When it comes to caring for a baby, there’s no teacher like experience. With 18 children, you would expect Michelle and Jim Bob Duggar to be experts. Their first 18 children, who appear with them on the TLC reality series 19 and Counting, taught them almost everything about infants. Almost. But when Josie Brooklyn Duggar was born at one pound six ounces—two weeks before Christmas and more than two months early—the Duggars were not ready.

“I feel like I’m a first time mom,” says Michelle.

While treating Michelle’s gall stones at Mercy Hospital in Rogers, doctors diagnosed her with preeclampsia, a potentially life threatening condition that causes a pregnant woman’s blood pressure to rise to unsafe levels. The only cure is delivery of the baby—ready or not. Michelle was airlifted to UAMS in Little Rock, where they are equipped for high-risk births. After several days of waiting, watching, and praying, the Duggars and their doctors opted for premature delivery.

Nothing can prepare you for a preemie.

Tiny Josie has progressed well, recovering from a perforation in her bowel and growing to almost three pounds in her first month. She is thriving on her mother’s breast milk, which Michelle expresses and feeds through a tube. Because Josie eats so little—about eight milliliters per hour—Michelle has also been able to freeze a lot of breast milk. The Duggars hope this “banked” supply will help keep their daughter free from infection for the next two years, when her immune system will be most compromised.

“This first year of her life will really be dedicated to me keeping her safe and growing and trying to keep her from germs,” says Michelle. She’s counting on her large family to help her keep Josie healthy.

Critics of the Duggars call the couple’s super-fruitfulness irresponsible and selfish. They say the parents cannot possibly give adequate individual attention to each child. This situation would seem to highlight that issue. However, the family will tell you that love does not divide; it multiplies. Even in crisis? Especially in crisis.

Michelle says her family is overflowing with support. “This baby will never lack for someone to pay attention to her, for arms to hold her.”

When asked if they plan to have more children, the Duggars answer as you’d expect: it’s in God’s hands. For Jim Bob and Michelle, Josie represents their greatest challenge yet.

When the Duggars found out Josie would be born so early they were shocked. “All your plans and dreams have changed overnight,” Michelle says.

However, they agree it has made them even more grateful—for family and for faith. While the Duggars admit they would not have chosen to parent a preemie, they believe it’s all part of God’s plan. “We have seen a miracle over and over again,” Michelle says of Josie—who shouldn’t even have been born yet—but is living and breathing and bringing the family together each day.

The family has temporarily relocated to Little Rock to be near their daughter and sister, who won’t be leaving Children’s Hospital until, at the earliest, March 18th, the date she was expected to be born. Jim Bob, Michelle, and the other seventeen children living at home are renting a five-bedroom house near the Governor’s mansion in Little Rock. Ironically, the home once belonged to Hilda Cornish, one of Arkansas’ original advocates for birth control. The Duggars won’t need any of that.

The Duggar children have adapted to life in Little Rock, augmenting their home studies with field trips to the USS Razorback and the Arkansas Democrat Gazette offices, and worked with hospital staff to learn about the science keeping their miracle sister alive. They are even giving back to their adopted community by volunteering at a soup kitchen and raising money for Arkansas Children’s Hospital.

Little Rock is familiar territory. “We have a lot of fond memories,” Michelle says. When Jim Bob was a representative for Springdale, the family stayed in Little Rock during the legislative session. “It was kind of the same idea, moving our family to Little Rock, camping out for a few months.”

This is a family who does take their days, their moments, one at a time. That is something to admire, no matter your stand on their atypical reproduction choices.

“We’re really grateful for Josie being here. We’re grateful she’s alive. We don’t take that for granted. We’re enjoying every moment.”

“19 Kids and Counting” airs Tuesdays at 9/8c on TLC.

- by Lela Davidson

Before traveling to Ukraine to adopt our boys in May of 2002, my husband and I had little experience with children with cerebral palsy. Part of what had drawn us to Ukraine was the fact that we would have the opportunity to meet the children before making a decision to adopt. While making travel preparations, we met a little girl who had just been adopted from the Ukraine — she had special needs and she changed the course of our lives forever. She was so amazing, beautiful and inspiring that after meeting her we made the decision that we would not travel to the Ukraine looking for the healthiest child possible. Instead we would keep our hearts wide open to adopting a child with special needs.

Because of this openness, when Dima was placed in my lap for the first time, I did not shy away from him because he had cerebral palsy. Instead, my heart melted with love. He was 2 1/2 years old, weighed only 15 lbs. and could not even walk — but none of that mattered. I knew he was mine! My heart overflowed with joy as I whispered in his ear that I wouldn’t be leaving Ukraine without him. My husband had a similar experience with our younger son, Leks. Leks was 20 months old, weighed 14 lbs., and was also diagnosed with cerebral palsy. He couldn’t hold his head up, had no use of his arms or legs, and, according to the orphanage doctors, he was blind. This did little to detour my husband from opening his heart to this little guy even though Leks pee’d all over him when they unwrapped him on his lap!

We had the opportunity to meet many children at the orphanage that day and would have loved to take all of them home with us if it had been possible. One girl in particular left an impression on us that would stay with us as we traveled back to the United States. Her name was Lena. She was beautiful with a head full of fine, curly blonde hair, a huge smile, and legs obviously affected by cerebral palsy. While we left the Ukraine with only our two little boys, we carried the memory of this sweet little girl with us as we headed home.

During the first 3 years at home with our boys, I requested and received news about Lena from non-profit workers and adoptive families traveling to the orphanage. In June of 2005, we found out that Lena had aged out of the baby orphanage and was going to be transferred to an institution due to her cerebral palsy. This was very sad and frightening news. We were all too aware that children transferred to the institution did not receive any type of education and, due to very poor living conditions, usually died within a year. This was heartbreaking to hear because although Lena was not yet our daughter, we still loved her.
It didn’t take long for my husband Jimmie and I to make the decision to adopt Lena. We raised the funds to adopt her in just four short months, and when we were reunited with Lena, the joy on her face confirmed that we had made the right decision. She was used to calling her caregivers Mama, but after our first meeting, that special name was reserved only for me. I felt blessed and proud to carry that title. After 28 days in Ukraine, we arrived home and united our family for the first time. It was amazing to watch the boys and Lena interact. They accepted her as if she had always been a part of our family, and she acted as if this had always been her home, never looking back.

