Grayson’s Homecoming

On Saturday at 2pm, Cathy and I walked out of Kaiser Anaheim as we had done almost every day for the last 2 and a half months. The only difference was that, this time, our newborn son Grayson was with us. After 56 days in the NICU (68 days if you count the two weeks of hospital bed-rest that Cathy had to undergo prior to Gray’s birth) Grayson was finally coming home.

It’s funny the little things you think about when you’re bringing your infant child home: “This is the first time he’s feeling sunlight.”  “I wish I’d washed the car. This is a momentous occasion and it really deserves a clean vehicle.”  “Dang, Cathy looks hot!”

We loaded our precious cargo into the backseat and Cathy climbed in beside him, while I got behind the wheel. As I pulled onto the 91 freeway and began the 20 mile drive home that has become so familiar, I was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion and my eyes began to overflow with tears. I cried for a lot of reasons:

Exhaustion: Words can’t properly express how grueling the last three months have been. There was a constant stream of demands that needed to happen since the day Cathy went into the hospital – there was the daily care of Ethan that needed to be arranged, work responsibilities, figuring out insurance issues and the little task of finding and moving into a new home that didn’t have mold in it. Then there was the emotional weight that was far heavier than any of the physical demands.

Relief: The last three months were a harrowing trip through the valley of the shadow of death. But as terrifying as each step has been, it could have been so much harder and so much worse. As we sat in the NICU on Friday getting the last minute training we needed to bring a preemie home, I overheard the doctor talking with the father of another child, a little girl named Sabrina. He was explaining that she had lost a little weight and dipped back under 3 lbs. Now, having been in that same position with Grayson some 8 weeks before, I suspected that she was just a newborn, but when I looked at her chart on the wall, I was shocked to see that she was actually older than Grayson by a week. She had been in the NICU 5 days longer than my son but was only just getting to where he had started out. In that moment, I realized just how monumental Grayson’s early release from the hospital was. After all he’d been through, the infections, the pneumonia, the collapsed lungs, and the myriad other challenges he faced, the fact that he was in the back of our car headed home to meet his big brother for the first time some three weeks before he was even supposed to be born was a miracle! Many of my tears were tears of relief that this part of our journey had finally come to a close.

Joy and Gratitude: The rest of my tears were those of a father who was excited to finally be bringing his family together, to finally be able to hold his son whenever he wanted, to be able to carry him in his arms without the intrusion of electronic tethers and squawking monitors.  Finally, after two months of holding my breath and praying for God’s protection, I got to feel the joy of a father with a healthy newborn. And as I drove home, observing the speed limit for the first time, I silently thanked God for this gift of Grayson in the backseat.

As I write this, my boy is sleeping on the couch next to me, swaddled in a warm blanket and apparently dreaming of something judging from his soft grunts and squeals. Every once in a while, he smiles and I feel a serenity that I haven’t felt in months. Peace has come to the Wayman household and I intend to rest in it for a while.

Thank you, God, for the gift of my son. May I never take his life or any of the other gifts you have showered on us for granted. And may you watch over Sabrina and all the other children still in the NICU, using that time not only to prepare them for the rest of their lives, but also to draw their parents into a more intimate dependency on you. 

The Power of Physical Touch

I’ve heard stories through the years of how important physical touch can be to the healthy development of children – how infants in orphanages would literally die for lack of human interaction and how premature babies in developing countries would flourish without the help of modern medicine because they rested on their mother’s chest rather than in an incubator. I’ve heard these stories, but throughout my infant son’s 2-month stay in the hospital I have been given tangible proof that physical touch is crucial to his development.

