Graber Christmas Letter 2018

A warm, cheerful, heartfelt and tardy ‘Merry Christmas’ from my family to yours! Also, I extend our wishes that your New Year is filled with all of the very best blessings, including finances and health and laughter. My New Years’ blessing might be tardy too, depending on which day you read this.

Heidi and I would have loved to send you a personal Christmas card, but we didn’t set aside enough time to get it done. So here is our Christmas card! You can print this photo out and hang it on your refrigerator. 

 Merry Christmas from Shawn (353 months), 

Heidi ([redacted] months), and Owen (11 months). 

 Photo credit: Lynda Halteman

Much has happened this last year in the Graber household, and I’ll try to briefly highlight some of the events of the past 12 months. I’m having a hard time concentrating, because my wife is still cackling about the thought of me describing anything “briefly”. 

On the last day of January, my wife started having contractions. We were two weeks earlier than our due date and had recently returned from a lovely “babymoon” getaway. Owen took 24 hours to arrive and was born February 1^st. 

On February 16^th, we took Owen home from the hospital. He was having difficulties breathing when he was born, so he spent his first two weeks in the NICU. We are so grateful for all the prayers, love, and money that were poured over Heidi and I during that stressful time. Owen is now chipper and lively and makes horses look sickly in comparison.

In March, I took Heidi to the hospital. She was suffering from intense abdominal pain, which turned out to be a gallstone stuck in her bile duct. The gallstone was removed, but bile had backed up into her pancreas. Gallstones are fairly common, but Heidi’s case had advanced into the very-rare-and-sometimes-fatal Necrotizing Pancreatitis. Nearly 75% of Heidi’s pancreas was dissolved. Heidi was in the hospital for two weeks, where Owen and I made frequent trips to her bedside. Doctors had hoped to stabilize Heidi enough for surgery to remove her gall bladder, but with her pancreas in such a fragile state, we were sent home instead. Heidi was placed on a feeding tube for 10 weeks with a pump that constantly fed her a liquid diet of what looked like Ensure and tasted like fiber supplements. Those months were filled with a lot of tears. Heidi felt like her bonding time with Owen was hijacked by the two hospitalization events. During Heidi’s stay in the hospital and months recovering at home, we were given donations of breast milk from several incredible mothers. We had hoped that Heidi would be able to return to breastfeeding but we still had to transition Owen to formula. On top of that, Heidi was unable to eat anything when we met with friends, hung out with family, or went to social events. Only during a fast do you realize how often people gather around food…even Bible studies often have snacks or dessert. Heidi’s feeding tube would often clog and leave her starving. Yet through all these soul-crushing trials Heidi maintained her sweet spirit.

 Heidi talking with her team of doctors

 My brother Shaylon's birthday was in April, and I helped 
him build his massive Lego Batmobile

In May we attended the Pella Tulip Festival. Heidi was still on her feeding tube and was more than ready to get out of the house. The Tulip Festival was a beautiful field trip. Owen spent the day in a stroller and thoroughly loved it. I ate some Dutch-themed fair food, which was greasy and delicious but didn’t come with a complimentary set of wooden clogs like I had hoped. 

 Windmill in Pella, IA

 I got to see my dear friend John Lamansky at his Priestly confirmation. Here John and I are with Rebecca. We three were teammates years ago in Future Problem Solving. 

In May I completed my four-year HVAC apprenticeship training 

and became a licensed Journeyman.

Our second anniversary came in June, and we spent a weekend together with Owen in a local hotel. You know those moments when you feel like you procrastinated too long on something important? Failing to book a hotel until they were all full during Memorial Day Weekend was my moment like that. Heidi and I love to travel and would have enjoyed a road trip to another state, but the accumulation of traumatic events had left us too weary to even consider a trip. 

A weekend after our anniversary, I met with several of my high school classmates for our 10-year high school reunion. It was so good to see them again. 

From left to right (classmates noted with *): Shawn* & Heidi, Onassis and Sarah* Rivera, Terry* & Samantha Miller, Harmony* Headings, Bethany* Kramer
We missed our classmates Ilene and Joanna! 

Celebrated Father's day with four generations of Graber boys: 

Grandpa Lynn, Father Barry, myself, and Son Owen

In July, we traveled to Michigan for a Maust reunion at my uncle Larry’s home. He and Aunt Cherie live on the edge of a magnificent lake and we spent five days splashing, swimming, playing games, kayaking, tubing, and eating more ice cream than I thought was humanly possible. Uncle Larry had rented an ice cream machine and furnished over 200 ice cream cones. Thanks to the diligent efforts of myself and my fellow cousins, the cones were gone in the first 36 hours and we switched over to bowls. We had a lovely time with my Grandpa Clayton Maust, who passed away shortly after the reunion. At the end of the reunion, I sensed this was the last time I’d see him alive. As I cried and thanked him for being such an amazing blessing to me, he wept and blessed me one last time. 

 

 

This photo of Grandpa Clayton and Grandma Thelma 

was taken in 2016 at my wedding

A few weeks later, we traveled back to Michigan for Grandpa’s funeral. Several of us grandsons were the pallbearers, and I shared this memory at the funeral:

-----
Back when I was a young whippersnapper, well, younger and snappier than I am now, I wasn’t sure how to go about finding a bride. Grandpa Clayton had managed to find not one but TWO beautiful soulmates, and he let me in on his secret:

“Marriage isn’t about finding someone you can live with;
It’s about finding someone you can’t live without.” 

Grandpa left an amazing example to follow; he was humble, good-natured, open, honest, and kind. I took it for granted that Grandpa loved Bernice, [and when Bernice passed away] loved Thelma. I took it for granted that he loved his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Over the years I realized how rare and precious that is; a man who loves and speaks life over his family. 

Grandpa was generous with his time, his possessions, his wisdom, his laughter. He was able to discern what was important and what wasn’t.  I watched him navigate effortlessly through hundreds of emails to find the ones he needed to read. The emails from his children and grandchildren were read, as were all emails with “THE MAUST CORNER” in the heading. He was searching for some important stock trading articles and found them. As for the rest of the emails blurring past, he didn’t seem to be bothered. The unopened, unimportant emails totaled over 13,000.

The last time I saw Grandpa Clayton was a few weeks before he passed away. I thanked him for all the ways he blessed my life; for setting a Godly foundation that I had long taken for granted. His rich bass voice that once flowed so smoothly was gone. He had to labor to speak, but he responded anyway. His last words to me were “I bless you.”

He’s now with his first love, Jesus Christ. I knew this “goodbye” was coming, but I also know that it’s temporary. How wonderful is that? 

-----

Myself and my cousins with Grandpa's casket

Also in July, Heidi and I ran up to the Iowa State Fair for an evening. We went to see Casting Crowns and Matthew West in concert. It was a hot, sticky Summer evening but there was a lovely breeze as the sun set. Heidi and I shared an extra giant corndog and strolled around the closed-for-the-night agriculture booths. We took it easy on the greasy fair food this time, since Heidi was still feeling tender in the stomach and I was feeling tender in the wallet. But the fryers were churning out all sorts of deep-fat-fried delicacies.

Oreos? Sure.
Snickers Candy bars? Yep.
Pickles? Got those too.
Sticks of butter? Deep-fat-fried and served hot before your eyes right next to the cotton candy. 

I’m not sure how the Iowa State Fair got to be such a big deal, but it’s one of the largest fairs in the U.S. In 2017, 1.1 million people passed through the gates during the 7-day event. For a state that only has 3 million residents, that’s mind-boggling. “It’s because Iowans have nothing else to do! Hyuk hyuk!” I can hear the Pennsylvanians say. Surprisingly, 2018 was my first time at the Iowa State Fair. It was lovely and I’d go again. 

In August Heidi took me flying for my birthday, which was a complete surprise. Like, I got to fly a small four-seater airplane.

 Heidi rode along and got only a tiny bit airsick. 

Heidi served a Low Country Boil for my birthday and it was tremendous. 

 

Heidi and her friend Harmony flew to North Carolina to visit some 

of Heidi's cousins this Summer. Heidi took Owen and spent a week 

out there. Shawn missed them both sorely.