Even though our children were all adopted from the same orphanage, they had never been in the same rooms, essentially making them strangers. It was truly a miracle to see how our family became one when Lena came home. It was as if we were always meant to be together.

Recently, my grandfather passed away. Their individual reactions summed up their personalities and what makes me so proud of each of them. Dima asked if Grandpa Ezra was in Heaven now and, “How long did it take him to get there?” My daughter Lena was sad and said her heart was breaking and wanted to know how many pieces my heart was in. My youngest, Leks was immediately concerned about his Grandma Lois and wanted to make sure she was okay because Grandpa was no longer with her.

A few weeks after arriving home, I received word that the orphanage director was looking to better the lives of the special needs children in the orphanage. He asked for any information I could provide on the therapies that our children received. I spoke with Leks’ physical therapist, Kym Hannah, co-owner of Children’s Therapy T.E.A.M. about the possibility of taking a trip to Ukraine. She was immediately interested, so in March of 2006, Kym Hannah, Karen Hairston, and I travelled to Ukraine to work with the children. That trip was monumental because not only were we able to make a lasting impact with the way the special needs children in the orphanage were viewed and worked with, Kym and Karen also met their future “adoptee” children who also have cerebral palsy.

Since that trip, therapists at Children’s Therapy T.E.A.M. have continued to return to Ukraine to work with the caregivers and doctors. In the Ukraine, many parents of special needs children are encouraged to give up their child to the orphanage system. If they choose not to, they are often ridiculed and forced to keep their child home-bound to prevent the mental abuse they are sure to endure. On our last trip, we were able to build a relationship with the local children’s hospital and had the opportunity to work with families who have decided to ignore this socially accepted norm and keep their children.

Next month we will return to the Ukraine to work in the orphanage and the children’s hospital. We are very excited about this trip, as we are partnering with the children’s hospital to run a clinic where the children will have the opportunity to work with speech, physical and occupational therapists, as well as an equipment specialist who will be building pediatric therapeutic equipment while in Ukraine. As for my part, I don’t have a specialized degree or medical license, but am very thankful to have the opportunity to tell of our children’s successes and demonstrate that our family does everything everyone else does, we just do them a little bit differently.

The Ukraine Therapy Mission Project is now officially a part of 99Balloons.org. Donations can be made to 99 Balloons, 44 N Palmer Ave., Fayetteville, AR 72701 or online at 99Balloons.org. Please put “Ukraine” in the memo. Other inquires can be sent to amanda.clark@childrenstherapyteam.com.

No one wants to imagine what it would be like to lose a child. Every parent knows that it would be excruciatingly painful. Most parents can’t even bring themselves to consider it. As a pediatrician, I had dealt with child death in my career. I remember holding hands and crying with mothers and fathers when their children died. Fortunately, in my field of medicine, death is not common. Uncommon, but much, much harder to cope with than the death of one who has lived a long/ productive life. I am amazed that there are doctors and nurses who choose to work with terminally ill children and their families on a daily basis.

Nothing can prepare a mother for losing a child. Whether the child was ill and suffering, or whether she died suddenly—it is still the same. I feel so strongly that NO child should ever die. So I struggled to make sense of how this could happen to me, to my Cameron. I was so shocked and angry. Cameron had been the center of my world, and she was perfect in my eyes. She had never hurt anyone or done anything to deserve this terrible fate. And I didn’t deserve it either, for that matter. Grief set in and I found myself struggling to even comprehend what was happening around me. I was devastated — crushed.

I don’t know how I survived those first few weeks. My mind was muddled with tragic visions. I was in a fog. But yet I was still alive — still getting up each morning and going through the motions of my life. I still tended to my other children. I gradually started to function a little. After a month or so, I went back to work for half days. I took so many trips down the hall to the bathroom, slammed the door, cried for a minute; then I splashed my face with water and got back out there. My nurse and my patients squeezed my hand, cried with me and held me when I needed it.

I had read not to make major life changes fresh from such a tragedy, but I did. First, I had to move. I couldn’t stay in the town where Cameron died — it was not my home town and I had no family there. I quickly found a new job and moved to Northwest Arkansas. The second major life event was becoming pregnant just a few months later. My fourth daughter was born just a year and two weeks after Cameron’s death. Having another baby was hard, but oh how that little sweetheart helped me heal! She gave me hope and pushed me to keep going. It is honestly only with the help of loving friends and family that I was able to survive.

Four years later, my heart is still broken. But amazingly I continue to live successfully as a pediatrician, wife, mother, daughter, friend and all the other hats that busy women wear. I don’t think that people can look at me and tell I am grieving anymore — although it doesn’t take much for me to start crying.

One of my new jobs in life is to make sure that Cameron is never forgotten. I am a crusader for this cause because she didn’t have the chance to stay and live out her life. It is so important for me to give Cameron the opportunity to make a difference in people’s lives. Our family has started two charities in memory of Cameron and both of them enrich the lives of children. One is Cameron’s Amazing Book Club, an organization that shares books with children to create a legacy of reading. We collect new children’s books and send them to shelters, schools, children’s clinics, and even individual children who need books to read. The other charity is the Cameron Averitt Bobbitt Memorial fund with Arkansas Community Foundation. It is a nonprofit fund that donates monetary gifts to other non-profits that work with children and families. We like to donate to children’s hospitals as well as local shelters and schools.

Losing Cameron is the most significant and tragic event of my life. But I have survived it. I know in my heart that what we do to honor Cameron would make her very proud. Helping children is our family’s way of keeping the spirit of Cameron alive.

