Have you ever sat in a waiting room? Waiting for the doctor to come back in and tell you what's wrong with you? Waited for test results? Waiting for endless hours as your child burns with a fever and cries because they are in pain, and yet there is absolutely nothing you can do to fix it? Your foot taps nervously without your notice. Your stomach churns. You feel desperate, out of control. You pray constantly without words but with cries for help. The cry of please, please Lord. Because He knows your heart. He knows the struggle you can't breathe into words.
I'm stuck in a waiting room right now. I have no idea how long I will be made to wait. They say 2-4 weeks. If feels more like a lifetime. See I'm waiting for my future son or daughter to be born. I'm waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting for my caller ID to say DHS. Waiting for the words that will come while I silently pray, Please God Please.... As I listen I will forget to breathe. Everything else will fade away. The noise of the children at home around me, the dish I was just about to put into the sink, all that, all that will just be gone. I'll feel that deep sick to my stomach feeling that comes with adrenaline, fear, and silent hope, all mixed together. I can hear my heart in my own ears racing on faster and faster. Still I will forget to breathe. I wont remember to do so until I hang up. I know this is how it will be because I've been here before. But this time....This time is different.
Last time in the waiting room I was full of hope and excitement. My biggest worry as I answered the call I had been waiting for was if drugs would be on board at the time of birth. Even with just that small worry the world paused for me when I answered the phone. That mix of fear and excitement were coursing through me. My heart leapt forward without me. I heard her say that he's here. He's good. Mom managed to stay clean the last 3 weeks since she took off from treatment. He looks just like his brother! He has a clubbed foot though. The nurse said its a pretty significant one but thankfully its just one of his feet and not both.....
Two minutes go by as she tells me the details of who I will hear from when it's time to pick him up from the hospital. I hang up. I realized I had been holding my breath as I frantically called Husby and shared the news. I went immediately to my computer to look up what a clubbed foot was and what treatment would look like. I discover that it means 6-8 weeks of on going full leg casts from hip to toe. I realize it means weekly appointments. It will mean having to get creative with clothing and mobility. It will mean a baby who is upset by confinement. I remember the small passing thought of how I won't be able to carry him in a ring sling like I was looking forward to. I went on to read he will wear braces on his feet until he is 4 years old. 4 years old?! His development may look different as he's learning to roll over, sit up, crawl and walk. I called my besties. Asked their advice. Could I do this? Would they help? When you have a ton of kids logistics come into play. How will I take 6 kids to the doctors office weekly for casts? I'll need to farm them out. Besties say that got me covered. I say a prayer of thanksgiving for the people in my life that the Lord has blessed me with. It takes a village to make this calling on my life possible. And let me just tell you, I have the world's best village.
Two weeks of little mans life go by. The phone rings again. This time it's his pediatricians office. There's a problem they say. This time the world around me goes into slow motion. That feeling of adrenaline and sickness comes back in full force. He has several markers for Cystic Fibrosis that came back on his PKU testing that was done at birth they say. Another test will be needed to confirm it. We schedule the appointment. I hang up. It feels like I may never breathe again. One phone call has altered the course of my life, and my child's. I sit down at the computer again to start looking up what cystic fibrosis is what it will mean for him while I call Husby on the phone. I bust into tears the second he answers. I read on. I see the words through blurry eyes. No cure. Life shortening. Life expectancy 37. Some CF children don't survive through childhood. Digestive and lung issues. Frequent hospitalizations. The list goes on....
I find myself wishing that his clubbed foot was once again my biggest worry for him. There was a moment after the original phone call that I wondered if the clubbed foot would be too much for me. Could I manage all that entailed while raising my other 6 children? I see now that God was preparing me. He had to bring me through that before I could face his cystic fibrosis diagnosis. From that moment on I had to hand it over. It was too big for me. It continues to be too big for me. But it's not bigger than God. It's not too much for Him. Thankfully He is my measure and my portion. He gives me what I need when I need it. He fills my cup, and my cup runneth over. This child is my joy. An ever abundant blessing. I'm thankful to be part of his journey. God has chosen this little one just for me, and me for him. God's got me covered. He has my back. And yet...
I sit in life's waiting room once again. I'm having trouble leaving the room. The stakes are much higher this time. The fears reality. I feel stuck here as I wait for the phone call that will pause my world as I hear the words that will determine my babies life long struggles. But that's just it. I have absolutely no doubt that I'm supposed to be in this very waiting room, waiting for this special baby. I know in my heart that we have been called to parent this child along with our 7 other blessings. I know it sounds crazy. But this is our brand of crazy. You have your own crazy, trust me you do, and I have mine. This is the life He has laid out before me and it humbles me to the core that He trusts me with it.
So here I sit, and here I wait. I pace the waiting room floor. There are grooves worn where I tread. I lift up prayers that this little one will defy all the odds stacked against them. I internally panic each time my phone rings or an email comes through. I know the moment is coming. I can't help but worry non stop for this child. It's hard to have no control, to have no information. Knowing someone else is making unacceptable choices with your child's life in utero.... It's too much. It's way too much for me. But once again it's not too much for Him. So I'm going to try to curl up in His lap as I wait in this waiting room for this child that He all ready knows. Please come wait with me. Offer up prayers for this sweet little one. Prayers that defy the odds, prayers of protection, prayers for peace, and for a constant understanding that despite this being too much for me, He's got this. And he's got me.