On September 19^th, Heidi had her gall bladder removed. Heidi’s gall bladder had to be removed in order to prevent any additional gallstones from harming the remains of her pancreas. Before her surgery, the doctors had Heidi take a pregnancy test. This was because they didn’t want to perform surgery if there was a pregnancy. The test returned negative, and a laparoscopic [small cameras and tools fished through three tiny holes] cholecystectomy [removal of the gall bladder] was performed. The surgery went smoothly and the doctors were very pleased with the operation. 

Heidi, getting fitted with a sweet hospital gown that had 

warm air ducts in it to keep her comfy.

 Owen and I surveying the flooded yard at the trailers

 Heidi came to the rescue with coffee and donuts while we pumped water out of the shop

In September and October, Iowa experienced torrential downpour after downpour, which flooded our shop twice. Graber Heating celebrated our 80th Anniversary with an open house. We hosted over 200 friends and family only days after our shops were flooded. Many friends came to help us clean up, which we are supremely grateful for. 

If I asked you to tell me “where is the most photographed location on earth?” You might say “Eiffel Tower, Paris” or “Taj Mahal, India” or maybe “Kim Kardashian’s bathroom mirror”. These are all close, but incorrect. Evidently, it’s a location in Northern Canada, and I went to look at it with my own eyes. In October, I traveled to the northern reaches of North Alberta, North Canada to attend my dear friend Brooks’ wedding. Brooks had tried to get his fiancé Fallyn into the U.S., but the process is complex and expensive and could take several years, so he elected to move to Canada and get hitched there. I road-tripped with several of my close manfriends (Jordan Shebek, Shane Schwartz, Truman Shetler, and Stu Yoder) and we had a blast. We’re still on speaking terms with each other after more than 60 hours of road time in a single vehicle, so I count that as a win. I keep saying “North” because Fallyn lives in Peace River, AB., which is 20 hours NORTH of the U.S. Border. The scariest thing is, after all that driving, we were still only north enough to reach the bottom islands of Alaska. There is so much land that keeps going northlier and northlier… I can’t even process it. 

Speaking of the border, we crossed with a nearly-illegal amount of cheese. My friend Stu had brought along nearly 80 lbs of the stuff in giant tubes. Cheddar, Pepper Jack, and Marble. The crossing guard asked us if we had any dairy along with us. When we mentioned the truckload of cheese, she nearly croaked. 

“Are you planning to sell any of it?” she asked, while frantically short-selling all the stocks she had in Canadian Milk Farming.
“No, we’re gonna eat it or give it away to friends,” we replied.
“Normally, you’re only allowed twenty dollars of dairy per person, but I suppose I'll let you through this time” she said.
“Oh, we have under that. There’s 5 of us so that would be $100-worth of cheese. How much did you spend on this stuff, Stu?”
“Oh about 85 bucks or so,” he replied.
We were under! But the crossing guard seemed a little incredulous. 

Stu, cheese aficionado, napping during a sunrise in Canada.

 

 Shane, Truman, Jordan and myself in Canada next to a giant Moose statue 

While in Canada, we swung though Banff and Jasper, two large national parks located in the Canadian Rockies. To say the parks were beautiful would be like saying “the Pacific Ocean is damp” or “Grabers tell stories sometimes”. We drove to Lake Louise, which is (according to the Lake Louise official website) the “most photographed location on the face of the earth”. In the Summer, over 15,000 people visit the lake EACH DAY. My friends and I arrived right at the end of the touring season. With heavy snows making their way into the forecast, several of the roads and trails around the lake had been closed for the year, along with all of the restrooms, strangely. Shane and I remarked that the “CLOSED FOR THE SEASON” signs hanging on the bathroom doors could be used year-round and nobody would know the difference. But even on a cloudy, overcast day, the emerald-tinted crystal-clear ice-cold water in the lake was sensational. Lake Louise is fed by six glaciers and is over 230 feet deep. It’s not as deep or as blue as Crater Lake in Oregon, but it does give Crater Lake some stiff competition in the beauty department. In fact, all of the things we saw in those two parks (three, if we count the brief detour into Yoho) were absolutely beautiful. My dear friend Jordan has toured much of the Western United States and has visited Yellowstone and Yosemite and many other national parks but as we walked and drove through Jasper, he declared that the Canadians had us whipped in the Rocky Mountain department. The Canadian Rockies are really, really beautiful. Of course, Canada plays this nicely by putting Saskatchewan in your way before you get to Alberta and the mountains. After hours of driving through what we now refer to as “North Nebraska”, even a speed bump would have looked magnificent. 

 Lake Louise, Alberta

 

Found some elk grazing in a campground. Classic Canadian wildlife just struttin' around.

We arrived in Peace River, Alberta and found, to our delight, a bare minimum of snow. We had expected that we’d have to fashion igloos out of ice blocks in order to survive the first night, but instead we were treated to a balmy 40-degree afternoon. “Oh yah,” the locals said “we had aboot 29.5 centimeters of snow a month ago but it melted. This is kinda rare weather to be having this time of year, eh?” 

Brooks gave us a tour of his wife’s hometown and made sure we got a hot, steamy bowl of poutine, which I wouldn’t mind seeing as a booth at the Iowa State Fair. A massive pile of golden French fries slathered with gravy and cheese curds? Ideal. My mouth is watering right now just thinking about it, mostly because my body requires the extra saliva to survive the salt intake. While shopping for some groceries, we discovered why that crossing guard seemed so astonished at our cheese hoard: an equivalent amount of cheese would have cost us $250 in Canada, or three beavers and a good hatchet.

Brooks' wedding photographer captured this excellent moment in the Canadian bush.

At Brooks’ wedding, we helped set up the reception hall. Over the coffee table was a banner that read “SWEET LOVE” so I found the craft supplies and made a banner with the word “MAKING” and added it above the first banner. The groom and the bride found it and, instead of tearing it down hastily like I suspected they would, left it up for the entire wedding and reception. 

 

In November Heidi and I moved out of our trailer. I had been living there for 8 years, two of those years with Heidi. She had transformed the place, repainting every wall and bringing her sparkle and charm to the decoration and layout. She had built such a cozy nest for Owen; we really were reluctant to leave. But we found ourselves caught between two events: the sale of the trailers and the purchase of a home. We needed an in-between house. Heidi and I prayed and prayed about it. Some dear friends of ours offered us a giant farmhouse to stay in and house-sit for them, so we jumped at the chance. It has truly been an answer to prayers. At the time we were moving, Heidi and I were just telling close family that we were pregnant, so it felt extra bittersweet to leave our little trailer that we had prepared together. Heidi and I made the choice to move together, but I still felt awful that our move happened during pregnancy. A preggo momma wants to feel safe and secure. She wants a cozy little nest for her baby. Moving into a new house is the opposite of all of those things. But yet again my wife met each new challenge with bravery and determination, even when we discovered that the house was very, very cold. There had been a woodstove in the living room but it had been removed and replaced with nothing, mostly because the homeowner wanted another woodstove but his children wanted something a little less high-maintenance. They ordered a gas-fired stove to replace it, but it took four weeks to arrive. (My dad and I joked that, upon placement of the order, an elderly man took a pickaxe into the mountain to extract the ore to make the stove.) In those four weeks, we kept the house from freezing by using little electric heaters. There were several windows that had been left open over the Summer, and we didn’t find the last open window until AFTER the blizzard that left 12” of snow on the ground. With 19-degree air pouring through a small window in the cluttered office, we finally discovered why the adjacent laundry room always felt so drafty. Heidi has been marvelously adding her signature to this house. We’re here for just a year, but in the meantime, Heidi has made it our home. It has been a lovely adventure. 

The farmhouse is connected to a smaller guest house, which in the Amish circles is referred to as a “Dawdy Haus” I don’t speak Pennsylvania Dutch but my online searches tell me I’m in the right ballpark. Several helpful references I’ve found online tell me I’m referring to a “Granny Flat” in Australia or a “Mother-in-law house” in Norway. We’ve become good friends with the young couple that lives in whatever-it-is that’s connected to us. Their names are Merlin and Kimmy and they have a darling little girl a few months younger than Owen. We’ve played Rook late into the night on several occasions with them. 