The first week of Grayson’s life was so tenuous that Cathy and I were not allowed to hold him in any way. We were even cautioned not to speak loudly enough for him to hear as it was likely to agitate him and cause his vital signs to drop. And, as with many newborn babies whether premature or not, he limped along and lost about 10% of his body weight in those first 7 days. But then the doctors allowed Cathy to hold him on her chest about 3 hours a day. And we began to see a rapid improvement in his growth. In that first day of sleeping on his mommy’s chest, listening to her heartbeat, feeling the warmth of her skin against his and being rocked by the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, he put on a full ounce. That may not seem like much until you consider that at 2lb. 11oz., one ounce was over 2% of his body mass. It was also the first weight he had gained outside of the womb. And that was just the beginning. Over the course of that first week, as he daily rested on either his mommy’s or my chest, he not only regained all of the weight he’d lost in the first 7 days of life, but added several ounces more. His breathing ability also took a quantum leap forward during that time.

Now, I recognized the interesting connection between Grayson’s weight gain and the daily dose of physical touch, but I initially wrote it off as coincidental. After all, all newborns lose weight at first and then gain it back. But then two weeks ago Cathy and I got sick at the same time and we were forced to find out what would happen to Grayson when he wasn’t being held by us every day.

When Cathy came down with a cold I took over the daily cuddle time at the NICU. But then, a few days later, I also started to exhibit symptoms and I was forced to stay away as well. At first Grayson didn’t seem to be greatly affected. He gained an ounce each of the first two nights, which was still forward progress even though he had been putting on an average of 2 ounces a day the week before. However, as the week progressed and Cathy and I weren’t getting better, his progress stalled completely. Over the next three days, Grayson stopped gaining weight altogether. In fact, a couple nights he actually lost a little weight. 


To put it in perspective, whereas the week before he had put on a full pound (16 oz.) over seven days, but during the six days that he didn’t get his daily dose of cuddle time he added only 3 total ounces (that’s a 75% drop in daily weight gain). At first we were concerned that he might have caught our cold from us, but as he didn’t show any other symptoms, it became increasingly obvious that wasn’t the explanation.

On Saturday, Cathy was finally healthy enough to go hold Gray, and we saw an immediate effect. Whereas over the week we couldn't see him in the hospital he had averaged a mere ½ ounce of growth a day, he gained a full 2 ounces that first night, and last night he gained another 2 ounces.

I can no longer deny that my son’s progress is affected by the amount of physical touch that he gets, especially from his parents. Throughout last week, as Cathy and I were forced to stay home the nurses tried to provide some TLC, but as they had other responsibilities they couldn’t lay there and hold him on their chest for 3 solid hours. Besides, Grayson can recognize Cathy and my smell, the pace of our heartbeats, the cadence of our breathing and the sound of our voices.  He knows when we are there and I’m convinced that he needs the connection from his parents to flourish.

As of this morning Grayson is 5lbs. 13 oz., nearly double his birth weight. He is also breathing on his own and eating on his own rather than being fed through a tube. The doctors are suggesting that Grayson might come home this week. I hope that’s the case because I’d like to hold my son a lot more than once a day!

The Perfect Kid

As an expectant parent, there are a lot of things you tend to worry about: “What will my kid be like?” “What sex will it be?” “Is he or she forming correctly?” “Are there any indications that there could be developmental difficulties?” The list could go on and on. And while we say that we don’t care what we have, so long as it’s a healthy baby, the truth is we have opinions and expectations on everything from the sex to the hair and eye color to the personality.( Ok, I’ll speak for myself) I  had opinions and expectations, expectations that my son would be born normally, safely, without complication. Expectations that he would be perfect in every way, even if I couldn’t articulate all the characteristics needed to make him perfect.

And then, life threw the switch that rerouted our train of expectations down an unfamiliar, scary track that forced Cathy and me to jettison our expectations just so we could stay on the rails.

When Cathy’s water broke and she was forced to rest in a hospital bed for the duration of her pregnancy, we had to pitch some of our expectations about how we would prepare for Grayson’s birth and when he would be born, but were able to hold onto most of the other ones.

When he was born 11 weeks prematurely, we had to jettison more of our expectations, such as how big he would be and how quickly he would come home. But even then, as a novice NICU parent, I had no idea just how foreign this track was to the one we had traveled with Ethan. As I watched my newborn son breathing on his own in the first minutes outside of the womb, with his little ribcage literally being sucked down towards his spine with every labored breath, all I could see was a little guy who had fight and was going to beat the odds. I couldn’t recognize the distress he was in. At that point, I still had the expectation that he would be stronger than most other kids born as prematurely as he had been; I still believed that his biggest issue would be the fingers that were fused together due to amniotic banding which would require a minor surgery. I was still able to hold onto my expectations that he would leave the hospital far earlier than most babies born under his circumstances.

