Golly, it's been a week. A tough, trying, humbling week. Let's jump right in with a little back story.
Our sweet little guy, Brooks (who will be 5 tomorrow!!) was born with a submucous cleft palate. We've suspected for a while that this was true because he was showing symptoms, most notably, difficulty with speech and certain sounds, however we confirmed it last fall with a scope and, consequently, were quickly scheduled for a reconstructive surgery. Which brings us to this last week. For those of you that don't know our guy, let me help paint a bit of a picture: there isn't much that you can convince Brooks of. He has some real strong truths, opinions, and personality that he doesn't waver much from. He is our true-to-the-core "sour patch kid". My jaw drops at the sweet things he says and does, and at times drops for the very opposite reason. There are times that you will tell him something or ask him a question, and he just flat-out ignores you because, well, he wants to, I guess. So much personality for such a young fella.
So, last week, this strong-willed dude had his reconstructive surgery. There were a lot of circumstances that we were prepped for, and others that you just can't predict. The surgery, itself, went well. We prayed over the procedure and the medical team that orchestrated it all and it seems everyone was pleased with the results. Brooks left the OR with a nasal trumpet to ensure that if, for some reason, his swelling became too much and interfered with his breathing, we would have access to his airway; avoiding a very dangerous situation. During recovery, he had a resting heartrate in the 140's; we assumed it was because he was irritated with this thing that went in his nose, all the way to the back of his throat. We couldn't wait to get it out. After what felt like forever (in actuality it was like 6 hours), the surgeon came by and pulled it out. His heart rate did slow a bit, but was still resting in the 120's. He had a few different medications via his IV to prevent infection and swelling and to keep him comfortable. Night one was pretty uneventful.
Day 2 - Brooks was doing rather well. His heartrate was coming down and he wasn't complaining of any pain, however he was absolutely refusing to swallow anything, including his own saliva. This became our very own, real-life example of ,"If You Give a Mouse a Cookie". Here it is: If you don't swallow your own saliva, you won't drink any fluids. If you don't drink any fluids, you don't drink your liquid medication. If you don't do any of the aforementioned, you don't leave the darn-tootin' hospital because you depend solely on your IV to provide necessary hydration and pain relief. So there we were. Technically, we probably could have gone home. However, they certainly weren't going to send us home with his refusal to swallow. We would have ended up back at the hospital because of a pain crisis or dehydration, neither of which are desirable. Keep in mind, baby sis is along for the ride too because she has decided she's going to be stubborn like her big bro - she absolutely refuses to take a bottle. So there I was, with everything but the kitchen sink, in this hospital room "nursing" my almost 5-year-old back to health while literally nursing my 7-month-old. I was mommin' hard. (This is probably the part where I should first mention how great of a partner that I have in my husband.) That's exactly what we were, partners. You do this, I'll do that. You take that child, I'll take this one. We had a system. We had friends and family helping in the afternoon with our oldest, then my husband would leave the hospital in the evening to go be with her. He would take care of the evening duties with her, while I was at the hospital with the younger two. Then in the morning, he'd get up, get her off to school, and head back up to the hospital (with a coffee in hand, bless his heart). Momma's, we did this for three days, and let me tell you, it felt like three weeks, at least.
Day 3- Brooks needed a bit more hydration and some IV Benadryl. His face was red and rashy; of which the origin is still unknown. Overall, though, he was doing well. This was the day ! We were gonna swallow, drink, and go home. We tried the hospital bath, which was the first time, post-op, that our sweet guy decided he was going to talk. He and Daddy excitedly played "animals" - a sure sign that after the bath, he'd decide to swallow and then drink. Nope. No, he did not. We were staying another night.
Day 4 - This was the day! (For real, this time). Daddy got to the hospital, coffee in hand (bless his heart again) and re-explained the importance of swallow, drinking, eating (as much as you eat on a full liquid diet), and taking our medicine. And slowly, but surely, he did it! He had tears of joy when he realized that he was doing what he needed to do to be able to go home. And, by 12:30 that afternoon, it was official! He was parading the halls telling "all of his doctor friends", "Guess what?! I get to go home. Sorry I can't stay, but I get to go home now!" Gosh, how glorious. Being at home (even for this extrovert) never felt so good.
For the sake of time, there were a few details that I spared (believe it or not), but what I don't want to spare mentioning was the blessings that we felt from start to finish. At times, I felt myself sinking, I felt the tears welling up in my eyes, I felt these circumstances getting the best of me. I felt myself questioning, "What did I do? Maybe we shouldn't have done this" (like it was really a choice). But God! Instead, I decided to focus on Him, and when I did, I seriously can't even explain the amount of clarity it provided me. There were (and still are as we're healing) so many moments and ways where I felt (feel) so much peace. That inexplainable peace that the Apostle Paul talks about in Philippians. But, again, for the sake of time, I want to just highlight my "top three".
First, our "village". My gosh. The amount of people that reached out to tell us that they were praying or thinking of us or asking how they could help, the meals, the gestures, the positivity, I could go on and on.... Y'all I'm not exaggerating when I say it was overwhelming (in the best way!). I had terrible service at the hospital, so believe me when I say that I couldn't update people quickly enough. I am so grateful for the wonderful people in our life. I truly felt seen and loved. This includes my husband's job and his coworkers. We're truly blessed; my husband works alongside some incredible people. Their understanding, grace, and generosity is unmatched. I'm so, so grateful. Also, I don't want to forget the hospital staff. Goodness, gracious. They do a hard job and the individuals that helped us, did it so well.
Next, perspective. I don't want this to sound ignorant because I know that not everyone has the positive outcome that we're experiencing. However, I used to be on the other side of this. I worked at the Children's Hospital for five years, and I did my job. I loved my job. I thought I empathized well. This put it into overdrive though. If you're reading this and have a medically complex child or maybe you have medical setbacks of your own, I see you a little clearer now. Hear me when I say, you’re amongst the strongest of them. I pray that you have a village like we do. I pray that you know that God sees you and wants to meet you in that hospital room the way that He met us. You're not traversing this alone; just as we didn't.
Lastly, and maybe the most vulnerable, is my husband. I've always wanted this blog to be a platform where I can be honest and it be real and relatable. So, hear me when I say that my husband and I have been goin' through. it. Whatever it is, it's not fun. We are in a tough season with young kids, his demanding job, his travel schedule, his commitment to Grad school, and all the other commitments that we're involved in. For some reason, it seems like, lately, our communication has just not landed with one another. Or, when it was time to communicate, neither one of us had the energy to do so. As our God promises, though, he uses "bad" situations for good. This last week reaffirmed that we make a darn good team. When it mattered most, we came together - for the sake of our babies, our family, and the vows that we made to each other. I am reminded why I chose him to be my partner and why I love him as much as I do. This was an important reminder that we can get through hard stuff, together.
This week was tough, it was challenging, it wasn't fun, but I feel like I am more humbled, stronger, and better off because of it. I had to face this challenge head on, there was no way around it. I'm just grateful that I didn't face it alone. With our village, my husband, and our glorious God, it's proof that I (and you) can do hard things. If you find yourself doing hard things, do it while being surrounded.
Until next time..
Your,
(Surrounded) Christian Momma