Speaking of wee little children, we’re expecting! Heidi is due June 5^th. We traced back the due date and discovered that Heidi was about a week pregnant when she had her gall bladder surgery. Evidently it was too early for the pregnancy test to detect? We were again grateful for how well the surgery went, since there appears to be no harm or trouble with our Lil Sprout. When Week 20 rolls around, we’ll find out the gender, but Heidi already suspects it’s a girl. Her reasoning is that with this pregnancy, she’s craving all the sugary and sweet things that she normally doesn’t crave. So evidently boys aren’t sweet?? She craved radishes and beets and all sorts of red vegetables with Owen, so I’m not sure what that says about boys. 

This year-end summary has really reminded me of all the things we’ve been through this year; so many blessings and trials all intertwined. I haven’t hardly even scratched the surface of all the things we’ve been up to, but this will suffice for now. God has carried Heidi, Owen and I through so much this year, and we give Him all credit for our health, our home, and our happiness. We love each and every one of you and wish God’s presence in your lives this coming year!

With love,

Shawn, Heidi, and Owen.

Adventures with Heidi: the Case of the Grouchy Gallstone

Lately I've been using this blog as a quick way to keep all my relatives and friends up to date and on the same page with the events that are happening in my family's lives. I'm not convinced that it's truly "quick", that people have been kept "up to date" or that anyone is "on the same page", but it's an effort nonetheless. I'm aware that some of you have discovered my blog by searching for "fish tacos", "real mustache" and "graeber family crest". For those of you who have stumbled here quite innocently and have no idea who I am or what I'm going on about, here's a brief summary:

I'm Shawn. I'm married to an absolute darling named Heidi. She's very sick right now. More on that later.

We have a son, Owen. He's incredible. He's 2 months old. He spent the first 16 days of his life in the NICU. He's doing great now.

We own a red minivan, which we affectionately call the Cherriot. I am unapologetic in my love for the Cherriot.

We live in Southeast Iowa, the most beautiful section of the most beautiful state in the most beautiful country on the face of the earth. Take that, Canary Islands!

That'll do for an introduction; I'll bring in other characters along the way, just to keep you on your toes.

On March 20th, 2018, I raced Heidi to the University of Iowa emergency room (henceforth called "the ER" or "hospital"), where doctors diagnosed and removed a fairly large gallstone that was giving her alarming "10 on a scale of 10" levels of pain. This coming from a woman that knows a thing or two about pain, what with enduring 24 solid hours of agonizing labor just 6 weeks prior. The gallstone was a substantial 6mm troublemaker. It had exited the gall bladder, carved and scraped a lumbering path down the Common Bile Duct, and had wedged itself against a sphincter. I say 'a' sphincter because I discovered that the human body has all manner of sphincters, when all along I had conservatively placed the "number of sphincters in the human body" at "probably just the one". This particular sphincter (I promise, I'll stop using that word) wouldn't allow the passage of the stone, which prevented bile from safely draining through the duct and caused an inappropriate amount of bile to back up and visit the pancreas. What is an appropriate amount of bile backup, you ask? Zero, probably. Bile should not visit the pancreas.

Now some of you are saying "hey, he said a word about a thing I may or may not have heard about at some point!" Good on you, my friend. You're sharp! The pancreas is the organ that produces insulin and keeps most people from diabetes. I'm not most people; I have Type 1 Diabetes. The pancreas also produces several different enzymes that help digest food. Store that nugget of information away for later. The gall bladder is nestled comfortably against the liver, where bile is produced. The liver is very eager to produce bile. It just makes more and more and more of the slimy, yellow-brown enzyme like it's doing the world a favor. The gall bladder acts like a holding tank for extra bile. "Whoa there, hoss. This food doesn't need that much bile!" the gall bladder is often heard saying to the liver. Occasionally, the gall bladder accumulates little bits of cholesterol and hardens them into gallstones. This is surprisingly common. I say 'surprisingly' because I was under the impression that gallstones happened to elderly, crotchety men that spent their time swilling whiskey sours and muttering bitterly about the economy.

"In the United States, an estimated 10 to 15 percent of adults have gallstone disease. 

About a million new cases are diagnosed each year, and some 800,000 operations are 

performed to treat gallstones, making gallstone disease the most common gastrointestinal 

disorder requiring hospitalization." -US News

That's a lot of grouchy alcoholics. If you would like to read more about gallstones, check this link out. It's where I pulled that excerpt from, so when you get to that part of the article, you can say "Hey, I read this somewhere before."

The gall bladder, liver, and pancreas all share a hallway where food-devouring, highly acidic juices are pumped into the small intestine. This hallway is called the Common Bile Duct. So we've got all these neighboring glands and organs, workin' hard behind the scenes to hide the evidence of your 3am run to Taco Bell. Some cholesterol gets caught undigested in the gall bladder, where concentrated bile juices harden it into a stone. The stone can sit in the gall bladder indefinitely but at some point, without so much as a "howdy do", it'll roll out and slam through the sphincter. I'm sorry, I said sphincter again. I just don't know how to describe these events without saying "sphincter". Perhaps I can substitute "Muscular Opening In Slippery Tunnels", or MOIST. The gallstone's journey to the MOIST causes a severe amount of pain. The pain is not as severe as a kidney stone, but it's still up there in the "very unpleasant" territory. Heidi would feel like she couldn't breathe; as if a vise was squeezing her lungs. She would be doubled over in pain for about 20-30 minutes before the pain relented. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that Heidi had multiple gallstones. At the time, we had no idea what was going on. We'd be winding down for the evening and just crawling into bed when SLAMMO (Sweet Lord Almighty, My Midsection's Ouchy) a gallstone would have Heidi gasping for her next breath. Heidi was pregnant with Owen at the time, and we weren't sure if this was a worrisome omen or just one more funky side-effect of manufacturing a human. It turned out to be a worrisome omen, or WOmen...uh, that's enough acronyms for one blog. This happened three or four times during Heidi's pregnancy, with each instance causing more and more concern. Was this a spiritual attack? Heidi and I would spend time praying and crying and the vise-like weight on Heidi's lungs would release and she would once again breathe freely. I'd ask Heidi if she wanted to travel to the ER, but she's a tough little cookie and would say "no, I think I'm alright."

Fast forward to March 19th, Monday evening. Heidi was feeling short of breath and nauseous. She was no longer pregnant, so we couldn't blame her symptoms on that. We decided to stay at home rather than join our weekly prayer group. Her pain didn't let up, and by Tuesday afternoon, she had vomited several times. When I got home from work, Heidi informed me that she was unable to keep any food down, and was now unable to keep even water down. "I need to go to the hospital," she said.

When we arrived, the ER was busily attending to a roomful of people that were also having a rough day. Heidi's vital signs were checked in a tiny entryway/hallway by a technician who swooshed around on a wheeled office chair. Once he was satisfied that Heidi's vitals looked stable and she wasn't suffering from heart problems, he sent us back to the waiting room. We waited for an eternity, which turns out to be around 40 minutes, to be ushered into a consultation bay where Heidi was more thoroughly examined, poked, and prodded. The pain was mainly in her abdomen; it fluctuated in waves up to her chest and down to her pelvis. Heidi was asked about previous hospitalizations and surgeries, of which she'd had none. She was given some pain medications and we were sent back to the ER waiting room to stay until a hospital bed opened up. An ultrasound was ordered, and revealed several things: a gallstone causing mayhem and a very inflamed pancreas. Well, I think it was the ultrasound. Honestly, I'm not sure the ultrasound showed the gallstone. My memory is pretty foggy. I'll try my best to recount things factually but I am by no means a doctor, so feel free to take my account with nutritionist-approved amount of salt. Anyway, a gallstone removal was scheduled.

By that night, Heidi was placed in a room shared with another patient. I took Owen home and spent the night discovering just how much Heidi did to take care of an infant when most people are sound asleep. Once again, I was not most people. Before I was able to get back to the hospital on Wednesday morning, Heidi had already undergone the procedure to remove the gallstone. They had done an ERCP, which stands for Endoscopic Retrograde Cholangio-Pancreatography. Basically, the doctors used an endoscope to observe the pancreas and remove the gallstone. More basically, good people used a camera on a bendy straw to look at Heidi's innards and make the pain go away. While removing the stone, the doctors made a small incision on the bile duct sphinc, uh, MOIST, to let any additional stones pass through without hanging up. Additional stones? Yep, the doctors were fairly certain that Heidi's gall bladder had additional stones, waiting to cause additional mayhem. A cholecystectomy was ordered. The "Chole" prefix refers to the gall bladder, the "-cystectomy" is the removal part. Surgical removal of the gall bladder.

