We caught up with the brilliant and insightful Steph Hauser a few weeks ago and have shared our conversation below.
Steph, looking forward to hearing all of your stories today. Risk taking is something we’re really interested in and we’d love to hear the story of a risk you’ve taken.
In January 2019, I gave birth to our third son Zev at just 23 weeks gestation, just over halfway through pregnancy, under viability. He was given less than a 1% chance of survival through birth, but we took those odds, and that little baby, weighing just one pound four ounces and small enough to fit into the palm of my hand, came into the world with undeveloped lungs, and the first thing he did was CRY. That impossible little human fought against all odds–severe brain bleeds, lung collapses, heart and nutrition issues–for two long and miraculous weeks.
On his 17th day of life, Zev took a horrible turn, and we were told that all the machines had stopped working to sustain his little body. Zev was dying, and we had a decision to make. We could try one last steroid to help his lungs come back online, but this medication came with a 95% risk of wiping out almost all brain function. It might help to save his lungs, but Zev would likely never walk, talk, eat or breathe on his own. In short, we could choose a potentially painful and challenging life full of suffering for our son, or we could choose to turn off his machines and let him pass peacefully in our arms.
Faced with an impossible decision before us, we said the four words we had said every time in the previous two weeks that the doctors delivered devastating or difficult news to us about Zev: Tell me what’s good. In all that bad, we aimed to invite hope to the decision table. Not hope in an outcome – we could not know whether Zev would live or die or never never never – but hope as a posture of expectation that whatever outcome came, that Love would meet us along the journey and guide us through. We chose to give Zev the steroid and surrender the path toward whatever came next in his life, if he was lucky enough to have one.
Zev did live long enough to receive the steroid that night, and he lived a total of 147 days in the NICU, and he lives now a healthy and thriving five year old boy with almost no effects of his extreme prematurity. It is a story we are eternally grateful for and that we celebrate every single day. We have never forgotten that one pivotal night when through our hopelessness and grief and fear. of the future, the seeds for a bigger future – for us, for Zev and for NICU families everywhere – would be planted in the fertile soil of hope and possibility.
A few years after Zev came home, I sat up in bed one evening and exclaimed that I suddenly knew what we were going to do with our big story and how we were going to invite others into it. I had already shared the details of our journey on The Zev Project podcast, but this was a tangible way to bring hope, healing and possibility to other families who were facing or had faced the same challenges we had during all of those months in the hospital. The night that Zev nearly died, I said to my husband that we would build a place where these kids, no matter the outcomes of extreme prematurity – cerebral palsy, blindness, respiratory or feeding tubes, and so much more – could live out a full and incredible adventurous life, and also a place where their parents and caregivers could come and find hope, healing and possibility after such a long and often traumatic experience. That night, as I sat up late drawing out plans for what would surely cost millions of dollars, 4those was born.
Starting a nonprofit is a risk. The current culture revolves quite explicitly on maintaining donorship and monetary gain year after year. The hustle is incredibly acute. Many people who I know well in the nonprofit space advised me not to do it until I had all of my ducks in a row, noted that I was jumping into something I should learn more about, encouraged me to go a different route. But I knew in my deepest heart that 4those was and is needed in the NICU community, because even though we have an incredible story, WE needed 4those. WE needed a place to celebrate and grieve and connect with other people around the journey to promote healing and hope in a future that was full of possibility for us and our son. And if we needed it, I knew other people did too. So…we jumped.
We gathered a trusted team together to serve as our board, we talked to other nonprofit friends and advisors, we did what we did in the NICU – continued to trust that inner instinct and keep putting one foot in front of the other pushing fear to the side and making way for possibility. We believed (and still do) that even if we held one person, one family, tell a new story for themselves – one full of hope and abundance – then it would all be worth it. We didn’t have any money at the time, but we did have a successful coffee shop to help us find avenues to engage with and reach out to the community and spread the word. We believed that the money would come. Even more so, we believed that the people would come as long as we existed, maybe a few at first, but we vowed to stay the course and risk the vision when so many people said it would be too much of an uphill battle.
In our first year, we served more than 100 parents and former NICU patients. The impact and feedback was profound. People were finding joy and hope and healing and believing in beautiful futures for themselves and their children after such long and challenging journeys. It was incredible to witness. We raised over $75,000 when I decided to run 147 miles (in a row!), one for every day Zev was in the NICU, to bring awareness to and fundraise for our mission at 4those, to bring hope, healing and possibility to former micro preemies and their families. This year, we are able to double our events that we offer to our community. And I’m still running and fundraising.