The next couple days shook those expectations out of us. We got to the point where we couldn’t even expect that he would come home at all. Our image of perfection was marred by tubes and monitors and needles and troubling x-rays. This wasn’t the track we had anticipated, the one that, in hindsight, I suppose we had felt entitled to. After all, we’d prayed for Grayson since before he was ever conceived, we’d prayed for his health and protection throughout his gestation. In no way was this what we’d had in mind.

And yet, as I look back on the last month and a half of Grayson’s life, as I survey the broken track that our family has limped down, what looked so dark and foreboding heading in takes on an unexpected sweetness in hindsight. I think of the doctors and nurses that have become more than attendants – they’ve become friends and prayer warriors along with us (so many of Gray’s nurses have told us they are praying for him). I think of our family and friends who have supported us all along the way, helped us shoulder our emotional and physical burdens, and lifted up our son and our family in prayer throughout. I think of the way I celebrate what we had taken for granted with Ethan: that he can breathe on his own; that his ears and eyes are developing normally; that he can drink milk; that he continues to grow gram by gram, ounce by ounce. And I think of the way Grayson’s story and God’s faithfulness in the midst of the complications has reminded me (and others) that the goal of life isn’t becoming more comfortable and safe.

I’ve become increasingly convinced that the purpose of life is to grow evermore intimately familiar with my creator and to learn how to walk with Him and to live a life that reflects His heart and love to a world that would rather deny His existence. Though I wouldn’t have chosen the path we’ve taken over these last couple months, though I would have preferred to avoid the emotional stress it’s placed on my family and loved ones, I can’t help but admit that it has drawn me much deeper into the arms of my Father God. I’ve learned to see the beauty in the broken track we’ve journeyed down; I’ve learned to celebrate the little blessings that we so often take for granted; and I’ve learned that often times my definition of perfection isn’t God’s definition. Because, as I look into my son’s deep blue eyes which are processing light months before they were designed to, as I hold his tiny hands which can grasp my finger even though bound by amniotic bands, and as I watch his chest rise and fall in spite of the abuse his lungs have taken over the first 45 days of his premature life, I see a gift from God that goes beyond the birth of my second son. I see a growing, breathing testimony to God’s grace. I see a living reminder that what the world holds up as perfection is often nothing more than the easy, comfortable track that allows us to be self-reliant.

So, no, my son may not be what we’d expected throughout the 6 months of his gestation, but he is the perfect gift from a loving God who cares far more about our character and spiritual maturity than He does our comfort. And I thank God for the broken track He allowed us to travel down, because it has impelled us to lean into Him rather than simply rest in our expectations.  Thank you, Father, for Grayson. May you continue to have your way with him.

“The world will know you are my disciples by the way you love one another.” – Jesus

Today, Grayson is 10 days old, and what an unbelievable difference a week makes. Last week, around this time we were still wondering whether he would survive at all. He was sedated constantly and machines did all the breathing for him. Any doctor or nurse in the NICU would have told you that he was the sickest baby on the floor. Today, his doctor told me that he is shocked at how quickly Grayson has not only recovered but advanced. He no longer requires machines to breath for him. In fact, yesterday he pulled out the nasal cannulas (which provide a little extra air through his nostrils) and went back to sleep. The nurse found him peacefully slumbering with the tubes resting below his chin (and his vital signs were still great). Grayson has been weaned off of all but one antibiotic, and he is starting to put on weight thanks to large amounts of his mommy’s milk. He truly is our miracle baby.

His improvement is so drastic that when the nurses needed to choose one of four children to move from the critical area of the NICU to the room where more stable babies reside, Grayson was deemed the most healthy and stable. What a difference a week makes! Undoubtedly the doctors have played a significant role in preserving my son’s life, but even modern advances in medicine can’t take the full credit for Grayson’s radical recovery.