Please send new children’s books to:
Cameron’s Amazing Book Club
P.O. Box 10527, Fayetteville, AR 72703

We label each book with the name and hometown of the person who donated it before sending it on to a needy child.

Checks can be made payable to Cameron Averitt Bobbitt Memorial Fund. They can be sent to the P.O. box as well, and we will forward them on to the Arkansas Community Foundation. As Cameron’s parents, we direct the Foundation to make donations from our fund to various nonprofits that benefit children. Donations are tax deductible.

Our website is www.Cameronsamazingbooks.com.

We are thankful your support! God bless you.

My son Reid is a seven-year-old boy that plays every sport he can, annoys his brother every chance he gets, and wants all the little boy things like an Xbox and a puppy. But most of all, he lights up every room he walks into. He is a happy, energetic little boy who is living with cystic fibrosis.

Reid was diagnosed with CF last August at the age of six. As a mother, I cannot even begin to explain the agony of knowing that your child has a horrible disease that you can’t make go away. Every cough, every deep wheeze, and every restless night is pure torture on the mind. There are many nights when I will go into Reid’s room and watch him sleep, just to make sure he’s breathing. There are days that I watch in amazement at how strong he is at such a young age. There are days when I re-live the first days of finding out that our world was about to change forever.

For six years, I had mentioned to every doctor that we went to that something just wasn’t right with my baby. He had terrible digestive issues. He would go to the bathroom 6-8 times a day. I honestly couldn’t keep a clean diaper on the kid! He also coughed and seemed to get colds all the time. For six years I would say, “This isn’t normal. Please, what is wrong with my child?” And for six years I heard the same thing; maybe a milk allergy, maybe asthma, maybe a wheat allergy, maybe you are over feeding him. I remember getting so discouraged thinking I was somehow making my son sick, but I did not give up — and one day, it paid off. The doctor listened to Reid’s symptoms and decided to send us to a GI at Little Rock. It is there where we told that they wanted to “just rule out CF.”

In order to rule out cystic fibrosis, a sweat test was ordered. This was a very non-invasive test that took us about 45 minutes to complete. I remember walking around while we waited and feeling pity for all the people we passed wearing their “parent” tags. A week later, all the tests came back positive that Reid had cystic fibrosis. Thus, our long journey down the road of living with CF began. I must say, I was a bit relieved that we finally had a reason why Reid had the problems he was having, although that relief was very short lived — I had never even heard the words cystic fibrosis, so I had no clue what we were in for.

We immediately went back to the Children’s Hospital in Little Rock where my husband and I were taken into a conference room with a slew of doctors. I remember feeling very anxious and not knowing what was really going on. The head doctor looked at me and said, “It is cystic fibrosis. Do you know much about CF?” I looked at my husband and then back at the doctor and said, “No, I wouldn’t let myself look it up on the internet because we were just ruling it out.” The next few minutes seemed to take hours as they explained what CF was. They told me we would be in the hospital for five days to two weeks for Reid to start aggressive treatment. My first thought was, I only packed for two days! (I still didn’t understand what we were in for.)

Everything from there was a whirlwind. We were immediately taken to chest x-rays and then for pulmonary function testing. Reid was being such a trooper. He was flirting with the nurses and respiratory therapist, making jokes and just being a six-year-old little boy. My husband, Bear, as the boys’ call him, and I were in a daze, just going through the motions. After the testing, we were taken to Reid’s room. He thought it was so cool because there was an Xbox in his room. It’s amazing how resilient children are and how the little things can excite them.

We ended up being in the hospital for two weeks. Reid already had lung damage and some other things going on which required more time for treatment. He was so brave and strong through the whole two-week process. He always tried to be very brave and not cry. One day, he just broke down. They were taking him in for a PICC line, which is an IV line that is put in through the upper arm and threaded down a vein closer to the heart for easier medicine delivery. He crawled up in Bear’s lap and just bawled. He hid his face so no one could see him. He didn’t want anyone to see him cry. Needless to say, as soon as they took him from us to go in for the procedure, Bear and I lost it. That’s the first time I had cried over this disease for my son, and it wouldn’t be the last.

The last year has been one filled with learning tons of information and also filled with tons of medicines and treatments for Reid. Reid spends 1-2 hours a day doing treatments which require him to be hooked up to a vest machine that shakes him to help loosen the junk that collects in his lungs. He also takes around 20 pills daily as well as two different inhaled medications and two different nasal medications. That is all when he is healthy; when he is dealing with a sickness, the medications go up and the treatments go up!

I am so proud that God chose me to be Reid’s mom. I’m as proud as any mother could be of her son. He made the All Star baseball team this year! He practiced so hard for several weeks. Two days before his first tournament, Reid became very sick and had to be taken to Children’s again. He missed every single All Star game because he was in the hospital. He never complained, never asked me why, and never lost hope.

Last week, I was driving the boys home from school. In the back I heard Reid say, “I want to fight fires when I grow up to show off my mad skills!” His brother replied, “Reid, you can’t do that. You have a terminal lung disease,” to which Reid replied, “When they find a cure then I am going to be a firefighter.” That’s my Reid. One day we will find a cure.

A few weeks later, we returned to the doctor to find out the sex of our baby — a milestone most parents look forward to. Unfortunately, we didn’t leave knowing whether we would be decorating with blues or pinks; instead, we left knowing that we would soon be making a trip to see a high-risk prenatal doctor in Little Rock. We were optimistic, yet scared to death.

In March of 2007, we were told that we were expecting a baby boy who would be forced to fight to live from the get-go. Our son, whom we named Jack, was diagnosed with a Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia, a condition in which the diaphragm doesn’t close during development; thus, any range of abdominal organs can move up into the chest cavity, causing the heart to be displaced and impairing lung growth. The survival rate is 50/50. Our world had been turned upside down, but we continued to make plans for Jack’s future and to enjoy his every kick.