What does a life without a gall bladder look like? The gall bladder stores excess bile, bile helps dissolve fat, fat makes food delicious. Therefore, no gall bladder = no delicious, right? My math is impeccable! Well, not quite. Without the extra bile on hand to dissolve Thanksgiving Dinner properly, a person's stool might become--I'm using a direct quotation from a doctor--"more floaty". "So Heidi won't have to go on a low-fat diet the rest of her life?" I asked. "Certainly not," her doctor replied, "In fact, she could have an onion-ring eating contest if she wanted. Of course, if she feels nauseous or pained, she should cut back on fatty foods." The day before, I had never heard of a gall bladder surgery. Now, I was being told by members of my church that they'd had the surgery and were doing just fine. That's fascinating to me...people that I'm acquainted with have had surgeries done to their bodies and they're not talking about it, for some reason. If I had a part of me chopped out by professionals and I lived to tell the tale, it would most likely be the second thing I tell you; the first thing being my name. Nevertheless, it was reassuring to know that Heidi's experience was not ultra rare.

The ERCP procedure stirred up quite a bit of stuff and Heidi's body reacted by turning up the heat. Heidi soon had a fever of 101, with occasional spikes to 102. This was an expected reaction, but the fever lasted for a week, which was not expected. It became evident that her pancreas was severely inflamed. The inflammation was worrying the doctors.

Three days into Heidi's hospital visit, her heart rate spiked and her blood oxygen levels dropped. This indicated a clot in the lungs which got all sorts of doctors running, literally. I was sitting with Heidi, Heidi's parents Alan & Jean, and Owen. A nurse quietly mentioned to Alan & Jean that she would like to escort them to a family waiting room. Some doctors were coming to see Heidi, and the small room was about to get crowded. Heidi's parents took Owen with them. Two minutes later, 13 doctors and nurses were crammed into the room, shouting for vitals and an oxygen mask. Some of the doctors were huffing from their sprint across the hospital. The nurse attending Heidi had been told to alert the doctors if there was any sudden change in her vitals, so when her oxygen dropped and pulse spiked, the nurse hit the "ALL HANDS ON DECK" button that paged the doctors. A technician wheeled in a portable X-ray machine, propped Heidi up in bed, and placed a lead shield behind her back. X-ray photos were taken of her lungs. At this point, she was taking shallow breaths but the oxygen mask was bringing her oxygen back up to a tolerable level. Heidi was whisked to the ICU, hospital bed and all. I followed closely behind, wheeling a cart with Heidi's bags.

The next three days were spent in the ICU. I would video message Heidi from home so she could see baby Owen, who was not permitted to visit his mama in the extra dangerous germ-ridden ICU. The X-rays of Heidi's lungs showed no clots, which was an incredible blessing. Heidi would be on an oxygen cannula for the next 10 days, which just added to the host of tubes and wires and hoses covering her body. Heidi was on two separate IV's and had an array of sensors monitoring her pulse and blood oxygen saturation. She had a blood pressure cuff on one arm, automatically taking readings every 30 minutes. She had a catheter installed, so she didn't have to get out of bed to urinate. She was being pumped full of bags of saline fluid, along with a high-power antibiotic and Dilaudid, a concentrated form of morphine.

I would travel home each night and return to Heidi each day. I would work during the daylight hours and then visit Heidi in the evening. Heidi was asleep most of the time; napping in between the barrage of CT scans and vital checks. We discovered that portions of Heidi's pancreas had necrotized. The pancreatitis, or inflammation of the pancreas, had been more advanced than we first thought. Remember that nugget about the pancreas producing enzymes to digest food? Well Heidi's pancreas had been producing insane amounts of enzymes, which were busy eating the pancreas itself. "How bad is it?" I asked the doctor. "Is fifty percent necrotized? Eighty percent?" The doctor paused for a moment before responding "We'd say it's closer to eighty percent," she said. The necrotized pancreas was the reason Heidi was getting pumped full of antibiotics. The doctors had not seen any signs of infection, but since the pancreas was this damaged already, any infection would be life-threatening. Better to risk the side-effects of continuous high-power antibiotics rather than find an infection and be three days behind. One of the side-effects of the antibiotics was the potential to cause a sustained fever. I commented to the doctors that I'd like to see her taken off the antibiotics, or switched to a different one, so that Heidi could get a break from her fever. They complied and changed Heidi's antibiotic. It was a variety that was still just as strong, but was not known to cause fevers. Heidi's fever remained a few more days, and finally subsided. We are not sure if it was due to the antibiotics. Meanwhile, Heidi's daily blood draws were showing excellent results. Two of her enzyme levels, which were supposed to remain below 100 and 80, respectively, were initially at 2,400 and 1,200, respectively. Those enzyme levels lowered day by day, until they settled to an elevated level around 200. Her white blood cell count had elevated, and then lowered back to normal parameters. Her heart and kidneys were functioning splendidly. There was minimal fluid buildup in the lungs, and the liver looked good. The gall bladder was quiet, like a dog that knew it had done something naughty and the owner was looking for a newspaper to roll up. We were waiting for the pancreas to settle down in order to schedule the gall bladder removal. The doctors wanted to have the surgery performed while Heidi was still in the hospital, to finish everything in one visit. They had hoped it would only take a day or two, but as the days stretched into weeks, the doctors began to consider postponing the surgery to let Heidi recover at home.

At this point, we had a clearer picture of what was happening. The pancreatitis was caused by the gallstone. The pancreatitis caused the pancreas to start digesting itself. The inflammation was causing continued pain, even though the gallstone was gone. In order to keep from irritating the pancreas, a feeding tube was pushed down Heidi's nostril and lowered into the duodenum, an area of the small intestine just below the pancreas. There, oatmeal-colored protein juice could be fed into Heidi right past the pancreas without it knowing a thing. A "bridle", the fancy term for what looked like a white shoelace, was pulled in one nostril and out the other to make sure her feeding tube didn't get yanked out in her sleep. With Heidi's fever faded away and her doctor-mandated stint of antibiotics completed, Heidi was released to come home. She had been in the hospital 14 days at this point. Her feeding tube had a kink in it, so she had to have it removed and replaced with a new tube, which wasn't as traumatic as the first time. As I drove her up the lane to our place, she burst into tears.

Heidi is still on her feeding tube, and was given enough protein slurry to remain on it for the next several weeks. With time, we are told, Heidi's pancreas will recover and she will not become insulin dependent. We spent Easter in the hospital and thought about how Christ rose from death to life The gall bladder removal will take place at some point in the future, depending on how smoothly her pancreas improves. For the friends and relatives that suggested lifestyle changes or natural ways to reduce gallstones and avoid the gall bladder surgery, we are so grateful for your concern and for the way you would like to see Heidi keep her gall bladder. We understand that fully. At the time, we had no idea how life-threatening her condition was, and after talking to the doctors, we feel very much at peace about removing the gall bladder so that Heidi's pancreas is not threatened again.

Many friends and family members bathed us in prayer through our entire hospital stay, and we are so grateful. Heidi loved all the gifts, cards, flowers, texts, phone calls, words of encouragement, and visits while she was in the hospital. Heidi's mom stayed by her side for several days and nights at the hospital, and cared for Owen for several days. My parents cut their trip to Florida short and drove home a few days early to help me out and check on Heidi. Dear angels brought vast supplies of frozen breast milk for Owen and groceries for me, which was incredible. Others sent cash for things that we needed. Several of Heidi's friends came over to make sure dishes and laundry were taken care of. Several ladies from church with great big Momma hearts babysat Owen while I worked. We were absolutely, thoroughly pampered and blessed in so many. Others offered assistance and help if I needed anything. I was completely blown away by the outpouring of love and help by our community, and it was a definite blessing to have both my family and Heidi's family close by. We have a journey of recovery ahead, but Heidi's a warrior princess and things are looking good. If you think of us, please continue to pray for swift recovery and ample rest for Heidi.

Baby Owen, the First Few Days

Whew. I didn't give birth to you, but I'm flat-out just as exhausted as if I had.

Owen, I'm so very, very glad you're here! But where is "here"? Well, I'm glad you asked, little man.

