Helen Joy’s Photography Blog
held | the birth of levi
I have chills as I write this…this beautiful, holy story of a baby boy who defied the odds and a God who holds us near. It’s a story close to my heart, as all my birth stories are.
Jenifer and Joe were given 0.5% chance of ever conceiving a baby. She was diagnosed with premature ovarian failure at the young age of 29 . 12 medicated rounds, 1 IUI, 4 adopted embryos, 2 frozen embryo transfers, 1 pregnancy ending in a miscarriage, 3 failed adoptions matches, and they finally became parents when they adopted beautiful Sam into their family in an open adoption.
After dealing with pre-menopause symptoms, Jenifer switched all her beauty products to natural non paraben products. Immediately she saw a balance in hormones, she eliminated foods that caused inflammation and saw an even bigger change. Not long after her body regulating, when Sam was 1.5 years, baby Levi was conceived 100% naturally.
Jenifer writes: “I had been doing a Bible study that spring, and one excerpt talked about how both Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob all had wives that at some point struggled with infertility or being barren. God remembered every single one of them. In my prayers over the last five years I never felt God was saying no to me carrying a child. But I asked him that if it was His will if he would remember me just like he did those ladies.”
The pregnancy was riddled with anxiety as each appointment came and went without bad news. I remember when Jenifer called me she talked about her birth as if it might not even happen. I was so honored to be asked to be their doula and plans went into place for a peaceful, unmedicated delivery. And then baby Levi decided he wanted to be breech. Jenifer did everything right: yoga, laying on an ironing board upside-down, chiropractor, massage, special tea and yet he flipped and flipped and ended up butt down. They thought about having a version to turn him but decided against it when they saw the low fluid on the ultrasound. It was decided that a c section would be preformed a few days later. My doula self silently wondered if I should encourage them to wait a few days to see if he would turn back but they had the facts and had made a decision that I would stand by.
“I realized him coming safely was more valuable to me than the way he was birthed. However that doesn’t mean I excepted his fate well. I sat in the target parking lot and balled my eyes out.”
She told me over the phone that she sat in the underwear aisle of Target too and cried and cried because she couldn’t find the right underwear to go over her coming c section scar.
So after a good cry it was decided that we were going to have the most peaceful, joy-filled cesarian birth ever. I showed up to the hospital room and both Jenifer and Joe were grinning ear to ear. I got there just in time for Jenifer to find out that she was actually contracting (a dream of hers to feel contractions) and a sign that baby Levi was ready. We got a call that Sam (who was at their in-law’s house) had seen an airplane outside and said “That’s Mama and Daddy going to get baby Levi!).
We spent the morning laughing, looking out at the blue ridge mountains, and talking about God’s goodness all to the happy heartbeat of baby Levi.
Then I walked the long hall with Jenifer to the OR (Joe had to wait till the spinal had been given to come back). Once we were in the OR, things sort of warped for me. An OR is a strange place with strange sounds, and everyone in masks. It was in this strange place that I supported Jenifer as she got her spinal and then they laid her down on the table. They then went to get the routine heart tones. Silence. Awkward silence. They pushed around her belly like it was jello and kneaded into it like it was bread. Still nothing. They brought in another machine because they thought it was broken. I mean, we had just heard healthy heart tones minutes before. Second machine found nothing, nothing, nothing until they got a faint BPM of 60 and that’s when the OR erupted into action. “STAT SECTION NOW!” yelled the doctor in a steady but fearful voice. I held my camera to my stomach with one hand, and grabbed Jenifer’s with the other and let her squeeze. I said words I don’t remember. My heart was pounding out of my chest and everything seemed like it was underwater. I prayed a prayer that barely had words. It was eerily quiet as they worked and just a minute later he was born. I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t hear him. Worship music blared from the speakers and for the first time I was aware of the words. Blood spilled over and splashed on the floor. I thought he was dead. I thought she might be soon. Baby gave some muffled cries under the oxygen mask, my heart leapt. A nurse brought in a confused and worried Joe. And then I remembered my camera.