On June 13, 2007, I went into early labor while at work, and later that evening I arrived at UAMS in Little Rock via helicopter. The doctors there were able to stop my labor, and I spent the next three weeks on bed rest. On July 6, 2007, Jack Ryan Gillham entered this world three weeks early, weighing 6 lbs and 3 oz. He was immediately stabilized and taken to Arkansas Children’s Hospital. Although the initial report on his condition was positive, six hours after his birth he was placed on ECMO, a heart/lung bypass machine, and it wasn’t a good sign. Three days later, he had surgery to repair his diaphragm. His stomach, spleen, colon, large and small intestine were in his chest cavity and his lungs were small, but he continued to amaze us as he fought for his life every day. However, when he was three weeks old, his kidneys failed, and he had to be placed on dialysis. He lived through so many circumstances that amazed us (and the doctors), but on August 16th, we were told that he had severe brain damage (as a result of all that he’d been through) and would never walk or talk or even recognize us. Our little man had fought so hard. Matt and I felt that he had fought hard enough and it would be selfish for us to keep him alive. So, the next day, we made the decision to remove him from life support. While it was the hardest thing we had ever done, we found some peace in the fact that his fight was over and he could finally rest.

We were determined to keep his memory alive and we knew that we wanted to help families in situations like our own. So, in October of 2007 the Jack Ryan Gillham Foundation was formed. This mission of Jack’s foundation is to offer financial assistance to Arkansas families of critically ill children during their hospital stay. Our outlook is that when you have a sick baby you have enough to worry about without the strain of bills and mortgage payments. If we can lighten these families’ loads, even just a little bit, then we are doing something amazing and we are beyond blessed to have had enough support to make this foundation a reality. I make sure that every family we help knows Jack’s story and what a brave little boy he was. Because after all, this is all because of him. I truly believe that he’s going to leave more of a mark on this world than half the people who live to be a hundred.

The Jack Ryan Gillham Foundation hosts several yearly events including a golf tournament, a poker run and a baby shower that collects needed items for the NICU at Arkansas Children’s Hospital and Ronald McDonald House of Arkansas. For more information on the Jack Ryan Gillham Foundation, please visit www.jackryangillham.org.
by: Jack’s Mommy, Bethany

Beating the Odds
Gunner’s Story

Eleven months after suffering a miscarriage, I was back in my OB/Gyn’s office to have an ultrasound. I was eighteen weeks along in my third pregnancy. “Its a boy!” My husband and I were ecstatic to be having our second son. While explaining to Cody that he was going to be a big brother, I noticed the tech measuring and re-measuring.

“Is everything okay?” I asked. The tech had noticed a few abnormal things, but she would have to let the doctor explain. Though the wait to talk to the doctor was less than ten minutes, it seemed like an eternity.

We quickly learned that our baby had a Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia (CDH). We would need to see a specialist in Little Rock for further evaluation to determine the severity of his CDH. The doctor firmly stated that this is a very serious condition that occurs in one out of every 2500 births and that it would require surgical intervention to fix it. We stayed calm and made phone calls to our family and friends to share the news. I remember us telling our families that they had found a problem on the ultrasound and that he would need surgery but that it wasn’t that big of a deal. My understanding of CDH soon changed after only seconds of Googling it! I learned that we were dealing with only a 50% survival rate, and as I read on through tear-filled eyes, I soon realized the severity of his condition.

By the time I was 36 weeks along, I had to stay off of the computer because all the information was emotionally tearing me apart. We were scheduled for a c-section on Monday, July 23rd, 2007. At 2:19 pm, Gunner Cade Shobe was brought into this world. They immediately took him to do what was necessary to keep him alive. Despite all my efforts to keep positive, the neonatologist quickly crushed my spirits with one simple sentence, “He is not doing as well as we had hoped and there is a 98% chance that we will have to put him on ECMO.” ECMO is a heart/lung bypass machine that may possibly cause serious or even fatal side effects. The tough girl facade that I had held onto like a mask at a masquerade ball was quickly stripped away as the tears rolled down my face. I was so scared that we were going to lose our newborn baby. The doctor reassured me that it wasn’t my fault, but there weren’t any words that could erase the previous statement.

Through my tears, I saw a pale little baby with blue hands and feet and a million tubes coming out of him. There wasn’t any cuddling or even a kiss, just a brief touch of his hand before they transported him to Arkansas Childrens Hospital. I had to stay behind, and even though I had visitors in and out to keep me company, I had never felt so alone in all my life. My husband stayed in the NICU waiting room as I stayed at my hospital. Finally, two long days later, I was discharged and was going to get to see Gunner. My husband, my rock, showed me how to wash and gown up properly, and he was right there with me as I laid eyes on Gunner for the first time in the NICU. As strong as I tried to be, I couldn’t hold back the tears. There are no words to explain how heart-wrenching it is to sit there and watch helplessly when all you really want is to pick up your baby and hold him close to your heart. To everyone’s surprise, Gunner had turned around for the better on the transport to ACH and was able to avoid being placed on ECMO. He was doing great, and they scheduled his surgery for Friday to repair his diaphragm.

Friday, July 27th, we took the long walk down the hall as they transferred Gunner to surgery, and, again, the tears began to flow. My husband and I headed straight for the chapel and prayed for the safety of our child. As the hours passed, the level of anxiety increased. Finally, the surgeon came out and told us that Gunner was missing 75% of his diaphragm. His stomach, intestines and spleen were in the chest cavity, which had displaced his heart towards the right side of his chest and compressed his left lung. He said that as he pulled the organs down, the left lung started to inflate, which was wonderful news because this meant his lung did actually develop.

After surgery, Gunner was so swollen, we could barely recognize him. Within the week, he was placed under the billi-lights and all the tubes remained in place. We sat and watched as he struggled through the ups and downs. After two of the longest weeks of my life, I was able to hold my baby boy for the first time. I had to be careful, but I was overjoyed to feel the closeness of his body next to my heart. I remember crying as I gazed into his beautiful eyes. My husband and I spent the next seven weeks in a routine of rotating time staying with Cody at the hotel and staying at the hospital with Gunner.

