This Place

It was Friday, but not just any ordinary Friday. It was pajama day at school. I tried to get the day started a little earlier in hopes I could better remember everything that needed to be done today: trying to calculate if Rylie’s morning doctor appointment would be done in enough time that we could squeeze in a half day of school in before her afternoon therapies, what ends I needed to tie up on Hudson’s home school side of things, what equipment I needed to load in the car for her therapy later, figuring what time to get dinner in the crock pot for our dinner party later this evening…..

My brain was going through the usual hamster wheel of reminders and thoughts as I rushed to get in the shower after half a cup of coffee. Rylie was still talking about the Dora movie Hudson picked out for her at the library the day before. She had been reminding me since last night that she wanted to watch it after school today. Hudson had a cough this morning but hopefully it’s just his allergies again……

We arrive at the appointment where her doctor wants to have an extra couple of tests done at which point I abruptly realize my day is NOT going to go as I anticipated. I quickly calculate the minutes and hours realizing after we have these tests run there will be no point in checking her in to school. Oh well, at least we will make her therapies, although at this point, I’m a little more than slightly annoyed just at the fact that we are even at the clinic at all, so soon again after returning home last week from our two week stint. Rylie is quite disappointed at the idea of missing school entirely. She is super serious about her schedule and school. However, she handles the change of plans much better than I- as usual. Only requesting we watch that Dora movie from the library when we get home. I assured her we certainly would, as soon as we get back from therapy.

We get the labs, the ultrasound, we head back up to the 12th floor. We wait. We wait longer. It’s now lunch and we have been here for several hours already. So in hopes they were serving my favorite soup again, we head down to grab lunch whilst we wait. Bummed, not just at the discovery that my soup was not being served, but that not even one soup was gluten free. I decide on a small side of chickpea/pesto/chicken thing, and grab Rylie some Mac and cheese. Upon returning to the 12th floor I realize she is looking a little flushed. And her head is burning up. Lovely… They call us back to discuss the ultrasound. She now has 102 degree fever. Because of some other random symptoms they decide to get a urine sample with a catheter. I proceed to go ahead and cancel her therapy appointments. (And then our dinner party because this is only going south from here). Her dr leaves the room and returns. She looks at me a bit grim faced: we are going to need to admit her. Now, it’s hard to say what look I may have had on my face at this point. I would imagine it was something along the lines of shock and grief with a death stare mixed in. “Wha- like- whuh- um- huh? I don’t- like- but- wha???” Eloquence was certainly far from my ability at this point. I didn’t know if I wanted to cry or laugh. I mean, we JUST got out of the hospital for TWO weeks just ONE week ago. Like, are you frickin’ kidding me?!?!

After she explained her reasons, I thought with boldness in my head, “Well we aren’t going without a fight!” Followed by a quiet, polite question if she thought it absolutely necessary to be admitted. She gave me some more medically charged reasonings which caused me to easily agree, at which point I made a feeble attempt to make some lame joke, adding how it’s convenient she is already in her pajamas, in attempt to lighten the mood, as her doctor was clearly feeling badly about having to make this decision.

She leaves the room to make the call, and I look at Rylie thinking she is going to freak if I tell her she has to stay. I mean, this kid HAS to be totally traumatized after this last stay. The no eating, the surgery, the sleep deprivation, the loss of privacy… -wait, I was talking about what traumatized her, not me….

Anyhow, I lean down and gently try to explain the scenario, preparing myself for her to be really sad. She looks at me and says, “Dora??!” Ahem… Dora? You are worried about that dang library movie? Oh my heavens. Okay, I will get the Dora movie and bring it here ok? This was the only assurance I need give her. That she will definitely watch that Dora movie before this day is over. Meanwhile, after speaking with Paul, he tells me Hudson is just not feeling well…

We arrive at our room after the security guard lets me pass with an- “Oh yeah, you know how this works,” and the child life specialist comes to basically say, “What the heck?” Because she is almost as bewildered as I am at our newest admission. The floor doctor comes in later with a look of pity, as though he wanted to give us a hug. He lets us know it’s probably at least a two night stay. He knows how disheartening it must be to be here again. So soon. So. Very. Soon. And so after the last of the small flood of people containing doctors, nurses, residents, a vascular team, and an ultrasound tech, makes their way out of our room, I start thinking again.
I’m kinda mad. I’m frustrated. And yet so oddly comforted by the fact that so many of the hospital staff now know us by name. And hungry, because that chickpea basil thing was not a very satisfying lunch… After Rylie gets her dinner, (which consisted of Alaskan seafood purée, which she seemingly thoroughly enjoyed to my surprise) I leave to go grab my pillow and an overly prepared overnight bag from home and promise to bring her Dora movie and her Christmas Minnie Mouse whom she was requesting.
I get home to find Hudson looking completely puny on the couch. I feel his head, check his temp. He has a fever. Let me tell you, my kids are relatively well. They honestly do not get sick a lot. I look at Paul with weary, empty eyes. What is this? What is happening? Both my kids have fevers and Rylie’s in the hospital. Again?!?! Hudson is sick? Again?!?! I kiss Hudson’s head and tell him how sorry I am he is sick and that I have to leave again. I get a couple of desperate hugs and hop in the van to head back to the hospital.

All day I’ve tried to pray. This is probably nothing life threatening, or extremely serious. But I’m discouraged. I try to think of things to pray or say but nothing. “Why?” I find myself whispering. “What are you doing? Allowing? What is this season we are in?” I turn on the radio to hear a pastor speaking about something along the lines of God hearing us when we look to Him. About honoring Him. He will Honor those who honor Him. A short while later I come across a verse in Psalms about the Lord has not forsaken those who seek Him.

I also was listening to current events on the radio about refugees from Syria and the uproar it’s causing. I struggle to know my circumstances could be so much worse. And yet I still find myself having a bit of a pity party. The kind where you stop at the McDonald’s drive thru not once, but twice within the hour at two separate locations. Yes, it’s that kind of despair, where you try to drown your frustrations in super sized salty fries. Only to feel slightly more bloated and a little nauseated after…

Honestly though, I just don’t get it. I keep thinking God MUST be trying to bring us to something or teach us something so incredibly profound during this season. But I honestly can’t see it yet. Am I not looking hard enough? Or is He not ready to show me?

I return to our room and announce that I have successfully retrieved the Dora movie and Christmas Minnie. She is beyond thrilled. She’s in a hospital bed, with an IV in her foot, and her O2 monitor smiling because I got the Dora movie. Her nurse comes in and she announces what she is watching. She is so happy and content.

I really never fully understand what goes on in that little precious brain of hers. I know I aspire every day to have even an ounce of her joy, peace, and demeanor. Maybe God wants me to really aspire like never before to be more like her. Maybe He wants me to continue to honor Him and acknowledge Him even when I can’t. Even. Maybe He wants all of me, and I’ve been holding back….

If you are so reminded, you could continue to pray for us. Pray that God would speak clearly and specifically to Paul and I. That He would reveal His goodness through this chaos. I know it’s there. But sometimes I start looking at the water below and begin to sink. Pray for our faith and that we would know His love. And please pray His healing hands on our children, and for wisdom for Rylie’s doctors.