Just before I lay my head to sleep on most nights, I turn on the television and search for the show that will offer an entertaining background noise as I sit at my bedroom desk one last time to return emails, chat with mom friends over IM or email and check the two or three blogs I follow religiously. However, last night's television noise set the pace for how today unfolded, with no prior planning.
I don't even know what channel I set it on. The story featured was about an incredible medical doctor who heals many children. I was following the story right up until I forcefully reached for the "OFF" button because of a disturbing noise coming from the segment. It was the high pitched sound of a hospital monitor. You know, the one that regulates the heart beat, the oxygen sats, etc. For obvious reasons, it took me back to many painful hours, days and months in Isabela's ICU home. So, in my bed, I cried. When I prayed for the night, I again thanked God and marvelled on how he got me through that experience three years ago. I asked him to spare me of that at least for another little while, telling him I am not ready to do that again. It wasn't 5 minutes until I was fast asleep.
At 2:30 am, Sammy and I hear Isabela through the baby monitor. I jumped up knowing something had to be wrong. Crystal was sleeping right next to her, but I still knew I had to go, she needed me. Isabela was vomiting all over her bed. I soothed her, massaged her and held her hair back for her. The same scenario insisted on repeating itself through the night, on our bed. We went through a collection of bath towels to use as catching mitts of her vomit. I was awake from 2:30 am through 6:30 am. I remembered my prayer just a few hours before then and thought about the period of 18 months we went through with similar nightly vomiting. At that time, Isabela was being fed with a feeding tube throughout the night. Now, and forever, her stomach's pylorus will never function normally, thus not emptying her stomach fast enough or well enough. I always wonder if she will have a complication again. For those 4 hours, as Isabela's head rested on my chest as I sat up and leaned on my headboard, I went back to many nights spent at the hospital and many nights spent at home while Isabela slept in the hospital without me. By the time 7 am rolled around, I expected a need for a pediatrician's visit. I canceled Isabela's previously scheduled swim lesson and her playdate.
9 am...nothing. 3 hours of no vomit, no discomfort, but much eagerness for play time. Isabela seemed miraculously cured. I wondered if it was a dream...a nightmare. But, Crystal, Isabela and I piled into my SUV and we headed to Memorial Park. I had slept three hours, Isabela very little too, so we walked and walked, no jogging...no one spoke. I felt guilty thinking we should interact verbally or something. But, we didn't. I was extremely tired and very pensive. Instead, we walked together, we played together, we climbed, we swung and ran. In the end, Isabela asked to be photographed (pic near tree). She didn't speak, just smiled. Funny thing is that she was talking volumes to me with her smiles and her eyes. It was such a profound connection.
I think God gave me that tough night in order to reconnect. I wondered what I needed to do with that. I don't know the answer, but I do know that it means something. I asked him to not send me back, but he wants to send me back in some smart, useful way.
As a small step, I am making a commitment to a special part of Texas Childrens Hospital. I am going to go back and make small, meaningful donations to The Ronald McDonald House. As we speak, Isabela and Crystal are sharing "sister bonding" time and shopping for cokes, chips and granola bars to take to the hospital on Friday. I know, not the healthiest, but I was told by the RMH that they can't afford to buy those items with their funds, but it's what parents appreciate the most. Our little donation does not seem sizable, but my idea came from the joy I always got, as a patient's mother, grabbing a snack from the community kitchen knowing that other local citizens dropped them off for me. It was just a little gesture that always eased my loneliness. Crystal and I talked about how she would explain it to Isabela on their way to the store. Hopefully, it's something more concrete for her than her daily reminders to us that the kids in China and Africa are without many things. The plan is to also start a "Share" box to fill with coins and dollar bills so that we can save for our subsequent donations to the Ronald McDonald House. Once we get Isabela started on the allowance plan to teach her about managing money, we will encourage her to deposit money into the Share Box. While the idea is about being generous with time and money, the fundamental lesson I want her to learn is that she is on this earth to give, to share and love.
Like I have shared with close friends, I have a small uncertainty about the purposes of praying. Aside from praising and giving thanks, I often refrain from asking for anything because I know that I really am not the one who knows what I want or need. When it's something really huge to me, I still try it though, the asking. Evidently, I was right again. I asked to not be taken to the hospital anytime soon, but the plan IS for me to go back. Tomorrow it will be for snacks and drinks, but I will continue to question whether that is enough and think of other ways to share my blessings with the hospital.
On a final note, once Isabela vomited her last tummy reserves, she turned to me, pulled me forward toward her face, kissed me tightly and said "Mami, te quiero". That's what got me through the day....
Yo tambien te quiero pequena,
Mami
1 comment:
Beautiful.
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