Wednesday, January 31st, 2018:

I had spent the day working at the family business. Mom and Dad were traveling in the farthest Western reaches of the United States, visiting Hawaii and Oregon. I was holding down the fort at home, making sure our customers were provided with comfortable heat while the wind howled outside. Each year in January, we count all our stuff at the shop to give an accurate inventory to our tax preparers. The massive undertaking of counting, organizing, counting, searching, counting, compiling, and counting our vast supply of fittings, equipment, and spare parts is lumped under the word "Inventory". Such as, "Hey Dylan, we're going to do some Inventory today," to which Dylan would appropriately groan and roll his eyes. I don't blame Dylan; inventory can often be monotonous. Unlike most of our tasks that can get completed in a day or less, Inventory can take over a week. We often draw it out as long as possible, finding every and any excuse to do something else. "Whaddya mean I have to climb up on Mr. So-and-So's roof? It's howling wind and twenty below! Oh, I don't have to do Inventory? Gimme that ladder."

At 3:30 PM, I had completed my list of service calls and was back at the shop. I wasn't feeling too good but I thought I could work on the Inventory to finish out my time for the day. I had been chipping away at the monstrous, 30-pages-of-single-spaced-items summary of our shop's contents when I decided that I was too nauseous to continue. It was 4:30 PM...close enough to 5PM. I was outside, heading to my car when I vomited everything I had in my body. I had felt it coming so I retched into a spot that was close to the water hydrant. I washed everything away and caught my breath. Finally, a valid excuse to avoid Inventory.

I arrived home. Vomiting had made me feel better, but I was exhausted. Heidi was doing some laundry and told me to lay on the couch. We sat down to watch Captain America beat up some ne'er-do-wells. Halfway through the movie, Heidi's water broke. I checked my watch. 6:30 PM. I checked the calendar, because I was pretty sure I had penciled in your delivery for February 15th, which is when Heidi's doctor said she was due. Didn't you know you're supposed to follow schedules, Owen?

Heidi started having contractions, so I drew her a bath and let her soak. We timed the contractions together, and informed our doctor and Mercy Hospital that the labor had started. I sounded calm and collected, but it was because I was too weak to get worked up. Once the contractions were coming every three minutes and lasting a minute each, we headed to the hospital. We were supposed to go when they were five minutes apart, but Heidi's contractions skipped right past 5 and jumped to 3. This was gonna be a speedy delivery, maybe before we even got to the hospital. I ran through my mental "how to deliver your own baby" checklist. I grabbed the bags Heidi had packed in preparation for our hospital trip and assisted Heidi to the van. It was nearly 9PM. Heidi had been having contractions since 7PM.

We got to the hospital and were taken to an examination room. Heidi and I had taken a birth class at Mercy earlier in January and were shown all the various rooms in Labor & Delivery. During our class, I had joked about the room marked "Test D" because it sounded like "Testy" when said out loud. No, not "Teste", that room was across the hall. I giggled about that one too. We were put in "Testy".

Twenty minutes later, we were moved from the test room to a Labor & Delivery room. Here we go! I thought. Some traces of Strep B had been found in Heidi, and antibiotics needed to be administered for 4 hours prior to delivery to keep the baby from catching anything. The nurses tried to get an IV into Heidi and had to stick her half a dozen times. Heidi's veins could easily apply for an occupation of international espionage, because they are extremely difficult to trace or locate, and when they finally DO get caught, they surrender nothing. "These veins are kinda valve-y," one nurse muttered. They wheeled a small projector into the room that used SCIENCE and LASERS and COOL GREEN LIGHT to find Heidi's veins. I was totally impressed.

It was nearing 10PM. We might have this baby hatched before February. The nurses smiled and told me it could take a while.

"What's the average delivery?" I asked.
"Oh, about 14 hours," said one nurse.
"Heh, I'd hate to be that family that was on the HIGH side of that average," I joked. *insert ominous foreboding here*

Thursday, February 1st, 2018

8 hours of screaming, crying, and laboring went by, and I wasn't so sure you'd be born til MARCH. You were head down, but you had rotated face-up. The hour-hand of the clock was making its rounds but Heidi had only dilated to a 5. A dilation of 10 was 'go-time'. (I can hear the female half of my audience going, "Yeah, duh" and the male half of my audience going, "Huh, what?") Heidi was so exhausted, she was blacking out in between contractions. In the moments she was coherent, she would apologize and say "I just feel so grouchy." Don't apologize, I told her. You're doing great. We've got this. Meanwhile, many of the scary words from my pregnancy studies came prancing back into my mind, words like "Cesarean" and "episiotomy" and "epidural". Heidi and I had written down a birth plan with our hopes and plans for the labor and delivery. We had wanted a natural birth without the aid of drugs injected directly into Heidi's spine, and we smugly grinned at each other when we heard other couples talking about getting an epidural to deliver their baby. "I feel like swearing!" Heidi said, in tears.

Heidi's aunt Louise was our Doula, or birth coach. She had arrived at the hospital shortly after we did, and was busy assisting Heidi and making her feel as comfortable as possible during the labor. Louise is a birth expert, having had eight of her own through the years, and assisting others through theirs. Louise had soft music playing and was applying warm compresses to Heidi's back to soothe the contractions. She fetched juice and water for Heidi and would help her change positions to try getting you down a little further in the birth canal. Dr. Wenzel, Heidi's OB/GYN, was not available so Dr. Shepard took her place and was giving you as much time as possible to come out naturally. Heidi's dilation crept to 6.

"Can I have drugs, please?" Heidi moaned. Her hands were slowly grinding mine into sweaty meat paste.

We had talked about this, and it was my job to be strong for Heidi when she couldn't. That time had arrived. "No, honey, we don't want drugs. You can do this!" I told her. She weathered the next several contractions gamely, but she was completely out of strength and was rating her pain as "10 out of 10, would not recommend."

"I WANT DRUGS," your momma said. She wasn't asking. I felt like I was on the wilderness frontier, about to lose both mom and baby in one horrible, never-ending labor straight out of my nightmares.

We got her an epidural. It took about 45 minutes and I was excused from the room. Mercy Hospital has seen too many people faint when the foot-long, flexible tube is inserted through the small of the back into the spinal column, and they were already wary of my pale complexion. "I'm fine, I just feel abominably sick, that's all," I said. Louise told me she could take care of Heidi and was not afraid of epidurals, having had four of them herself.

I joined Alan and Jean, Heidi's parents, in the waiting room. They had come to support us through the labor and had arrived shortly after Louise. They were awaiting the good news of the delivery of you, their first grandchild, and each hour had them waiting a little more anxiously. I felt guilty for wanting to be away from the labor room, but I was tired of the emotional drain and the completely helpless feeling of watching my bride suffer excruciating pain. I know using the word "tired" is not even valid, because I did not suffer even a fraction what Heidi suffered. Looking back over what I've written so far, I've been tempted to erase it because it really looks like I'm making it all about me, which is dumb. Heidi is the heroine here. She was an absolute champion.

After the epidural kicked in, Heidi was able to relax for the first time in nearly 12 hours of labor. Dr. Shepard was extremely patient and gave us encouraging updates. The dilation crept to 7, then 8. Each time Dr. Shepard checked, she'd give Heidi another few hours to contract. "Let's see where you're at in two hours," she said with a smile. "As long as you're still getting closer to '10', we'll keep letting things progress."

Heidi and I caught short naps. The epidural completely numbed Heidi's nerves from the waist down, but left her muscles free to contract and squeeze. The monitor above her bed showed steady, strong contractions and your steady, strong heartbeat.

At 21 hours of labor, the nurses were getting antsy. "C-section" was getting mentioned. We were on our second or third shift of nurses...there were so many kind, helpful people that worked with us and I wish I could remember all their names. Heidi was finally dilated to 10. She had skipped right past 9 from our last check, so it brought a ray of hope into the room. Things were progressing! Slower than the tectonic shift of the continents, but moving nonetheless! Heidi was instructed to start pushing. You were at +2, 2 centimeters further up than you were supposed to be, my son. Traditionally, a baby is located at "0" when the pushing begins. Heidi had to get you to -2, which meant she had double the distance of a normal delivery. She began to push with the contractions. For the first time, we began hoping for the contractions rather than dreading them. Heidi was on a dose of Pitocin, a drug that keeps labor going. Otherwise, the body might say "That's enough of that!" and leave you stranded halfway.