We were discharged after 53 days, and Gunner came home on a pulse-ox, oxygen, and a feeding tube. We were certain that he would begin to thrive at home. He slept on an inclined wedge and we tried continuous feeds at night and bolus feeds during the day, yet the reflux continued with no signs of improvement. Three weeks of continual reflux and weight loss landed us back at Childrens Hospital for a second surgery. Gunner had a Nissen fundiplication with placement of a mickey button. In this procedure, the surgeon takes the top part of the stomach (fundus) and wraps it around the esophagus to lessen or prevent reflux. A mickey button is a little button on the outside of the abdomen with access to the stomach. We still use this to feed Gunner his formula, and we give his medications through it.

Once home, we started speech, physical, and occupational therapies, and for the next year and a half, our lives revolved around daily therapy, weekly weight checks, and numerous doctor appointments. His immune system was weak. He was hospitalized locally at around a year old for breathing difficulties, but other than that, we have managed to avoid any further hospitalizations up to this point. Gunner would drink from a bottle as a baby but never more than three ounces at a time. He would eat very little by mouth; therefore, most of his nutrition and calories came from the formula boluses during the day and continuous feeds at night. To this day, he continues to have difficulty maintaining or even gaining weight.

He is now two-and-a-half years old and weighs only 22 pounds. He is eating much better, and, like most kids, he loves pizza and chicken nuggets. We still have to do the continuous feedings at night, but we hope to slowly wean him off. We only have to go to Little Rock doctor appointments every six months just so they can follow his progress. He is extremely active and mischievous — definitely in the “terrible twos” stage. By looking at him, you would never know what all he has endured at his young age. He is our tough man and a blessing from God!
by: Gunner’s Mommy Brandi

The appointment was with the same pediatrician we had been using for our two-year-old daughter. Needless to say, we had complete trust and confidence in this doctor and the clinic.

After delicately unloading and undressing our tiny babies who had nearly no fat on their bodies, the nurse came in to get all the general post NICU discharge updates. After finding that each of them weighed in at a whopping 4 or 5 lbs., the doctor came in to answer our myriad of questions. The visit was routine, yet thorough, as the doctor examined each of our little bundles and answered our million and one questions without hesitation. We were feeling really good about how the babies were doing at this point.

Then, unexpectedly, our doctor asked if we wanted to go ahead and do their two month vaccinations.

What? “Can they have them now?” we asked.

“Sure they can; it’ll save you a trip back,” he replied.

Not assured, we again asked, “Are they big enough and old enough at under 1 month old?”

“Yes,” the doctor again told us. “It is completely safe.”

Still very leery, we went over the vaccinations: Dtap, HepB, Hib, Pneumococcal, Polio, and Rotavirus. Wow, five shots and an orally administered live virus! We still felt very uneasy when the nurse walked through the door to administer the vaccines. In a last stitch effort for some kind of reassurance, we asked her if she was sure this was safe. the nurse left the room to ask the doctor, and returned with another “Yes.”

Against our parental instincts, we proceeded with the vaccinations.

As all babies do, the triplets screamed for five minutes straight. As all parents do, we endured the screaming and felt beyond terrible about our role in their pain. The babies barely had any muscle on their legs and these little legs that had just received five shots in them.

We carefully re-dressed and loaded them in the car driving just 20 mph the entire way home. Resettled in the comfort of our home, we were finally able to feel a little relief in our decision — a calm that was quickly shattered with a single ring of the telephone. It was the pediatric clinic calling to let us know there had been a terrible mistake — a mix up in the babies’ birth dates! The babies were not supposed to have been given any of those vaccines at this age!

Still holding the phone in his hand, my husband Danny turned five shades of red, and I knew it was bad news. Not only did they receive shots they were not suppose to have, the oral live virus had the potential to make the babies extremely ill.

A million emotions rushed through me. Scared, mad, and upset could not accurately describe how we felt. We immediately called the NICU, where the babies had stayed their first few days of life, to get answers. The NICU was nice enough to try to answer our questions like what dose of Tylenol to give our screaming infants. Feeling overwhelmed, we called the clinic back and told them we needed to speak directly to the doctor about this incident.

On pins and needles, we waited for the phone to ring again. Finally, the doctor called and basically told us what’s done is done and that we had to redo the shots. The clinic called Arkansas Children’s Hospital and all the drug manufactures of the vaccines to ask advice and to file the necessary adverse event drug reports. Fortunately, because the babies were so tiny, their bodies wouldn’t recognize the vaccines. The triplets still had my maternal immune system antibodies, but we still had to wait for over a week to see if the live Rotovirus would make the babies ill. So, we were left waiting and terrified of what this could mean long term for our babies. No one could tell us anything for certain as it wasn’t a frequent occurrence. Arkansas Children’s Hospital assured us that we most likely would never see any problems from this accident.

The babies, now a year-and-a-half old, fortunately suffered no adverse affects from the vaccine scare so far, and yes, we have given all the injections again.

Unfortunately, my husband and I did suffer an emotional trauma that we will never forget. Needless to say, after the incident we found a new Pediatrician.

We still wish we would have been more aggressive in saying “No.” We knew better! This incident has made us ask more questions and to be more proactive with their medical care. While doctors are amazing and intelligent people, they too sometimes make mistakes. We are our children’s only voice, and it is our hope that our story will remind every parent that they are their child’s advocate and to not be afraid to say “No.”

Olivia was ten years, five months old the day of the accident.

Journal Entry: October 21, 2009
It has been three weeks since John and I entered the emergency room at Washington Regional Hospital after our daughter was hit by a vehicle that failed to stop at a crosswalk on Razorback Road. A few hours later, after their absolute best efforts, we left the hospital shattered.

… I have learned much in the days since her death. I have learned that waking up sad can be debilitating. I have learned that even a large fluffy white dog can miss her best friend when she is gone. I have learned that children feel the loss of a friend in the same way an adult does. I have learned the purpose for crying. I have learned that even when you don’t want it to, the sun comes up and a new day begins. I have learned the impact an accident of this type can have on a community. I have learned to be surprised and honored that so many people would take part in Olivia’s memorial service. I have learned that without the strong hearts and encouragement of the people around me, I would not be standing.