We didn’t know how 4those would turn out in its first year, and we still don’t know, but that is the best part about taking a risk like this, about taking a risk like we did on Zev’s worst night. For us, it was about embracing the mystery of what was coming ahead and instead of listening to the voices that told us what would be, we decided to find out what COULD be. And as it turns out, when you step blindly into that unknown, what could be is better and more fulfilling than we could have dreamed up in the first place.
Steph, love having you share your insights with us. Before we ask you more questions, maybe you can take a moment to introduce yourself to our readers who might have missed our earlier conversations?
At 4those, our mission is to provide hope, healing and possibility to former micro preemies and their families. Having had a baby at just 23 weeks gestation, we know the fear and hopelessness that can plague you at every turn along the long journey in the hospital, and we aim to insert a new narrative into the world about the outcomes of extreme prematurity.
Tangibly, what we do is invite former NICU families to come together and celebrate and grieve and honor the roads they have traveled. We create fun and accessible events for kids of all abilities and outcomes of extreme prematurity to flourish and thrive with their entire family, and also care workshops for parents and caregivers to come and receive tender support as they process the difficult moments they faced and currently face even after they’ve come home.
More abstractly, we are rewriting the narrative, showing others that the challenges and hopelessness you face in the NICU and beyond are not the end of your story, but can be the beginning of a beautiful new hope. When we were handed our most impossible decisions in the NICU about our son’s life and care, we chose to accept the realities of what might come along the road ahead and surrender to a larger, more beautiful vision than what the fear or uncertain future might have suggested. This is the hope that we invite people to experience through 4those. When families are in the NICU begging for one more day with their little babes, we want them to know that whatever happens in the months that follow, there is a community with and for them that can help them tell a new story – one of abundance and prosperity in the face of hopelessness and fear – where they will be cared for and celebrated and held as they live out the incredible futures they fought for for so long.
We’d love to hear a story of resilience from your journey.
Getting through five uncertain months in the NICU with our son required more resilience than has ever been asked of me. The constant belief that we would see better days was incredibly taxing, though also incredibly refining and life-changing in the best way. There were moments that we thought would absolutely break us watching our son fight for his life for so long, and they did fracture us in many ways. But in-between the pieces of us came Love to fill in the gaps and hold us together to get through our darkest hours in the valley and back into the light of the mountaintop.
Last year, I ran 147 miles in a row, one for every day our son spent in the NICU, to bring hope, healing and possibility to other families facing similar journeys. The run paralleled the NICU experience in remarkable ways. There were moments that felt so low and hopeless, I wasn’t sure I could go on. There were incidents that required us to pivot and reevaluate our plans and accept and surrender that whatever outcome came from those choices, we would see goodness on the other side one way or another.
Both the NICU journey and ultra running brought me to my knees at times, but the thing about experiences like this that break us wide open are also the ones that prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are not broken – you will come through to the other side stronger and more resilient than you ever thought possible.
Can you tell us the story behind how you met your business partner?
Ben is my husband and business partner, both in our nonprofit and in our coffee shop. People often ask what it’s like working with a spouse, and quite frankly, it’s AWESOME. We were married before building our businesses, and had a few of our kids already, so we saw starting our companies together as an opportunity to dream and build something new together. We like to say that I am the gas pedal and Ben is the brakes. This dynamic works brilliantly for us because he can so wisely guide my wild hairs, and I can ignite the inner YES in Ben that is ready to take action. I will say that one of the most helpful perspectives we adopted as we began each adventure first into for-profit and then into non- was that we, as a couple, were more important than any business we could dream up. We committed to supporting each other and maintaining health in our relationship over maintaining the businesses. In doing so, we have created a healthy environment for our staff and community to thrive and benefit from our service. Our priorities and hearts are aligned in how we care for each other and for our businesses and people we serve, which feels like an incredible asset when going through the ups and downs of early business ownership.
Contact Info:
- Website: www.4those.org
- Instagram: 4thoseorg
- Linkedin: www.linkedin.com/in/stephanie-hauser-8479052
- Other: www.foxdogcoffee.com @foxdogcoffee www.thezevproject.com @thezevproject
Image Credits
Maggie Hartmans