Heidi pushed valiantly. She gave it everything her body had left to give. I shouted encouragement alongside her, coaching her breathing and helping hold her as she pushed through the contractions. After an hour, I was feeling light-headed and excused myself to the adjoining bathroom, where I vomited again. I didn't think I had anything to offer the porcelain altar but some horrid green stuff found its way out of me.

At 6:59 PM on Thursday, February 1st, you arrived. 38 weeks in the womb. 24 hours of labor. 3 hours of pushing. You came out a worrisome shade of blue, so they placed you on Heidi's chest just long enough for me to cut your umbilical cord before you were whisked across the room to a small warming table. Doctors that had suddenly appeared out of thin air were placing an oxygen mask over your tiny face and monitoring your vitals. I stayed by your side, fulfilling one of Heidi's birth-plan requests that the baby not be left alone. We weren't completely suspicious that the doctors would try to do something we didn't want, but we were a teeny bit suspicious. You began to breathe on your own and we all sighed a huge gasp together, as if some unseen conductor motioned our orchestra to rest for a beat. Heidi was still fairly out of it, and didn't fully realize that you were born. THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE NOT MARRIED SHOULD PROBABLY NOT READ THIS NEXT BIT. She had been told to wait a little bit while your head crowned. Dr. Shepard had noticed the shade of blue, contacted the doctors hiding in the woodwork, grabbed you by the head and forcefully yanked you out. The forceful yank caused tearing in two places, so by the time I had made sure you were okay, she had delivered the placenta and was receiving dissolvable stitches.

They placed an IV into you. Well, they tried for a long, long time. After six attempts, you were having none of it, and you were letting us know with tiny squeals and yelps. They had tried your heels, your wrists, and an elbow, and it just wasn't working. "He has his mother's veins!" I said. That was my first attempt at a Dad Joke. The doctors didn't find it terribly funny, and neither did I. They were finally able to get an IV in place by stabbing into a vein located right on the top of your head. I nearly keeled over. Later I was told that doctors often avoid using that vein, not because it's more dangerous, but because it scares the parents. They were correct. The vein, located on the outside of the skull, does not go to the brain like I first imagined but goes directly to the heart just like a heel vein or an elbow vein. It just happens to look a whole lot more gnarly, paired with the fact that the posterior position of labor squeezed your head into an elongated gourd shape. Moments prior to the IV, you were set on a scale. You weighed 6lbs 11oz, which pleased me because before you arrived I had guessed you'd be 6lbs 9 oz and Heidi guessed 7lbs 2 oz. You were right in between (but I was totally closest).

Another of Heidi's requests for the birth was that she'd get to have immediate skin-to-skin contact with her baby. It's standard procedure and highly recommended, since that initial contact between mother and baby does a whole lot of good for both parties. Mom gets endorphins and hormones stimulated, you get your blood sugar regulated and your pulse settled and both of you feel all warm and glowy. But as it was, you were in the Nursery across the hall, getting stabbed in the brain with the sixth IV attempt and Heidi was asking "Where's my baby?" She had gotten to hold you for less than 30 seconds.

We had been hoping to take you home straight away, but it was looking like some tests would need to be done first. You were placed on antibiotics of your own, even though Heidi had labored long enough to receive four rounds of antibiotics. The doctors were nervous about your tendency to stop breathing, which were called "apneic episodes" (similar to sleep apnea). The pediatricians mentioned there might be bleeding on the brain. You were held in the nursery for observation, and placed on a c-pap machine like the world's most adorable retiree. Around 10 PM, Louise's husband Jason showed up and brought a sack of tacos. I inhaled three, the first meal I'd eaten since Wednesday's lunch. They were delicious but sat heavily in my stomach. Heidi and I were moved to a nice recovery room. I was told that under no circumstances was I allowed to leave our recovery room, what with the vomiting and potential flu. Heidi was allowed to visit the nursery, but only if she wore a mask. There was a notice taped to the nursery door warning about the spread of influenza. I knew the sign had been freshly put up thanks to my rude behavior, bringing in germs and whatnot without checking with the front desk first. Back in our room, Heidi soaked in the bathtub/whirlpool for a while and then we sank into sleep.

Friday, February 2nd, 2018

We woke up feeling somewhat refreshed. Heidi had several nurse visits through the night to get her vitals checked and her uterus pushed back down. She was recovering very well, considering all she had been through the day before. You had needed some oxygen but were doing well. You were being fed with sugar water intravenously. We spent the day filling out paperwork and getting you a birth certificate and a social security number. Heidi and I met with a lively, joyous lactation consultant that called herself "the Boob Lady". Boob Lady taught us how to collect milk with a breast pump. Try as hard as I could, no milk came out of me. Huehuehue Dad Joke. The nurses stamped your footprints on a card and your heel left a tiny drop of blood on the print. Meals were brought to our room, and Heidi ate with good appetite. I picked at the food while I watched Chip and Joanna Gaines resurrect yet another gorgeous home from dry bones. By afternoon I was feeling much better and by evening I wasn't showing any horrible signs of The Plague so they let me come see you again. I held you for the first time. Heidi snapped a photo and I burst into tears moments later.

Saturday, February 3rd, 2018

We were woken out of a deep sleep at 4am to be told that you were being transported, by ambulance, to the University of Iowa Natal Intensive Care Unit, or NICU. We were told that you had experienced a seizure, or something that looked very close to one. You were being prepped for the journey. The doctors had added an anti-seizure medication to the cocktail of three antibiotics you were receiving. We dressed quickly and came to see you in the nursery. The influenza signs had spread faster than the disease and were now posted on every door and in every hallway warning about the horrible, unwelcome guest. I imagine they were talking about the germs but I felt like I was looking at a bounty poster with my mugshot on it. I asked if Heidi could ride in the ambulance, but she was not allowed to. We were given directions on where to go once we arrived at the NICU, and you were shipped off in a small incubator on wheels. I told the ambulance driver it looked like one of those pizza delivery warmers, and he laughed. He said the paramedics call the incubator "the toaster". My Dad Jokes were improving.

We packed up our room, signed Heidi out, and followed you in the Cherriot, our red minivan. When we arrived, you were being admitted for a CT scan with a future MRI scheduled. The staff at the NICU removed the IV from your scalp and placed one in your heel, which looked only half as sinister. Heidi and I collapsed into sleep on a fold-out couch in the family lounge.

When we awoke, you were sleeping soundly in your little NICU bay. The CT scan showed nothing worrisome. There had not been any bleeding on the brain detected, but the MRI would show more. Several blood tests were taken, as well as a spinal fluid sample. The blood tests came back negative for all the infections and bacteria they were searching for, and your spinal fluid was clear and excellent. The MRI showed a well-formed brain with all the proper structure in place, and no bleeding. The doctors at Mercy had worried that some bleeding in the brain might cause seizures, so it was nice to see that ruled out. Louise stopped in with groceries and sweet words of life. Alan and Jean came to see the baby and love on us. They brought steamy hot chicken pot pies from KFC. In the evening, Heidi and I drove home to sleep in our bed. Heidi had been using a pump for breast milk, so we got up every 4 hours. I felt like a dairy farmer, and real dairy farmers received my utmost respect.

Sunday, February 4th, 2018

We drove to the hospital to see you again. Heidi and I met with your doctors to talk about the test results and the plans for the day. Each morning, the doctors visit each NICU baby and discuss all that has been done and that is planned to be done. They were open, honest, friendly, and answered all the questions we had. We wanted to know when we could take you home, and they responded that it may be a week. An EEG, or electro-encephalogram, was scheduled to check for seizure activity. Your scalp was covered in 18 sensors and your brain activity was closely monitored for 24 hours. We talked and sang to you but were not allowed to hold you during the test. The test showed what we had been convinced of the whole time: absolutely no sign of any seizures. What had caused this whole hullabaloo was your tendency to shake vigorously when you were unwrapped from your blanket. Your arms would get stiff and you'd wave them like little egg-beaters. Heidi and I had seen it several times and found it to be cute, because your Dad does the same thing when Heidi pulls the blankets off of him. We realized within the first few hours of your life that you don't particularly like being cold, but evidently the doctors at Mercy took one look at your shiver/shake and cried wolf. I will not write names, because I don't want to make them into the bad guy of this story. The nurses and doctors at Mercy were amazing and took wonderful care of the three of us.

