Iris Jean Medical and Family Support Fund

I am Wade's aunt Jen from Bismarck ND and I am reaching out for financial support of Iris Jean and her mom and dad Mandy Dietz, Wade Rickard and their other 4 children.

They have had a long and tough journey as Iris was born in September 2018 at only 27 weeks. After many months in the hospital, Iris was finally home in December. That stay was short lived as Iris is currently fighting to heal her little body in the Fargo Sanford hospital in the PICU - Peds Intensive Care Unit. This family needs prayer, healing, strength and your financial support.

Mandy and Wade have been unable to work during most of this time and I am asking that you support them during this most recent hospital struggle with Iris so they can remain at their daughters’ side. Medical bills are piling up as are monthly bills.  They are away from their other kids who remain in Bismarck as they are at the hospital in Fargo.

This is the latest update from them:
--------

Iris: Greek goddess of the rainbow. Genesis 9: 12-17 God places the first rainbow as a promise in the clouds showing the presence of light in the midst of darkness. Jean: God is gracious.

We are in the midst of darkness. Today is a tough day. I look back at this picture from the day we left last week, and I can’t see her in the baby laying in the warmer in this room. While we were driving from the cardiologist’s office to the hospital last Thursday night, we saw a rainbow around the sun as it was setting. She is our light and we miss it badly.

They took the paralytics off yesterday and we got to see her eyes and she squeezed our hands. She is so sick. She stopped responding to the ventilator so they changed machines today and put her back in a coma. They gave her a blood transfusion and have been correcting all sorts of levels that correlate to different organs. Not much is working right. She has so much fluid on her body that she is more than double her size and you really can’t recognize her, which is why I’m not posting pictures. She still wasn’t responding to the new ventilator so they added another machine this afternoon. We don’t have a whole lot of room left for breathing interventions if she can’t hold this. If the fluid around her lungs doesn’t decrease, they’ll have to put a tube in to drain it. Part of both her left and right lung are collapsed. They say she’ll soon turn a corner and I’m hoping they’re right. Every day she has gotten worse. We’re ready to have our baby back. Please say some prayers for her.

-------

We are also working to set up an account at Capital Credit Union that you can also donate directly to.  We will provide updates when that is ready.

A benefit account at Capital Credit Union has been established:
-->Benefit for Iris Jean Rickard Dietz

Also, you can send check donations to this address:

Benefit for Iris Jean Rickard Dietz
10714 Lilly Drive
Bismarck ND 58503

Your financial support will help with gas, hotel rooms, food and monthly bills such as rent, electric bills  and any daily things like school lunches that a family of 7 needs during this time that Iris is in the PICU.  Your financial support is needed now as they have been on this hard journey since September 2018.

-----
Mandy's Post:

Sunshine and Rainbows
MANDY JO DIETZ·WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 30, 2019
There’s a funny thing about rainbows. They typically follow a storm. A promise. Showing us that there is good following the darkness. That the sun will once again shine on us and give us beauty, if only for a minute. 
Darkness is relative. A perspective based off of experiences that shape your life. I’m betting that most would not be able to fathom the experiences we’ve encountered over the last four and a half months. Those that can, I’m sorry. 
I’ve watched our little girl’s life weigh in the balance more than once. I’ve sat in the back of church, no more tears left to shed, no where else to go and nothing left to do. More than once. Painfully, we survived the uncertain first three months of her life. I’ve prayed. I’ve pleaded and I’ve begged for her life. And we were given that life to protect and to hold. A huge sigh of relief, even though we went home with struggles. Even though we went back to the hospital, twice. 
There’s something that happens once you’ve watched all of that unfold. Your perspective changes. Traumatic things are no longer traumatic. They seem normal. What used to be huge problems are no longer huge problems. There is less that can shake you. Less that matters. You learn what is truly important and what you value. You no longer sweat the small stuff. And it’s all small stuff. 
Today, the ICU doc hung around our room all day. When you’ve been in hospitals long enough, you learn that more people by your baby is not a good thing. Quiet. Quiet is good. Busy, changes and highly specialized doctors, especially multiple specialized doctors, all in your baby’s room at once is never a good thing. They shrug it off. Make it seem routine, but once you’ve lived this life, you know it’s not.
Looking back on that last ten years of my life, I know that every detail has led me to this moment. Every connection, training, coach, doctor and experience has prepared me for this. This whole time I thought my sole purpose was to help families avoid situations such as this. To help them navigate life, health and struggles; but it was for THIS. We sat in a recliner today and watched a team take Iris off of the ventilator and bag her with oxygen to try to interrupt the failing pattern of her lungs that weren’t responding to the 100% oxygen rate on her ventilator. The highest level of intervention they have available. 
Numb. Yet calm. I am at the limit of what my education, my hands and my skill can provide. There is nothing else I or anyone else could give our baby. We are at the limit of what medical intervention can provide, relatively speaking. I’ve stood beside her and shed so, so many tears. I’ve prayed. I’ve pleaded and I’ve begged. It is a matter of time until this virus runs its course and her body can heal. Only God can decide how this ends. Terrifyingly comforting. 
Houses come and go, clinics can be rebuilt, vehicles can be replaced, everything can be started over. Even from scratch. Even at this point in life. None of it matters when the life of your baby is swaying in the wind and the gentlest of breezes can determine the fate. That fight about who did the dishes last, who took out the garbage, or didn’t, how that bill is going to get paid, that guy that was rude at the store, the lady that cut you off in traffic. All of that fades away.
So we pray this prayer and hope it lands at the feet of God. 
Please God, hear our prayer. Give my hands the healing touch she needs. Show our doctors the way to save this life. Give her tired body the strength to keep fighting and the will to live for the purpose you’ve laid out before her. Allow us to hold her and love her and see her grow. She is strong and you are powerful and merciful and full of grace. Heal her in your name.
Amen.

Thank you so much for the love and support that continues to come in for them.

Sincerely,

Jennifer Guthmiller (Wade's Aunt)