I'm stuck in a waiting room right now. I have no idea how long I will be made to wait. They say 2-4 weeks. If feels more like a lifetime. See I'm waiting for my future son or daughter to be born. I'm waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting for my caller ID to say DHS. Waiting for the words that will come while I silently pray, Please God Please.... As I listen I will forget to breathe. Everything else will fade away. The noise of the children at home around me, the dish I was just about to put into the sink, all that, all that will just be gone. I'll feel that deep sick to my stomach feeling that comes with adrenaline, fear, and silent hope, all mixed together. I can hear my heart in my own ears racing on faster and faster. Still I will forget to breathe. I wont remember to do so until I hang up. I know this is how it will be because I've been here before. But this time....This time is different.
Last time in the waiting room I was full of hope and excitement. My biggest worry as I answered the call I had been waiting for was if drugs would be on board at the time of birth. Even with just that small worry the world paused for me when I answered the phone. That mix of fear and excitement were coursing through me. My heart leapt forward without me. I heard her say that he's here. He's good. Mom managed to stay clean the last 3 weeks since she took off from treatment. He looks just like his brother! He has a clubbed foot though. The nurse said its a pretty significant one but thankfully its just one of his feet and not both.....
Two minutes go by as she tells me the details of who I will hear from when it's time to pick him up from the hospital. I hang up. I realized I had been holding my breath as I frantically called Husby and shared the news. I went immediately to my computer to look up what a clubbed foot was and what treatment would look like. I discover that it means 6-8 weeks of on going full leg casts from hip to toe. I realize it means weekly appointments. It will mean having to get creative with clothing and mobility. It will mean a baby who is upset by confinement. I remember the small passing thought of how I won't be able to carry him in a ring sling like I was looking forward to. I went on to read he will wear braces on his feet until he is 4 years old. 4 years old?! His development may look different as he's learning to roll over, sit up, crawl and walk. I called my besties. Asked their advice. Could I do this? Would they help? When you have a ton of kids logistics come into play. How will I take 6 kids to the doctors office weekly for casts? I'll need to farm them out. Besties say that got me covered. I say a prayer of thanksgiving for the people in my life that the Lord has blessed me with. It takes a village to make this calling on my life possible. And let me just tell you, I have the world's best village.
Two weeks of little mans life go by. The phone rings again. This time it's his pediatricians office. There's a problem they say. This time the world around me goes into slow motion. That feeling of adrenaline and sickness comes back in full force. He has several markers for Cystic Fibrosis that came back on his PKU testing that was done at birth they say. Another test will be needed to confirm it. We schedule the appointment. I hang up. It feels like I may never breathe again. One phone call has altered the course of my life, and my child's. I sit down at the computer again to start looking up what cystic fibrosis is what it will mean for him while I call Husby on the phone. I bust into tears the second he answers. I read on. I see the words through blurry eyes. No cure. Life shortening. Life expectancy 37. Some CF children don't survive through childhood. Digestive and lung issues. Frequent hospitalizations. The list goes on....
I find myself wishing that his clubbed foot was once again my biggest worry for him. There was a moment after the original phone call that I wondered if the clubbed foot would be too much for me. Could I manage all that entailed while raising my other 6 children? I see now that God was preparing me. He had to bring me through that before I could face his cystic fibrosis diagnosis. From that moment on I had to hand it over. It was too big for me. It continues to be too big for me. But it's not bigger than God. It's not too much for Him. Thankfully He is my measure and my portion. He gives me what I need when I need it. He fills my cup, and my cup runneth over. This child is my joy. An ever abundant blessing. I'm thankful to be part of his journey. God has chosen this little one just for me, and me for him. God's got me covered. He has my back. And yet...
I sit in life's waiting room once again. I'm having trouble leaving the room. The stakes are much higher this time. The fears reality. I feel stuck here as I wait for the phone call that will pause my world as I hear the words that will determine my babies life long struggles. But that's just it. I have absolutely no doubt that I'm supposed to be in this very waiting room, waiting for this special baby. I know in my heart that we have been called to parent this child along with our 7 other blessings. I know it sounds crazy. But this is our brand of crazy. You have your own crazy, trust me you do, and I have mine. This is the life He has laid out before me and it humbles me to the core that He trusts me with it.
So here I sit, and here I wait. I pace the waiting room floor. There are grooves worn where I tread. I lift up prayers that this little one will defy all the odds stacked against them. I internally panic each time my phone rings or an email comes through. I know the moment is coming. I can't help but worry non stop for this child. It's hard to have no control, to have no information. Knowing someone else is making unacceptable choices with your child's life in utero.... It's too much. It's way too much for me. But once again it's not too much for Him. So I'm going to try to curl up in His lap as I wait in this waiting room for this child that He all ready knows. Please come wait with me. Offer up prayers for this sweet little one. Prayers that defy the odds, prayers of protection, prayers for peace, and for a constant understanding that despite this being too much for me, He's got this. And he's got me.
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