Words like "small bulges in two of his discs" and "signs of arthritis" might not normally make a mother smile.
Unless they are preceded by "no signs of cancer" and "no spinal tumors."
So, we keep doing what we are doing.
Praying and resting.
(and we'll add praising to the list as well!)
Honestly, I suspect that a certain 17 year old boy doesn't mind resting a bit every now and then. (and I'm pretty sure he doesn't miss garbage detail either.)
This has been a unique summer. (Did we even have a summer? I seem to have missed it.)
At the end of the school year, (a lifetime ago) Jessi was dealing with some health issues. Several trips to the doctor later, a diagnosis was given, medication prescribed and off we went, waiting for life to return to normal.
Only...it didn't.
Little did we know, the medication prescribed causes feelings of anxiety in people who don't normally deal with anxious feelings. For people who battle anxiety, it unleashes a tidal wave of endless panic attacks.
So we spent endless weeks fighting unseen demons as we waited for the medication to work it's way through her system. Words cannot do justice to the trauma of four or five panic attacks a day, literally confining her to her room as the only place of real safety. Finally, towards the middle of July, she began to return her normal routines.
Just in time for Jonathan to go to the doctor for his constant back pain.
The initial diagnosis was/is a fractured vertebrae. Huh? (We're still not sure how that happened.) He ended up being fitted for a back brace and we settled down, anticipating a return to normal.
Silly me.
A week passed. Then, Jonathan stopped eating. We've been through this a few times before. Three years ago he became ill for a time and lost 30 pounds during the summer. (He has some reflux issues and hates to throw up. The easiest way to avoid that is to stop eating. Not.) At the time he was getting a bit "fluffy" and the first ten pounds lost weren't really a big deal. By the time he lost the entire 30, he was underweight and extremely skinny. Several doctors visits, food adjustments and some medication later and he began to eat...not enough to gain weight, but enough to not lose weight. In the years since, we have had a few "episodes" but we have kept them under control and everything was fine.
Until the end of July.
He couldn't/wouldn't eat, drink or sleep. From Friday until Monday.
Saturday night, I started forcing him to eat ice chips every 20 minutes so that he would stay hydrated. We did not sleep. He did not sleep. He could not leave his room or even his bed. (It was during this time that his sister began to read to him.) Finally, when Monday morning came, off we went to the doctor. By this time we were sure that this was an anxiety issue and that he could starve himself if we weren't careful. Fortunately, the doctor was able to find the right dose of anxiety meds for him and he slowly began to return to "normal."
At least everything but his back did.
School started. We obtained two sets of textbooks so he didn't have to carry them back and forth to school. He wears his brace and doesn't bend or lift. Yet still there is pain.
Pain when sitting too long.
Pain when standing too long.
More pain than there should be considering the length of time that he's had the injury.
So today we went to have an MRI.
To look for defects in his spinal column.
(Of course, during all of these months we've also been immersed in planning a wedding.)
Then you can throw in a trip to the ER Sunday morning (it was after midnight so it must have been morning) with the bride-to-be who was certain that she was having a heart attack. (She wasn't. She was having a pleurisy attack. Which, while uncomfortable, is certainly much better than a heart attack.)
And I'm still waiting for our return to "normal." Except I'm beginning to think that maybe this is the new "normal."
But that's okay. God has been with us every step of the way. We have found comfort in the written Word, in scripture memorized, in prayers prayed. And we are blessed.
Sometimes I wish I could drink grace, mercy, and compassion (or at least a little verbal discretion) the same way you'd drink a morning cup of coffee. I have a feeling it might make the day a little smoother...
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Weeks ago, when he was so very ill, she began.
Sitting at his bedside, she read to him for hours. The sound of her voice, the characters brought to life, distracted him from illness as nothing else could. He began to look forward to the ritual, even as he began to heal.
Nightly he asks, "will you read tonight?"
Nightly, as I sit in the kitchen, I hear their voices echoing down the hall. Laughter fills the room.
I think she looks forward to the reading as much as he does.
They converse, he and she, about things other than the book they are reading.
Talking about school, friends, life. Nurturing the roots of their relationship.
I wonder if they both long for this time together as the day of her leaving grows closer.
And perhaps not just my mother's heart recognizes the swiftly passing days...