You had several apneic episodes throughout the day, eight to be exact. One episode was serious enough to require "bagging". When I was told this, I imagined you were placed in a giant plastic sack and given increased atmospheric pressure. What really happened was they placed a oxygen mask on your face and used a Whoopie cushion to push a little air into your lungs. The Whoopie cushion was the "bag" part of "bagging". You had turned "dusky" which is a fancy, sophisticated word for "kinda the wrong color, kiddo" and places a whole new meaning to "riding off into the sunset". Aside from that worrisome episode, you had a lot of healthy progress. There was even one apneic episode where you stopped breathing but self-corrected and started breathing on your own again. We were very pleased.

At one point in the afternoon, I stopped in to check on you and found you screaming at the doctors. They were trying to take a blood sample from your foot. I came up beside you and as soon as I said "Owen, it's okay. I'm right here," you quieted down. I felt 10 feet tall.

Barry and Debby, my parents and your grandparents, arrived home from Oregon Sunday afternoon. They quickly came to visit us at the hospital and to see if you looked like their most adorable son. Sadly, you looked a whole lot like me and nothing like Uncle Shelby. Huehuehue Dad Joke. They took Heidi and I out to eat at Village Inn, where I ordered a delicious hearty breakfast skillet full of foods that I love. When it arrived, I was only able to eat a few bites. I no longer felt barfy but my appetite wasn't back yet.

With negative results (negative being good in Hospitals and bad everywhere else) on the blood tests, spinal fluid tests, and others, you were taken off two of your three antibiotics. I remembered that the Mercy doctors had hinted about herpes being an issue and requiring antibiotics. I wanted to set things straight, so I told the NICU doctors that Heidi and I were virgins until we married each other and we have been each other's only sexual partner. Your doctor's eyes widened and she said, "Well, then Owen has a zero chance--no, LESS than zero chance of having any issues with that! Good for you two," she said, a little incredulously. She instructed the nurses to finish you out on your last round of antibiotics and then cease any further doses.

We were told that you'd get your EEG sensors off by evening but it didn't happen. The Neurology guys said they wanted to monitor you for a few more hours, but we secretly suspected they were just watching the Superbowl instead. "In the morning," they said "we'll get those sensors off and you'll be able to hold him again." Heidi and I went home to sleep.

Monday, February 5th, 2018

I spent the morning helping Grandpa Barry at the business office, just trying to get some paperwork taken care of and transitioning him back into the swing of things. He had been gone for three weeks. Heidi and I came to the hospital around noon. The EEG sensors were still plastered all over your head, but the doctors had heard back from Neurology that there were absolutely no signs of seizure activity, and things were looking good. It doesn't look like your brain is to blame for these apneic episodes. A heart echo was scheduled and performed, which is essentially an ultrasound used to look at the heart. All of your valves look lovely squooshing and swooshing blood, and it doesn't look like your heart is to blame for these apneic episodes. The doctors are pleased with your results, but also puzzled about the apnea and the cause behind it. The episodes were much more rare; you had two today. You went 12 full hours without a single problem, which is the longest stretch yet. You're off all antibiotics and are currently being fed breast milk through a straw that enters your nose and runs down into your stomach. You still have an IV pushing some sugar water into you, so between that and the breast milk, you're constantly fed and almost always sleepy. I changed your diaper today, which contained some mysterious bright green nuggets. You took great pleasure in trying to pee on me, but I was quick and smothered your crotch with another diaper just in time. I can already see that diaper changing is going to be a contest of the wills.

Grandma Debby came to visit and brought freshly-baked coffee cakes along with a sack of groceries. She stayed the night to watch you, as did Heidi and I. It had snowed 8 inches today so we didn't feel like going anywhere.

Tuesday, February 6th, 2018

It is currently 1:38 AM on Tuesday, and I've come to an end of this update. Rumors are flying about Owen's condition because Owen's condition changes so rapidly. He's always been healthy, and he's always been improving, but different details about blood on the brain or seizures have been told to family and friends, and it has spread from there. I'm trying to clarify the situation as quickly as I can.

We are so grateful for all the many prayers and encouragement and words of life that we've received from so many. You mean the world to us, and we credit Owen's progress to your prayers. God has kept his hand on us through this, and although we're not home yet, it should be soon. We'll keep you updated.

Love,

Shawn, Heidi, & Owen.  

New Year's Note

"Hey Siri, how many days until Christmas?"

It's three hundred fifty-eight days until then, Shawn.

"Heh, I'm WAY ahead of schedule with this whole Christmas letter writing business!"

It appears you missed 2017's letter.

"Oh, well no need to mention THAT."

It also appears that you will be turning 30 next year. My research indicates that is a stressful milestone for human males.

"Okay, Siri, that's enough!"

Based on my accelerometer recordings and the sounds of your labored breathing, it appears you've gained weight.

*aggressively mashes power-off button*

Smart phones.

The Graber household wishes you a very Merry Christmas, regardless of the fact that we're a whole week late in saying it. We had an amazing holiday jam-packed with family reunions. When I was single, there was the Maust family reunion and the Graber family reunion to keep an eye on. My assumption was that marriage would bring two more family reunions to the table BUT WE ALL KNOW ABOUT ASSUMING and somehow there's about 15 reunions now. Heidi loves to say that she's related to half of Kalona and I'm related to the other half. Not only is she right, I dare say she's underestimating the length and breadth of our relations.

Heidi and I are eagerly awaiting the arrival of our son in mid February, and his name is Mr. George José Duncan Walter Zinfandel Ronald Graber, if the guessers are to be believed. We have our name picked out (along with the names of our next three children) and the curiosity arising from our families is growing at an exponential rate. If I could somehow capitalize on this explosive growth...hmm mumble mumble BirthCoins...

 Photos by Lynda Halteman

 

We had a miscarriage in February of 2017, an early pregnancy loss. The baby was far too young for us to know the gender but Jesus has sweetly shown us visions of a little girl, whom we named Amanda. I'm not sure if that means the FOUR of us wish you a Happy New Year or just the three of us...I'm trying to grapple with this delirious idea that I'm a father of two and I haven't even held a baby yet. I know that this is not an uncommon experience for families, and my heart grieves for each family that experienced a miscarriage this past year.

Heidi and I celebrated our first anniversary in June, where we took a sweet little getaway to Chicago. "Why not just fly to Afghanistan, it's less violent!" I hear you say. We had some fascinating experiences in Chicago, and most of them were amazing. We stayed in a fancy hotel in Schaumburg and traveled to the heart (gizzard? liver?) of the city each day to explore. We toured Willis Tower and stepped out into a tiny glass box suspended 108 floors above the ground. We moseyed through the Museum of Science and Industry, where we did all sorts of interactive things that were too fun to be considered 'learning experiences', even though that's exactly what they were. We visited the Shedd aquarium and a sweet staff member let me not only pet stingrays, but keep a section of their teeth. Maybe you don't know how cool that is, but it is way cool. Stingrays lose their teeth sections (which look like tiny, flat combs) about as often as a shark will lose its teeth. They regrow constantly, so it's no big deal for them to just drop chunks of their teeth. I am the only person that left the aquarium that day with a section of stingray teeth. What's that? You say it's because that's kinda gross and nobody else would want them? Pish posh! I had fun stumping my brother Shaylon with the small comb of teeth, giving him clues as to its origin and seeing if he'd guess which animal they belonged to. He guessed it eventually, because he's a genius.

Willis Tower, Chicago

 

View from the Willis Tower glass boxes. We were in one box, photographing 

across the open expanse to the other box. The floor, walls, and ceiling are all glass. 

 

Museum of Science and Industry, Chicago

 

Shedd Aquarium, Chicago. Heidi is petting various stingrays.

 

Stingrays in the Shedd Aquarium. They felt smooth and slippery.

 

Speaking of brothers; my brother Shane got married to his adorable fiance Fern in July. We had an awesome time with the whole family out in Storm Lake, IA. Shannon & Konrad, Shelley & Randy, and all their kiddos made the trip out, which was extra amazing. With the addition of Fernie, we now number 25 in the Barry Graber family, with 11 of those being grandchildren. An interesting side note; our forthcoming son is the grandson/granddaughter tie-breaker. I didn't know that was a competition, but of course the boys need to win, for reasons.

