn't take that part away. Just like our time in the hospital, He is allowing us to feel everything and experience everything.

He just isn't making us do it alone.

That is the real miracle for me and the truest life lesson I will ever learn. That even though I have been brought to my knees more times than I can count, that even if Isaac hadn't made it, it is okay. God has been right here with me, pouring out His love and confidence in me and showing me the way to not just survive, but thrive during the darkest days I have ever known. He does not take it away, but instead shows us the way to overcome it and in so doing overcome ourselves.

I have a living breathing reminder every single day of God's insurmountable love for us--for me. For my beautifully strong and remarkable child who wanted to live. I am reminded constantly of the power of Jesus Christ to take on all that we cannot bear. That through Him and because of Him, we can do all things. That my friends is the real miracle.

Life goes on, and ours is too. And it will be filled to the fullest extent our hearts can hold. I believe fully that the greater the pain, the greater capacity for joy. We are so profoundly blessed.