And even now I am learning to accept I will no longer kiss my favorite freckle on Olivia’s cheek.

I have purposed not to count the days since Olivia’s accident. This entry will be my only exception. I understand I still have much to learn; this is part of life’s purpose.

- Jane Ray, Olivia’s Mommy

crossing guard wearing a bright orange vest. I wave as I go by. It’s our daily morning drop-off to school, and I have done this hundreds of times before.

Olivia has already unbuckled her seat belt and is reaching for the door handle. But before she completely exits, I catch her and say, “Olivia, be a light.” She smiles and says, “Okay, Mama. I love you.” “I love you too, Olivia.” I watch her leave, knowing she will be gone — but just for the day.

“And Olivia,” I would sometimes add, “Be a blessing. You never know if someone is sad and they just need someone to help them feel better.” I knew that if anyone could make someone feel better it was my sweet Olivia.

Be a light. Over the years I have said this to my children countless times. They all know the story behind the words. It goes like this: Try to imagine you’re in the Razorback basketball arena, and it’s completely black. Suddenly, you see a soft, glowing light. It’s small, yet in that dark, empty place, it seems bright and big. I’d tell them even a small light can make a big difference in a dark place because people are always drawn to a light like a ship to a watchtower.

My inspiration came from a scripture in the book of John that says, “I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness.” 12:46
You can inspire people in many ways. A smile. A compliment. Sticking up for your friends when they need you. Volunteering to help. There are many ways to be a light.

Olivia is now gone from us. And our lives have forever, irrevocably changed. All of us, John, Hannah, Naomi, Hope and I, have an empty space in our hearts. Hope recently wrote, “I feel like my arm has been cut off.” When I read it, I said to myself, I know exactly how you feel, sweetheart.

Our pain is deep and very real. I have cried and continue to cry with the ache of this loss, of what could have been, of what we wanted our lives to be. But I cannot escape the truth, that even in my darkest moments, Olivia is in a place where there is no darkness. And truly, with a mother’s heart I ask myself, didn’t I always want her to be in a place of peace surrounded by love? And without hesitation, my heart answers yes, all a mother ever wants is for her to be in a safe, loving, place — I just never knew it would be now and under these circumstances.

And suddenly, in the darkness of my grief, a small light begins to shine that reminds me I was given a delightful and precious gift that I will forever cherish: Olivia. Sweet happy, Olivia. The little girl with the freckles whose smile always made everyone smile, who could climb a tree like a monkey and who always knew that to be a light was the best of things because it helped others.

- Jane Ray, Olivia’s Mommy

A Father’s Perspective
As our family has faced this tragedy, we have been surrounded, enveloped, and carried by the prayers, sacrificial service, and all-out love of lifelong friends and strangers alike. As we first reacted to the numbing news, we did know one thing: We didn’t need a lot of flowers (although we received many beautiful arrangements). But we also knew people wanted a way to express their own grief. So we immediately thought of something that Olivia would have loved and at the same time would give people an honest outlet for their desire to do something life-changing in her memory.

When our daughters reach a certain age, I take them on an outreach — a special Dad and daughter trip. I will never get that chance with Olivia. But we will get the chance to do a number of projects around the world in her memory. We are planning ten projects, one for each year she was with us here, that focus on helping people in the areas Olivia loved or through people that were important to her. Not all of them have been planned, but we know we are going to start with building houses in Honduras and Mexico and helping fund a micro-business project in Tibet.

If you are interested in tracking these projects, or maybe even being a part, you can find more information at www.gorayfamily.com and click on “for Olivia.”
– John Ray, Olivia’s Daddy

Journal Entry: October 15, 2009

It really is impossible to adequately describe the pain we are feeling right now. Personally, I am finding it very hard to make decisions. For eighteen years as a parent, I have always figured into my decisions the affect that they will have on each child. Now a huge part of how I consider the world is gone. Forever.

I feel like a ghost, watching, but unable to participate in a life I once knew.

Journal Entry: October 28, 2009
I feel like a ghost haunting the landscape of a life I once knew but now few things “connect.” I see food and I eat, but it I don’t experience it the way I once did. Images of sports and drama and comedy come on TV and I watch for a while, but cannot find slightest excitement to match the roar of the crowd, the laughter of the audience.

Things that once motivated me don’t seem to register…. And that home I once knew seems to have disappeared forever.

To read more from the Ray Family visit http://web.me.com/janeray1/Ray_Family_Goteam/

Photos & Captions by: © drager

When we started the adoption process, we assumed that we would soon have a sweet little baby in our arms. Little did we know that it would be eight years before we finally got the call. That call came from our attorney letting us know that they had a birth mom who would like to meet us. We finally had some hope again. During that interview, the birth family told us that they wanted us to be the adoptive parents! We were thrilled; yet, we knew that there was a chance that the birth mom could change her mind. Despite this fear that lurked in the back of our mind, I took the birth mom to all of her doctor visits and found out that we were having a little boy!

All I had ever wanted to be was a mommy; after all, my mom made the job look so easy! My dream was finally coming true. In May, we received the call that the baby was on the way. We arrived at the hospital, and our sweet little boy was born. He was beautiful. It was love at first sight. While he was perfect to us, his little body was not as strong as the doctors would have liked, so he had to stay in the NICU unit. I started to notice that the birth family was acting different. I realized things were about to change. On the evening of the third night, my husband and I went in to see our little boy, possibly for the last time. When we went to the doors of the NICU, we were told that we were no longer able to see our little boy — the birth mom had chosen to parent. We were devastated. The fear that had always been in the back of our minds had made its way to the forefront. No matter how well you prepare for that moment, you are never fully prepared.

We had gone to the hospital expecting to take home our little boy, and now we were leaving without even being able to say our good byes. We felt as though our child had died. We went through the grieving process and waited about a year before deciding that we needed to look at our options again.