As best as they can tell, the spinal had caused her blood pressure to bottom out and her placenta abrupted. It was emergent, life or death. The thought of her, a hallway away, laboring gave me chills. The thought of her at home gave me chills. The best place for her placenta to abrupt was on that OR table at that exact time and that’s exactly where she was…held. Jenifer at one point, asked if she could see her placenta, and the doctor told her that it was already gone, that it had come out in pieces.
In recovery I helped a calm Jenifer try to nurse while trying to convey the minutes that Joe had missed to him. Levi was pink and full of healthy cries.
I went to see them a few days later, the day Sam met him. Oh the miracles those two boys are. Oh the signs of God remembering their prayers.
“I have learned that when you are praying, hoping for something, at times you don’t always get the big miracle at the end. But never doubt the power of Jesus, the power of prayer. Never loose faith. It was scary. But as a sweet friend reminded us, “Fear is a liar! Don’t let it control you.” I fully believe God had His hand of protection on us the entire time.”
And now I’m honored to tell their story through pictures.
the smith family at home
I photographed the Smith family on the day a winter storm was rolling in. It was freezing outside but their home was cozy full of love. I went to high school with Melissa a long, long time ago and hadn’t seen her in years but I had fallen in love with the beautiful way she lives. She lives with gratitude. I love the carefree way she unschools her girls, the way she cooks and nourishes, the way she implements oils into their daily life. The day I went over to shoot, baby Koah was just a little over a month old. He was born at home surrounded by the whole family. As you’ll see in these pictures, this baby is cherished by the stair steps of big sisters he has. This spring I took a few nursing shots of Melissa under our blooming magnolias. Their nursing journey has not been smooth but we celebrated the victory of making it till today and the beauty of it.
Thank you Smith family for letting me into your home and allowing me to tell this story of this time in your full life.
victory flags
My feed these days is filled with fear. Articles released seconds before are already reposted, articles weeks old are still being shared, opinions are voiced loudly, in a way I feel like they are screaming at me. Every human I know is scared. I start shaking after just a few minutes of intaking it all. The words I collect as my thumb scrolls by pierce all the way into my marrow. Some days I shut it all out and I feel a little bit better. But right now, in the middle of all of this, sitting in our home, aching for relationships, I am drawn back.
Because I see the bread. Loaves of golden bread in a neat little row, reminding me of a different era. At first I feel a prick of jealousy. I haven’t showered in days , my children are acting like wild animals. No one will be stopping by, so I leave the dishes in the sink and they spill out onto my counters. There is no bread on my counters.
But that photo reaches into my heart and grips it. This bread is not just something yummy to eat because all the shelves are bare. This isn’t a brag. This is a victory flag in a time of change and unrest. My jealousy melts away and suddenly, this person’s joy becomes mine…becomes ours.
From the lord of the flies situation in my home, I could easily look at the craft makers, the bread bakers, the cheerfully posed picture takers and I could just die a little bit inside with an ache that longs to be more like them. But when I stop comparing and start celebrating, everything takes on a new glow. Not only am I surrounded by beauty but I feel the collective hand grasps across the globe…a whispered “We’ve got this.”
It’s the little squares that show:
A mess of paints and eager hands.
The shadow a daffodil makes in the morning sun.
Love through the smudged window.
A makeshift homeschool space with beauty woven through it.
The music people are sharing, freely, purely.
The poetry being written…and read.
Every tiny part of nature being reborn right now. The buds, the blooms, the green shoots that we are holding our breath to find out what they are.
Hands held.
Trees scaled.
Picnics with grandmother’s china on the floor.
Crafts made out of the recycling bin.
Yoga with a neighbor across the street.
Breathless game nights.
A good book and a worn spot on the couch.
A brisk walk.
Countless meals using the cans from the back of the pantry.
Grocery bags by the front door of someone who needs them.
Laughter.
Togetherness.
Resilience.
Because jobs will still be lost, people will still get sick, mental health will still falter but choosing to see and share joy can be the difference in survival.
So break out the camera. Post away the moments you hold dear. Stitch them together like victory flags.