There is nothing quite so difficult as walking with a loved one who is hurting, especially when that loved one is vulnerable and we are powerless to protect them. In every way, these last few weeks have been a crucible that has left us both physically and emotionally exhausted. Yet, we haven’t carried the weight alone, nor have we grieved and hoped and prayed alone. Over the last three and a half weeks there have been literally hundreds of Christ-followers, some of whom Cathy and I have ever met, who have been praying and interceding with God for our son. Some have gone so far as to fast from eating for a child whom they’ve never met.

Then there has been the gentle, loving embrace of our faith community. We have been showered with texts and cards and flowers, meals and even gas cards to help defray the cost of driving to the hospital.  One woman from our church cleaned our home today so that we wouldn’t have to worry about it! Talk about love! It’s seasons like this that remind me just how grateful I am to be a part of a loving community that grieves with us in our times of sorrow, rejoices in our times of joy, and prays for us in our times of need. We truly are loved, and that has made a huge difference for us during this painful chapter in our lives. It is encouraging knowing that we aren’t the only ones on our knees for Grayson. Every time we eat a meal that’s been prepared for us, we are reminded that we are loved. And as I walk into rooms in my house that haven’t been this clean for weeks, even months, I’m reminded that we don’t have to carry the burden alone.

So, thank you for loving my family so well. Thank you for being shoulders we can lean on and cry on. Thank you for being prayer warriors for my son – and keep those prayers coming because they are working! We are grateful for the ways you have walked along side of us through this trying time, and for the testimony your love has been to our neighbors and hospital staff and even my friends on Facebook. We love you too.  

Grayson's Grand Entrance

           The last two and a half weeks have been an emotional roller coaster and proof that we simply are not in control of our lives. On Tuesday, Aug. 23, Cathy and I were relaxing on the couch after our weekly date-night when suddenly Cathy was sitting in a puddle of water. Though Grayson wasn’t due for another 3 months (Nov. 20 due date), her water had broken and the birthing process seemed to have begun. Thankfully, Cathy’s mother was over and was able to watch our sleeping son Ethan so I could rush Cathy to the hospital. For all we knew, we were having our son that evening, but thankfully the doctors were able to get her stable and so long as she didn’t lose too much more water and she didn’t develop an infection, Grayson could stay inside for upwards of another 7 weeks.

            Unfortunately, that would mean Cathy would have to remain in a hospital bed until our son was born, which could be as much as 7 weeks from that first terrifying night. The first days were the hardest as Cathy’s body protested the lack of movement, and Cathy despaired over not being able to be there for Ethan. But she was able to see him for moments, first in the hospital and then, when he developed a cold, via Skype. We were also overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and support from our family and friends. So many were praying for a safe, long pregnancy and a safe birth. We felt loved and hopeful, though by the time we reached the two week mark we couldn’t begin to fathom staying in the hospital for another 5 weeks.

             In the end, we needn’t have worried about it. On Sunday, September 4, 2011, which happened to be the 29 week mark, Grayson made it clear that he was done waiting. I just happened to be in the hospital at the time (there is no coincidence with God) when the doctor on duty indicated that Grayson’s heart rate was concerning. She did an ultrasound to look for movement, but over 45 minutes Grayson didn’t even stir. Something was definitely wrong and they couldn’t wait any longer. He had to come out.

            Cathy’s C-section was not nearly as scary for me as I had anticipated, probably because I was focused on the wellbeing of my son (and because I was being the strong one so that Cathy could find hope and comfort in me). And when he was first pulled from her womb, his strong little cry of protest was music to this daddy’s ears. His lungs were working and he was clearly unhappy about being disturbed. I was even more encouraged when he weighed in at a very respectable 3 pounds, which is tiny but good sized for a baby who should have had 3 more months to grow.