We looked at other countries and adoption facilitators, but it was through a twist of fate that my answer came when I ran into a friend that I had not seen in years. We talked about our families, and she told me that they were about to finalize their adoption on a little girl who was a little over one.

When we started the process, we had stated that we would take a child from the age 0-8. We wanted a family. We were told, however, that if we wanted an infant, we would have to be foster parents first.

My husband and I had approximately 16 children in our home at one time or another while we were foster parents. When each of them left, we cried. It was so hard to let them go; the children usually started calling me Mommy and my husband Daddy right away. We had to have hope that they were going to be just fine and that we had done the best job we could in that short amount of time.

We received our son J.C. when he was just 4 months old. J.C. had not been with his biological parents since birth. I will never forget the day that J.C. arrived. He had the biggest, bluest eyes, the chubbiest little cheeks, and sweetest little bare feet with chubby wiggling toes, but what caught my attention was that he was sucking his thumb! I sucked my thumb as a little girl! I instantly knew that this was meant to be, so I called my husband and told him our son was finally home! It was the beginning of a new chapter in our lives.

When the parental rights were terminated on J.C., we told the judge that we wanted to adopt, and the state was in agreement. The biological parents appealed the case. The appeal process took almost 2 years. When the decision was handed down by the Arkansas Court of Appeals, they had overturned the judge’s decision regarding the father. We were devastated. We were ordered to start visits with the biological father. We didn’t want to take a backseat and decided that we needed to get more active in the situation and hire an attorney on behalf of ourselves, but more importantly for J.C. J.C. met his biological father for the first time in his life when he was 2 years old. The situation was rather awkward to say the least. The emotional roller coaster that we were on was draining; after all, we could lose our son of 2 years. In the meantime, we had built a wonderful relationship with the paternal biological grandmother and her husband. She drew a positive picture of her son. I learned a lot about the biological father and knew that his mother had raised a young man that knew how to make the best decisions. This gave me the confidence that things would all work out for the best. During the 3 months of visitation, the biological father and I formed a friendship. He knew that we were the only family that J.C. had ever really known, and he knew that it was in the best interest of J.C. to sign his parental rights away. We were able to locate the birth mom and get her to sign her parental rights away as well. This was not an easy decision for either of them to make. I will never truly understand the pain that they felt and the full extent of the sacrifice that they had made. When the biological father stated that he had made the decision to leave J.C. with us, and for us to raise him as our own, I do not think that there was a dry eye anywhere in the building. It took so much courage for him to stand up to the adversity that he was receiving from others. J.C.’s biological parents made a very selfless decision, to let their child go so that he could have a better life. This is probably the hardest decision that they will ever make in their life.

We finalized our adoption in January of 2008! I tell everyone that I had 3 years of long, hard labor! It was worth every bit of the pain! We are so blessed.

I use to tell J.C.’s paternal biological grandmother that all I wanted for her son was to be able to have a good life and to start over. I prayed that he would find a wonderful woman, get married and have more children that they could raise together. That is just what he has done. I have always wanted to be able to tell J.C. someday about the selfless choice that his birth parents made and how they are working to change their lives for the better. When I talked with each birth parent, I asked them to do something for J.C. I asked that they be someone that one day he could be proud of, and assured them that because they had given him a chance to have a good life, J.C. would be someone that we all could be proud of.

I wish the process had been easier. I wish that the appeal process had been quicker. I wish that the heartache and emotions were more in control, but I know that we are better people, and hopefully better parents, because of our journey.

There are currently 500 children available for adoption in the state of Arkansas. These children are of all ages, races and needs. They just need a safe, loving place to call home. Love will not fix everything; the children have many challenges that will bring you to your knees in anguish at times, but all they need is a chance. In Northwest Arkansas, we have approximately 19 children in need of families. You might even know one without realizing it. These are children that your child might sit next to in class and children that you may see at the grocery store or church. Each child is a blessing from God, as God makes no mistakes.

In January of 2008, our adoption journey ended and a new journey began. We have been truly blessed by our experience. Is it time for an adoption journey to begin for your family?

For more information regarding foster care or state adoption, you may contact Elaine Dowdy at (479) 442-4029 or visit www.nwaheartgallery.org.

The picture was being painted in the Fall of 2007, we just didn’t realize it yet. We were still waiting to adopt our little girl from China — a wait that had lasted well over a year. While Holly and I were at a concert in Ft. Smith, we were introduced to the plight of children in Zimbabwe. All these beautiful children were orphaned due to the AIDS epidemic in Africa, beautiful children with eyes that just pierced my soul. Why should we just stop in China? Why not Africa as well? What an amazing Christmas card picture our family would make. My grandparents were once missionaries in Southern Rhodesia, now known as Zimbabwe. My dad was born there. How amazing that would be if he could have a grandson born in the same country he was. We got home late that night but I couldn’t go to sleep. I had to research it right away. Early that morning, I got at least a partial answer. Zimbabwe did not allow for international adoption of their children, especially not an inter-racial adoption. However, there were alternatives such as South Africa, Rwanda, and Ethiopia. One problem remained. We had already made such a monetary investment in China, that I couldn’t see how we could possibly afford to go to Africa while we waited.

My dream seemed dashed. Then I heard a comment made by a family who had been in the same position of not being able to afford the adoption they so wanted to pursue. She made a statement of faith that “If God wanted to provide $20,000 for an adoption, He could drop it out of the ceiling right now.” She was absolutely right. It happened for them. I started looking at all the ceiling tiles everywhere I went.

Until some cash fell from the ceiling for us, we resolved that we were just going to go about life. We were just going to sit back and enjoy watching the 2007 World Series. I was pulling for the Rockies and our son Hunter was rooting for the Red Sox. While Hunter and I were engrossed in the games and the outcomes, Holly was paying more attention to the players themselves. “Jacoby Ellsbury…I like that name Jacoby. If I were to have another little boy I think I would name him Jacoby.” I figured that would never happen since we were getting a little girl and her name was to be Taylor. So there we were, going on with life while waiting for our international family to fall into place. Waiting, waiting, and more waiting.

