Yeah, It Still Hurts

Dusting off the cobwebs...

Most of the time, I try not to feel sorry for myself. For one, it doesn't change my situation, and two I end up feeling worse. It's harder not to follow my own advice in July. My youngest son will be thirteen years old this week. Cognitively, he's about 4 or 5. He has a closet full of preschool toys, musical toys, toy cars with sound. One can  only buy so many preschool toys before it gets old - really old. He already has most of the popular ones.

Tonight I was in Toys R Us in near tears wondering what to buy for him. It's not like I waited until the last minute; I have been racking my brain since Christmas over what to buy for him. And to think that I have to turn around and do this in 5 months for Christmas nearly sends me over the edge. How hard could it be? Plenty hard.

Currently, he likes his giant teddy bear and CDs. It's funny watching him listen to one of my Eagles CDs, but he still likes the nursery rhyme CDs, too. He has alot of CDs. There's always candy as he likes Hershey bars. There is also a cute sheepskin cover papasan chair that was at Target. He likes scooters - the kind where you can sit and scoot. Unfortunately, almost all of those kinds of scooters are for the 3-5 year old crowd. He's too big, but not too old, for those.

This really shouldn't be a big deal, but it is. I always feel as though I'm short changing him. When I think of the cool birthday gifts (hamster) and Christmas gifts (too many to list) that my older son has gotten...I can't go there.

This time of the year also makes me realize that I wish he were a typical 13 year old boy doing typical thirteen year old things: biking, skateboarding, swimming, playing, running, talking, checking his phone. He does laugh, though. Oh boy does he laugh. His laugh is a hearty, exuberant laugh that is infectious.

So, the pity party is over because I have a real party to plan. I will find something. It may not be extravagant or typical teen gear, but it will be something he enjoys.

Rejoice in the Lord, always. I will say it again: Rejoice! -Philippians 4:4

Eleven Years Ago Today: Then and Now

Then

On July 22, 2013, much of the world seemed to celebrate the birth of the new prince in Great Britain. Hooray for the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge! I mean that, even though I'm American and don't quite grasp the concept of a royal family. Congratulations are in order, nonetheless.

Yesterday, I was remembering eleven years prior - July 22, 2002 - when I went for a routine doctor appointment while pregnant with my second child. There were no rose-colored lenses while walking down Memory Lane this day.

He wasn't due until August 1^st, but I was tired. I wanted him to be born yesterday, if you know what I mean. The doctor said, "The baby isn't doing well and neither are you. I need to induce you today." That jolted me out of my lethargy. I started making excuses like, "I need to go home and get my husband. I need to arrange child-care for my oldest son. I don't have any extra clothes." The doctor was kind but firm, "I'm sorry, but I can't in good conscience let you go. It's time to go to the hospital." We only had one car at the time, so my husband had to make arrangements with my sister to come babysit and with a neighbor to bring him to the hospital.

I went to the hospital shortly after 1:30pm. Since my first pregnancy had been induced I already knew what to expect. Despite this experience, I was in for a rough night ahead. My blood pressure spiked dangerously high and I was given some medication to bring it down. About 6:00am the following morning I was given an epidural. Finally, I could get some rest. Or not. By 6:25am he was ready, except that because of the epidural, I was not. Because of this the doctor had to initiate a vacuum-assisted delivery. If I had only known.

The first thing I noticed after he was born was that he didn't cry. I don't even remember if I got to hold him because I passed out. When I came to about 11:30am, I went upstairs to the ICU to visit him. I wanted to hold him or at least stroke his arms and face. At this point, I thought it was just a precaution that he was in the ICU. Before I realized what was happening, the seizures started. My baby was enduring seizures and all I could do was watch. He was having trouble breathing and there was nothing I could do. Little did I know he was experiencing a brain hemorrhage.

That evening, he was transferred to Seattle Children's Hospital where he stayed for nearly two weeks in the NICU. At the end of his stay, we were told that there was nothing more that could be done for him and that we should take him home to enjoy what time was left. In all likelihood, he would soon die. By the grace of God, that did not come to pass as we are celebrating his 11^th birthday today!

My heart was happy and subsequently broken on July 23, 2002. Words like "Grade IV intraventricular hemorrhage", "seizures", "cerebral palsy", "developmental delay" and "cortical visual impairment" were not yet part of my everyday vocabulary, but they soon would be. Every year I remember this and thankfully the grief becomes less and less as I see the progress that he makes. But I digress. His party is this weekend, but we're still going to celebrate today. We're going swimming after lunch. We sit in the shallow end of the pool while he splashes. We're going to McDonald's for dinner because that's his favorite. After dinner, we're going to Whole Foods for dessert because they have the bomb brownies that he loves. Later this week I have cupcakes to make, more presents to buy, and a party to plan for this weekend to celebrate the birth of my little prince who has come a long, long way.

Happy birthday to my sweet little prince!

Now

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18

Standing Still

It was 9 years and 3 months ago that my husband and I were at Seattle Children's Hospital sitting in a room with various doctors, nurses, a social worker, and a chaplain. I soon discovered that if a chaplain is there, the news is seldom good. We were told that nothing more could be done for our youngest son. Based on their prior experience, the doctors told us that most infants who experienced a severe Grade IV intraventricular hemorrhage like our son usually died. In the gentlest way possible, we were advised to take our son home and enjoy what family time was left. Palliative care services would be provided to ensure that he was comfortable and in no pain.

After the meeting, my husband and I both numb and in shock decided that we needed to go somewhere, anywhere but home. We went to a little mall near the University of Washington. We had a mission: we needed to find a teddy bear for our son to be buried with. It was so surreal. College students were there doing last minute shopping. Other people were meeting for lunch. No one had any idea that the 30-something couple with the glazed look on their faces had just been told that their newborn son was dying. I remember thinking, "Our world is falling apart and everyone else is pressing on with their day." That one experience taught me how wrong it is to judge other people because we have no idea of all of the things going on in their lives. It also taught me the sometimes painful truth that life really does go on.

This past weekend reminded me of this. A friend who I don't get to see very often has had her world come to a standstill. She is grieving at the recent passing of her 20 year-old son whom she had to bury this weekend. I can only imagine that time is standing still for her. And I'm painfully aware that life moves along for everyone else around her. Yet I also know that when we take time out of our busy lives, when we stop and stand still with our grieving friends even for a few moments to give them help and comfort, that's what gives them the strength to eventually go on. We can't take away their pain, but we can provide help, a comforting presence, and hope.

I can't exactly say that my situation turned out all right, but our lives did move on. My son did beat the odds and he survived albeit with moderate disabilities. I'm grateful that he did not die and that I did not have to bury my child; but I have to say that we do grieve the loss of what could have been. Each year that grief becomes a little less but it never completely goes away. I also have to say that I am grateful for the people who took the time out of their busy lives in those early days to stand still with us - to bring us meals or to offer hugs, prayers and comforting words. And that is my prayer for everyone whose world has come to a standstill:

May the God of all strength and hope give you peace and comfort as you treasure your memories and continue on your journey. May God provide you with family and friends who lift you up and carry you for part of the way. Amen.


"Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn." Romans 12:15