Tag Archives: rehabilitation

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Family Circus (continued)

It was Sunday. Maddie awoke to give her son his seizure medicine and couldn’t sleep. She sat at the east window and watched the sun rise. First the glow of grey turned into yellow, then the bright white. She got up and started the coffee. She should sleep but she can’t. Too many shortened nights of sleep made her feel like she had to keep going.

The house was quiet. She liked these moments best. It gave her peace. It made her feel like she could do what she wanted. She pulled out a book she had been reading for weeks. Her library let her borrow it again and again. She was close to finishing. She opened the book and began to read.

A distant beeping cut through her concentration. The pulse oximeter sounded, beeping through her pleasure. She waited. It continued. She blinked slowly, closed her book and walked to her son’s bedroom.

He was sitting up, facing the door when his body dropped into the bed as if he lost consciousness, then sat up again and laughed. Maddie checked her watch and began timing the seizure. He was having clustered seizures and began trembling, first on the right side of his body and moving onto the rest of his body. She grabbed the magnet to magically end this torrent. Nothing changed. His body continued trembling. She reached for his other medicine, her heart rate increased. She looked at her watch and noted the time. She tore the package and put the nasal spray inside his nostril and squeezed the contents.

His body stopped moving. His eyes closed and he remained peaceful. She looked at the clock again. She began to feel the tears climb. She let them come quiet down her cheeks. She wiped her eyes, then took a deep breath. She slumped into the rocking chair, closed her eyes and listened to the house noise.

Nothing. No one but herself was awake. Everyone slept. Alone again, she slept.

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Moody

Sitting with my 8 year old disabled son on my lap as I listen to the solo performance of Breath of Heaven, I feel the tears fighting their way to the surface. I hold my son because the seizures seem to avoid him if he feels comfort from an embrace of love. The soloist’s voice carries my tears closer to the surface as I identify with the pain, struggle and loneliness of being a caregiver. I adjusted his shirt, his position, searching to slow my breath and keep the tears back.

As she sang, “I have traveled many moonless nights with a babe inside, and I wonder what I’ve done.” The truth broke through my wall of protection.”You’ve chosen me now, to carry (my son). Iam waiting, in a silent prayer, I am frightened by the load I bear. In a world as cold as stone. Must I walk this path alone? Be with me now. Be with me now.Breath of heaven hold me together.Be forever near me….” My tears rushed and broke my walls. I struggled to keep them under control.The words from the soloist’s song were so true. My role in caring for my son gives me the knowledge to know the nativity story at the most personal level.

I sat in the third row, clearly seen by the pastor, yet trying to hide my tears. The journey is so long, ardorous and without rest. My son’s full rehabilitation still not within sight. “Breath of heaven, lighten my darkness, pour over me your holiness. Breath of heaven”.

I continued to listen to the words and know them as my own; “Do you wonder as you watch my face, if a wiser one should have had my place? But I offer all I am for the mercy of your plan. Help me be strong, help me be, help me.” I couldn’t slow the tears because it was all true. The pain, the wonder of my angel’s miracle is real too. He’s almost walking by himself. He wr

My middle son turned to me, seeing the tears and asked me what was wrong. I replied, “I have a headache.” He hugged me. My mood lifted. The soloist sang, “Breath of heaven, hold me together, be forever near me, breath of heaven”. My encouragement taken from the words of a song and my son’s embrace, I stopped the tears.

Not knowing a fellow parishener was watching, she came over to say, “You’re  the best mother, I’ve ever seen. You care for him so well.”

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Angel Power Grows

This day. This amazing day. He shines his smile, hitting anyone in its way with warmth and charm. He grows. He works harder than I have ever seen him work. As he rode in the train with his nurse, his head thrown back to release the exulting joy to be moving in something so gleeful. I marvel at his delight, as he moves with the tiny tot train made from a riding mower. The man or engineer looked over sized for such a vehicle. He smiled and waved at all who connected visually. The Buddy Walk never had a train before. This year’s train was great for the excitement children were already thinking when Christmas truly arrives.

Before arriving to the Annual Buddy Walk, we sat in the car, patiently waiting for the traffic to change because the light had, however, no one was moving, and red-blue sirens were sounding in my rear view mirror, impatiently waiting for the traffic to find a way to pull aside and let them through. It became a sudden reminder of a day not so far away, where my angel was in need of rescue. My oldest son said, “Mommy, someone got hurt?”

“Yes, Sam”, was my reply. “Pray for them.”

“Dear Jesus, please make the hurt person all better. Amen”

“Amen.” I kept looking around to see how bad the situation was, and whether I had it worse. I did. Thankfully, two of the three drivers were able to leave their cars. The third seemed unconscious. Rescue workers were checking her pulse and neck. I turned away from watching, realizing I would cause another accident if I didn’t turn my focus in front of me. Our thoughts sober and thinking about the unconscious driver; her windshield broken, the air bag released. When I turned to my rear view mirror centered on my angel, I noticed his head stacked forward as if his neck didn’t have strength to hold up his head. As we pulled in to the parking area, I noticed he still didn’t move. We awakened him with water. He perked up some, but seemed to wilt like a flower in too much sun. We pushed ourselves toward a shaded area where he could flourish, and he did. Swinging his arms vivaciously whenever the train came by him.

My reflections tell me we are not alone. As my angel continues to progress and find his way back home to his immensely loving family, I know that he is different and will remain different. I may or may not be dealing  with a complete child. He has great lengths to go.His “isms” remain uniquely his own. Thankfully, this amazing day held much more healing.