I got home from the office one evening and Holly told me she had gotten a call earlier that day from a dear friend of ours. I had no reason to think much of it. Then she told me why she had called. “I know that you are waiting for your little girl, but would you guys be interested in adopting another baby?” She knew of a baby about to be born who needed to find a family. Where did that come from? Had she been in Africa last week, or China? We had not really given much thought to domestic adoption and really didn’t want to go that route. But how do you say “no” when you are desperately wanting the wait to be over and Hunter so wanted to be a big brother already? So we said we would consider it, but I don’t think we were expecting it to go anywhere. We were especially freaked out when she asked who our attorney was so that she could get all the information to them. We didn’t even have an attorney. It all seemed overwhelming and we weren’t sure that we should be rushing into it. The more we prayed for it not to happen, the more we found our life speeding that direction.

When I say speeding, I do mean speeding. The normal gestation period is 40 weeks. For an elephant, it is about 90 weeks. I have jokingly referred to our China adoption as the world’s longest gestation period. We weren’t looking at 90 weeks, we weren’t even looking at the usual 40. We were now on a fast track that would bring our baby in just over a month! We had plenty of time to prepare ourselves for Hunter, even more time for Taylor, but this was a serious time crunch. I had to get the room repainted, dig around for some of Hunter’s packed away baby stuff, find the “What to expect…” books for a refresher course, etc. Oh, and a name, our little boy needed a name.

Of course Holly hadn’t forgotten about Jacoby. I wasn’t so sure. As much as I love baseball, I wasn’t sure I was ready to name him after a baseball player I didn’t even know. He has been an above average ball player for the first couple of years of his career but what about down the road — you just never know. And it wasn’t an ordinary name, so of course I had to Google it to find out a little bit of history. I found out Jacoby is a variant of Jacob. OK, no problem there. Jacob originates from Hebrew and means “one who supplants.” Wow!!! It sent chills up my spine. Supplants means to take the place of another. Jacoby — one who takes the place of another. The symbolism was unmistakable and the picture became so much more clear.

The moment arrived when our little boy was here. We hadn’t told anyone, not even our parents. We kept him “hidden” until the adoption was finalized and Jacoby was officially part of our family. Hunter’s little brother and in the future, Taylor’s big brother. We had never seen this part of the picture, but now it was so amazingly and unmistakably clear. Although it has been just a few months since he became our youngest son, we cannot imagine our lives without him. We cannot imagine God’s picture of our family appearing any other way. I was looking for God to paint the picture by dropping money from the ceiling, but now I realize He decided to paint it by dropping a little boy out of the ceiling and right into our lives. He is a much better artist than I am. My mind goes back to that concert in April and a song I will forever cherish, “God is God and I am not, I can only see a part of the picture He’s painting.”

Todd Hook is an optometrist in Bentonville and is the owner and doctor at Hook Eye Care. Holly is a professor at NWACC and works for the Northwest Arkansas Children‘s Museum. Both are involved in helping families in the adoptive process and helping get families started in their international adoptions. Holly can be contacted at hookidr@juno.com and Todd can be contacted at toddhook@gmail.com.

In 2006, despite not having the necessary financial resources, Noel and I felt a longing to expand our family. After contemplating how we could possibly start our second adoption, we were amazed to receive an offer of a generous, private donation which began our second adoption journey – this time for two sons in Haiti.

We went to meet our sons Silas and Titus in July 2007. This journey would prove to be a more challenging “faith walk” as our children were very malnourished. Silas, at 21 months of age, was the older and stronger of the two. Titus weighed just 9 pounds at 7 months old when we held him for the first time. After spending a week caring for them, heartache filled us as we had to leave our boys in an orphanage where their basic needs often went unmet. We prayed and believed that they would be strong enough to survive until their adoption paperwork was completed – until they could be brought home. Sadly, this plan was not to be. We received news that our beloved son, Titus, died in his sleep September 19, 2007 at nine months of age – only two short months after we had visited him.

Titus’ death, most likely the result of malnutrition, is tragic though not in vain. As one dear friend told us shortly after his death, “Titus most definitely served a purpose in his short life, and his life will count for more than the number of his days he lived.” Her encouraging words, along with the tremendous love and support of our family and community, allowed The Titus Task to begin taking shape in our hearts and minds. We quickly saw that Titus’ life could impact the life of other orphans and perhaps give many of them an opportunity to experience a life that Titus never saw.

The month after Titus died, I visited our son Silas in Haiti. While there, I came to know an amazing 11-year-old boy named Louis. After much thought and prayer, Noel and I came to believe Louis was to be welcomed into our family. Silas has been home with us since March 2009 and now we are eagerly await Louis’ arrival – hopefully by the end of this year. If you know him, you will not be surprised to hear that he smiles even when he sleeps! He is a delight, and it is pure joy to have him home with us.

We are so thankful for all the ways God builds families! In a sermon series by Rick Warren of Saddleback Church, he reminds us there are many ways to care for orphans. He explains that while the family is the ultimate solution for the orphan, a community can take this solution a step further and support the families that parent these children. The Titus Task is an organization that wishes to do exactly that – we are dedicated to helping families and communities support the cause of orphans around the world. Currently, over 143 million children in the world have no one to call “Mom” and “Dad” – no one to tuck them in at night, or call them to the dinner table. Many families say they would consider adoption if it were not such a great financial burden.

A financial donation to support The Titus Task is one practical way to help. Through the generosity of people in places such as NW Arkansas, many more orphans could be welcomed into loving families.

The Titus Task is a fund within the N.W.A. Community Foundation, a 501c3 organization. 100% of the donations to The Titus Task will be used to pursue a future for orphans. Our goal is to give at least one grant per year to an adoption agency to be used to offset the adoption expenses of a NWA family. For information about how to donate to this worthy cause, please visit us online www.thetitustask.com. I also welcome any questions about building a family through adoption if you are thinking you have room in your heart and home – lori@thetitustask.com.