Heidi's brother Christopher has been in Costa Rica for the past 18 months with Pura Vida ministries. Christopher had a short break for the holidays; it was so lovely to spend time with him, his girlfriend Rosetta, and the whole Zook family this Christmas. Chris has returned to Central America and we miss him already.

Heidi and I bought a minivan...we couldn't be more excited. I do mean WE, because I've been wanting a minivan since I was in high school. It's superior to an SUV in every way. Sliding doors rather than traditional doors that swing wayyyy out and ding nearby vehicles, a low center of gravity that keeps the vehicle on its four wheels where it belongs, and most of all: the blessings that other drivers give. Just think about it; when you see a humble little minivan making its way through traffic with a cute young lady at the wheel, you say things like "Aww look at that little momma just doing her best, day in and day out!" but if you see an SUV on your way to the grocery store, your thoughts are more "Who does that IDIOT think they are? What a pretentious oaf!" You can't tell it's a cute young lady driving because of the tinted windows and the fact that it's upside-down in a ditch.

 Our sweet new-to-us minivan, a 2006 Nissan Quest

2017 was a busy year for Heidi. She's been cleaning houses and finished painting the rooms in our trailer. Colors with the names "Midnight Sonata", "Mill Run Blue", Summer Shower Green", "Quiet Rain" and others have transformed drab wallpaper into beautiful vistas. Her latest project has been setting up a delightful baby room. Decorating, organizing, painting, rearranging furniture...all the things that would drain my energy seems to replenish hers. Heidi is transitioning out of her house-cleaning jobs and plans to stay home with our baby when he finally decides to arrive.

One of our 2017 goals was to take swing dance lessons, and we just finished our beginner lessons this past month. Initially we didn't plan to take up dancing while Heidi was pregnant, but she was a champ. We took 12 weeks of lessons with the University of Iowa Swing Dance Club and we had a marvelous time. We learned East Coast, Lindy, and a little bit of Charleston. We took a single class of Balboa and that was ultra saucy. For those of you ne'er-do-wells that have no idea what swing dance is, it's that fun, old-timey dancing that you see in all the old classic movies, like It's a Wonderful Life (George Bailey is dancing the Charleston when he ends up falling into the swimming pool) or Singin' in the Rain.

We experienced the 2017 Total Solar Eclipse. It was everything we had hoped to see and much, much more. Heidi and I got up in the wee hours of August 21st and traveled to Jefferson City, Missouri, which was located in the totality band of the eclipse. NASA set up their eclipse coverage in Jefferson City, so that tells you how prime of a spot it was. We took Heidi's brother Austin and my brother Shaylon along for the ride. I had initially planned to take a 10-passenger van and fill it with friends, but then I discovered that most of my friends weren't that eager to go. I didn't blame them; there were news reports stating that it would be the worst traffic jam Armageddon in the history of the United States. "Take extra water!" the reports shouted "You'll probably be stuck in your vehicle for a day!" The drive down to Missouri was swift and smooth with hardly a hint of traffic. We arrived with hours to spare, and met up with my dear friend Brian Shirk, who invited us to camp out in his front yard. This is totally an instance of "It's not what you know, it's who you know." I had known Brian lived in Missouri but I didn't know where, so when I found out that my planned eclipse watching spot was 10 minutes from his house...it was mind-blowing. After setting up chairs and a telescope and setting out sheets of paper for temperature testing, we saw such a beautiful eclipse...I'm still having a hard time describing it. Photographs of the eclipse do not do any justice of any kind to the event, and no, you can't say "I saw it" if you only saw pictures. That would be akin to me saying that I've been in Europe, when I've only been in the Amsterdam airport. (That's true, by the way. My friends won't let me say I've been to Europe because I didn't step outside of the airport. What's that all about? Do airports exist outside of the physical realm?)

The eclipse was beautiful and well worth the trip. As the moon fully concealed the sun, we were able to take off our glasses and view the event with the bare eye. We could even see the sun's corona, the white-hot ring of burning gases around the surface of the sun. It appeared as a white wreath around the black of the moon. The return home took two hours longer than the trip there, and I got all fidgety and fussy but that horrifying snarl of traffic is now just a dim, foggy memory. The eclipse still stands bright and clear in my mind. Worth it, no doubt.

It was a chore to find pairs of solar eclipse glasses, 

but we had enough to go around by the time we left.

My packing list for the solar eclipse. 

The welding helmets were added just in case 

we needed additional solar protection.

 

One of Brian's friends brought a sweet telescope to view the eclipse. We were able to observe sunspots on the surface of the sun with it, as well as track the progress of the moon as it traversed across the sun. It was absolutely incredible. Note the duct-taped solar shield on top of both the telescope and the spotting scope; this was to keep our eyes safe. Ain't nobody got time to eyeball the sun directly through a telescope!

 

View through the spotting scope, not quite halfway to the eclipse

 

View through the main telescope, taken nearer to the time of total eclipse.

We have three cats that run around outside and bring us freshly-killed moles and birds as gifts. Clutch and Chester are brothers and nearly full-grown. Shane's cat Ferris is their mother, and appears to be waddling around with another litter of kittens inside her. Even though Clutch and Chester are beautiful, they're a touch on the wild side and are difficult to snuggle with. I know a lot of people that view their dogs and cats as more than pets...they're members of the family! Fur babies! Bah humbug to that, I don't even think our cats are pets. They're just cats. If I had to call something my pets, it would be my ever-growing collection of guns, of which I now have ***REDACTED***

I've been busy working with my dad at Graber Heating & Air. Dad made the last payment on the business this year and he now fully owns the business. I'm in my last year of apprenticeship and plan to take my Journeyman's exam this year. And what a journey it's been; many of my fellow classmates are gone. What started as a class of over 30 in 1st Year was down to 15 or so in 3rd Year. With 4th Year classes beginning next week, I expect to see even less of my classmates. Several have accepted other job offers or dropped out of the HVAC industry. The U.S. is desperate for more plumbers and HVAC technicians (very high job security, BTW) and there doesn't seem to be enough applicants.

Barry (my father) giving Lynn (my grandfather) the last payment for Graber Heating. 

Brother Shelby loiters in the background.

Some trips Heidi and I made this year:

-Three weeks in South Carolina helping with Strait Paths ministries in February
-Anniversary trip to Chicago in June
-July 4th trip to the Maquoketa Caves with the Barry Graber family
-A weekend in Storm Lake, IA in July for Shane's wedding
-Camping trip to Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin with the Alan Zook family
-A day in Missouri for the eclipse in August
-Two separate trips to Ohio for weddings, one for Dawnita (Martin) Stoltzfus and one for Jeanette (Falb) Stoltzfus. I probably should have caught this, but those two girls married boys with the same last name. Huh.
-A quick weekend trip to Minnesota to visit dear friends Doyle and Teresa Byler in November
-Field trip to Des Moines, IA to visit Shane & Fern and tour the Iowa Capitol building in November

Capitol building, Des Moines, IA

 

Maquoketa Caves, IA

 

Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin

 

That one time we went dumpster diving and found questionable meat; undisclosed location.

 

Downtown Chicago, IL

 

Heidi and I are still attending Cornerstone Community Church, where it has been fun to connect with our growing church family. Soapbox alert: I find it strange that the Bride of Christ meets in so many different buildings on Sunday mornings, but it is nice to get to know people and see familiar faces each week. If you're one of those people that says "Well we couldn't possibly combine a Sunday service with *those* people because they do [fill in the blank] differently than we do", I encourage you to thoughtfully consider those reasons this new year.

Speaking of the new year, I ALSO encourage you to pronounce it "Twenty-eighteen". Saying "Two-thousand-eighteen" is SO last decade. I hold this gleam of hope in my heart that by 2020, everyone will be on board with saying "twenty" rather than "two thousand", but who knows; we're a stubborn culture. If you won't change, then at least be consistent. Pronounce ALL the years in long-hand. For instance, I was born in One-Thousand-Nine-Hundred-and-Eighty-Nine.

I realize that my blog has been abandoned and neglected and otherwise completely unused since last year's Christmas letter. That surprised me a little; where has time gone? If I keep with this schedule, I'll have a little 10-month old to talk about the next time I write. :)

Heidi and I love each and every one of you, and we're grateful for your influence in our lives. We pray God's abundance in finances, health, wisdom, and joy for you and your families this new year.


P.S. I'm totally looking forward to 30 next year. Take that, Siri!