Perspective

As I sit here, attempting to read the last of the Epic of Gilgamesh, holding my breath that R doesn't wake up screaming in terror from not breathing, and planning my bed time for about three hours earlier than usual, I can remember being younger and saying "I'm so tired, you really cannot understand how tired I am." I can hear the young freshman at college complaining about their exhaustion, or rambling about how much work their classes are. Each one proclaims that they are in fact more "spent" than the other, and they don't know how they will go on.

When I think about this, and how I was "tired" when I was younger, I long to have those days back. I now know what tired is. I would venture to in fact say that I now know tired more or at least much differently than I did a year ago when R was a newborn.

Tired is the mom or dad who sits with their sick child listening to every breath, counting respirations, and administering breathing treatments. Tired is that parent who God forbid has to sit in the hospital trying to entertain their bored little one who despite being sick is still determined to leave their room with tornado level destruction. Tired is my friend who I read about driving hundreds of miles to care for her son and give him the best life she could ever hope for. Tired is the parent who faces the unimaginable pain of having a sick little one, and the exhaustion that comes with caring for them.

These small trials we have faced the past few weeks are minuscule compared to those of parents who have children with much more serious issues. I do, however, now know a much deeper level of exhaustion than I ever knew before. Maybe its the worry that comes with having a sick child that makes you feel numb, or maybe its the wakeful nights. Maybe its listening to the beautiful small person who carries around a piece of your soul be so uncomfortable that makes you want to scream for the world to listen so someone will come running with a miracle cure. Maybe it is a combination of all of those things, and the stress that accompanies them that makes you feel as if you are living in a video game, trying to find the right exit to get out of the underworld.

I pray for those parents who deal with illness of any kind on a continual basis. I would say they are stronger than I could ever be, but in this tiny trial I have learned this... I am as strong as I want to be. In the face of adversity I am given a choice, I can let go and bow out, or I can overcome thresholds I never thought I would be able to. By choosing the latter I learn more about myself as a wife, a mother, and a believer.  (This in retrospect to while A and I held R down I watched the nurse dig in his tiny arm with that evil needle trying to get blood, I stood there wanting to pass out, getting the hot tingly I'm going to pass out feeling, but pushing through it and focusing on the task at hand....big steps for me...)

My friend, the one who drives her son so far for medical care put this on my facebook, I thought it was beautiful...
"I always say God gives us EXACTLY what we can handle, never more, and rarely less. In the hardest times I remind myself that God sent "K" to us because we're the best parents for him. The same is true for you and never forget it!"

Such a trooper through his latest treatment. he kept his mask on the whole time! Of course, the Backyardigans made for a great distraction.

Whoopy and Croupy

After R was born I was absolutely terrified of him getting sick. RSV was my biggest fear. Because of this and other reasons A and I decided that we would alternate watching him, keep him out of daycare and even church nursery as much as possible. It was tough, but we made it through an entire year with only an ear infection to worry about.

Right at R's first birthday he was diagnosed with pertussis. I knew he had it, his cough was undeniable "whoopy" and he looked pitiful. Then, a little over a week later after refusing to eat for days he was diagnosed with strep, and subsequently after overcoming the strep we noticed he was breathing harder and faster, and making a horrible noise with his breathing. Afraid of complications from the pertussis we took him back to see his pediatrician with a video of his difficult breathing episodes (because every mother knows that no matter what the child is doing at home as soon as you walk into the doctor they will no longer show any symptoms at all) and we were told he has croup along with everything else.

I stood there in the little room waiting to see if he needed breathing treatments or a hospital visit and I became increasingly sick with worry, and confused as to how he managed to contract three big childhood diseases at once. We wash our hands, still keep him out of daycare, and he had only visited the church nursery once. All that night I wondered and worried. I watched him play then stop to breathe while making the horrible noises, talked with A about when will we know if we have to take him to the hospital, and dealt with the manic outcomes from the steroids he was prescribed.

That night I found a blog about a family who is currently in the PICU with their daughter who has a cancerous brain tumor. They outlined their struggles, fears, experiences, and hopes. I sat and cried for them, unable to comprehend the fear they are experiencing. I realized that as parents we feel every cut, every cough, every pain that our children feel. Its an incredible phenomenon, unmatched by any other.

This brought me to the understanding that although we felt as if we were doing all we could do to prevent R from getting sick, we are not in control of everything. Unlike some I do not believe God gives us struggles so we can become closer and more faithful to him, I believe bad things happen because we live in a world where sin was introduced to humanity and that sin brought with it pain and suffering. I do believe that as struggles and adversities come to us its our job to remain faithful. I don't think we can bless God with our thoughts and prayers (for me blessings come from above, not the other way around), but I do think we can praise him in good times and bad and that he will in turn bless us.

R is getting better, praise God. I am thankful that through this small struggle I have a greater understanding that as his mother I can't control every aspect of his life. I can guide him, do what I think is best, pray that God keep him safe, and be there when he needs me.

I can take all the classes a college has to offer and attend every Sunday school session, but my beautiful boy has taught me more in the past year than I could possibly learn anywhere else.

I dreamed a dream...

Many of my friends and family members have recently announced their upcoming arrivals which has made me pretty nostalgic, and has made my mommy clock tick a little louder. I think of those sweet feelings of the baby moving around in my tummy, watching him grow on the ultrasound, imagining what he will be when he is older, and the way his head fit perfectly under my chin when we were napping. Those beautiful memories somehow overcome any of the adversities that come with a newborn, so instead of planning a trip to the doc to see if we can have another little bundle within any time period soon, I will remember the more difficult parts to hold off that baby itch for a while.

One such memory is the hallucinations that come along with sleep deprivation. There was one specific morning that I can clearly remember as being the most difficult R and I had shared together. After finally getting him to sleep I woke up in horror to the sound of a baby screaming. I remember flying out of my bed, tripping over the dog, and running into the nursery to find him sleeping soundly in his crib. Seeing his peaceful face brought me to the realization that I could now relate more closely with the psychiatric patients I was at the time working with. I had experienced my first (and only) auditory hallucination. I was so exhausted that my brain must had slipped into this strange universe and decided that if I wasn't going to actually be awake with a upset infant, I should be dreaming about one. I slowly and quietly made it back to my bed, but I didn't go back to sleep. I remember lying there, terrified he would wake up, terrified I was going crazy, and counting the minutes until A got home from work so I could have some adult interaction.

And yet, I'd do it again. Not now, I am enjoying having my little boy all on his own and even a year later I am still trying to catch up on sleep, but...someday...because those smiles make every auditory hallucination enhanced morning worth it.