the best morning.
/
You might be lost in reading this post if you haven't read my last two. This is the third post in a series that began with the worst 12 minutes of my life and the longest seven hours of waiting.
As thankful as I was for "idiopathic," I was struck by one thought: for every parent of a child with any special need, they had a moment when they were formally ushered into that world. As I served these families as a teacher and disability ministry leader, I knew that this could be a fluke or this could be our moment when our reality changed.
As I thanked God for providing that insight, I prayed that for the former and pleaded that we wouldn't be facing the latter. As I asked for that, I knew He hadn't said yes to that plea for many families I love, and I knew He had purposes behind every no.
Knowing that, I still wanted the yes.
I waited. I clung to little glimpses of joy, as our sleeping Robbie hit the nurses when they used a catheter for a urine sample and pushed away the oxygen mask when they tried to reposition it. He wasn't awake, but he was responding.
This was a very, very, very good thing.
They wanted to move us to the pediatric floor, but all those rooms were full. So we stayed camped out in the ER. Around 3:30am, one of the nurses brought me a recliner and a blanket. I pushed the chair as close to his bed as I could, to hear and touch and see him and to guarantee that he would see me there as soon as he woke up.
Three hours later, I was crying again as a handsome little fellow woke up angry, not remembering the seizure and trying to tear out his IV and remove all of his tubes and sensors. When I told him that the IV had to stay (letting him remove the sensors because I knew we could easily put those back on), he glowered and shouted, "I want my daddy!" in hopes that Daddy would say yes to taking out the IV.
I have never been so happy to hear those words. It was Thanksgiving Day, in every sense of the word.
When I explained that Daddy was at home and opened my arms wide to him, he flung himself against my chest and snuggled in close. My tears fell on him once again, so thankful that my boy was himself again.
I called for the nurse and soaked in her smile when she saw how well he was doing. When she offered him apple juice, he sassed her. "No! I don't like apple juice, remember?!?" Usually, I would have made him ask nicely for something else, but this was a morning in which I chose to overlook a bit of bratty behavior. She and I just laughed as I told her grape juice would be better.
In between sips of juice, he told the nurse all about our recent visit to the pet store to see lizards. He explained the differences among leopard geckos and skinks and chameleons and bearded dragons. We set up Wild Kratts via Hulu Plus on Lee's work tablet. He convinced the nurse that the oxygen monitor wasn't actually necessary. He tried and failed to do the same with the IV. He showed off his smile and what he calls his "surprised face."
He cheered up considerably when Kiki the Giant Schnauzer came to visit. She and her owner have been coming every Wednesday and almost every holiday for the past five years, and she was the sweetest, most docile beast I've ever met. We watched her through the window until she made it to us, and he was too excited to speak when he finally got to pet her.
We waited to be transferred to a real room, but I no longer cared how long that would take. A friend's friend came on shift as an ER nurse and stopped by to check on us. Robbie ate his breakfast and mine, and then - having eaten too much - threw up again. (That also could have been a side effect of the meds they gave him.) Thankfully, Angie had packed spare underwear for him, we got a new hospital gown, and the nurse stripped and remade his bed.
And we kept waiting, knowing we lived in idiopathic land but also knowing that our biggest concern now was another seizure and not any neurological damage from lack of oxygen during the first one.
Grace.
Part four (discharge!) tomorrow, and then five (what now?) the day after!
As thankful as I was for "idiopathic," I was struck by one thought: for every parent of a child with any special need, they had a moment when they were formally ushered into that world. As I served these families as a teacher and disability ministry leader, I knew that this could be a fluke or this could be our moment when our reality changed.
As I thanked God for providing that insight, I prayed that for the former and pleaded that we wouldn't be facing the latter. As I asked for that, I knew He hadn't said yes to that plea for many families I love, and I knew He had purposes behind every no.
Knowing that, I still wanted the yes.
I waited. I clung to little glimpses of joy, as our sleeping Robbie hit the nurses when they used a catheter for a urine sample and pushed away the oxygen mask when they tried to reposition it. He wasn't awake, but he was responding.
This was a very, very, very good thing.
They wanted to move us to the pediatric floor, but all those rooms were full. So we stayed camped out in the ER. Around 3:30am, one of the nurses brought me a recliner and a blanket. I pushed the chair as close to his bed as I could, to hear and touch and see him and to guarantee that he would see me there as soon as he woke up.
Three hours later, I was crying again as a handsome little fellow woke up angry, not remembering the seizure and trying to tear out his IV and remove all of his tubes and sensors. When I told him that the IV had to stay (letting him remove the sensors because I knew we could easily put those back on), he glowered and shouted, "I want my daddy!" in hopes that Daddy would say yes to taking out the IV.
I have never been so happy to hear those words. It was Thanksgiving Day, in every sense of the word.
When I explained that Daddy was at home and opened my arms wide to him, he flung himself against my chest and snuggled in close. My tears fell on him once again, so thankful that my boy was himself again.
I called for the nurse and soaked in her smile when she saw how well he was doing. When she offered him apple juice, he sassed her. "No! I don't like apple juice, remember?!?" Usually, I would have made him ask nicely for something else, but this was a morning in which I chose to overlook a bit of bratty behavior. She and I just laughed as I told her grape juice would be better.
In between sips of juice, he told the nurse all about our recent visit to the pet store to see lizards. He explained the differences among leopard geckos and skinks and chameleons and bearded dragons. We set up Wild Kratts via Hulu Plus on Lee's work tablet. He convinced the nurse that the oxygen monitor wasn't actually necessary. He tried and failed to do the same with the IV. He showed off his smile and what he calls his "surprised face."
He cheered up considerably when Kiki the Giant Schnauzer came to visit. She and her owner have been coming every Wednesday and almost every holiday for the past five years, and she was the sweetest, most docile beast I've ever met. We watched her through the window until she made it to us, and he was too excited to speak when he finally got to pet her.
We waited to be transferred to a real room, but I no longer cared how long that would take. A friend's friend came on shift as an ER nurse and stopped by to check on us. Robbie ate his breakfast and mine, and then - having eaten too much - threw up again. (That also could have been a side effect of the meds they gave him.) Thankfully, Angie had packed spare underwear for him, we got a new hospital gown, and the nurse stripped and remade his bed.
And we kept waiting, knowing we lived in idiopathic land but also knowing that our biggest concern now was another seizure and not any neurological damage from lack of oxygen during the first one.
Grace.
Part four (discharge!) tomorrow, and then five (what now?) the day after!