            I left Cathy in the capable hands of the surgeons and walked my newborn son to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) which would become his home for the foreseeable future. They initially gave him the opportunity to breathe on his own, and to my untrained eyes the huge rise and fall of his little chest was encouraging. Little did I know that he was really in distress. His lungs were not fully developed and he was having a very hard time getting them to open up. (as an analogy, think of trying to blow up a balloon for the first time. It’s always much harder than adding air to an already inflated balloon). On top of that, it seems he also had pneumonia which makes breathing hard enough for adults with years of practice.

            The first 36 hours were like the first huge, gut-wrenching drop of a rollercoaster. It just seemed to go on and on. First we woke to find that he had been put on a flutter-breathing machine (used for those infants who need the most help breathing). Later that day, as I stopped by to say goodbye to Grayson so I could go home to be with Ethan for a while, I learned that his lung had collapsed moments before I knocked on the NICU door and they were scrambling to get it reinflated. They also indicated that they’d discovered an infection in my boy’s blood that they were trying to identify so they could begin treating it. Throughout that day, though I was home with Ethan trying to give him some quality daddy time, my mind was spinning with anxiety and worst-case-scenarios. At one point, Ethan actually yelled “Daddy, pay attention to me,” and I realized that he needed me too, but I was relieved to get back to the hospital to spend the night with Cathy and wait for more news.

            Unfortunately, the news was bad enough that it couldn’t wait for the morning. Our son’s doctor woke us from a dead sleep at 2AM to inform us that his lung had collapsed again and a second surgery had been performed to insert another tube into his chest to bleed the air out of his chest cavity so that his little lung could have the space to inflate. Four hours later, they called us to inform us that he was anemic and in need of a blood transfusion. Since one of the common side effects of premature birth was bleeding in the brain (tantamount to a stroke), of course our minds went there. Needless to say, we were nervous wrecks throughout the better part of that third day of our son’s life. Somewhere in the middle of that second night, my mind stopped asking “when” my son would come home, and began to wonder “if” he would ever come home at all. As we prayed throughout that long, painful day, I found myself ask God over and over for my son, tearfully saying “I want him God, I want my son. Please let me have him.”

            At that point, some 48 hours into Grayson’s brief life, all we had been given was bad news and I began to wonder if this rollercoaster’s first severe drop would ever end. But then, we began to get good news. His right lung, which had been the one which collapsed, was reinflated and stable. They were treating Grayson for his infection, even though they hadn’t identified exactly what it was. And then, at 4pm on September 7, I got the call that released the floodgates: a brain-scan revealed that my son had ZERO bleeding in his brain. He was ok in that department. I didn’t realize just how heavily I had been carrying the weight of worry about that until it was lifted. Though he was in no way out of the woods, and the road to health and home would be long, for the time being he was ok.

            I often talk about the fact that, as Christ followers, we aren’t guaranteed easy, painless lives. In fact, we are warned that in this world we will have trouble, but that we can take heart in the fact that Jesus has overcome the brokenness of this world. Yet, in the midst of this painful journey I have often come to God with the painful question of “WHY?” Why allow my wife’s water to break? Why allow the infection that forced his premature birth? Why allow my infant son’s first 48 hours to be so difficult? I may never know the answers to those questions. I may never recognize the divine purpose behind the horrendous emotional tsunami that has just washed over us. But I do know that whatever comes and however this rollercoaster plays out, God is worthy of our praise. My greatest desire would be for my life to bring God glory and to draw others closer to Him. My greatest prayer for my infant son is that he would come to know God intimately and his life would bring God glory. If God’s purpose is best accomplished through this ordeal, even if means that my son will never meet his big brother in this world, then so be it. Of course, that’s far easier to write while my boy is stable and improving.

            It is so easy to get focused on the here and now and think that life is all about being safe and comfortable. But our stories are simply a small part of a much larger story, God’s grand narrative. We each get to play a part in that epic story, but must never delude ourselves into the belief that we are the central characters or that our comfort is the greatest outcome. So, God, glorify yourself through my family and have your way with my son. But I would really like to bring a healthy little baby to meet his big brother. I want to raise Grayson, but your will be done Father. I entrust him into your hands.