Thursday, January 27, 2011

One Week Later...

First, thank you Dan, (that wasn't static by the way, I really did mean to say you are an awesome brother).  Of course it's all due in part to my superior example as your older sister.

To everyone who has left comments sans "What an informative and interesting take on a very relevant subject..." by generic viagra, thanks for the well wishes. 

Anna Maria is very sweet and her features finely chiseled.  She is the smallest non-premie I've had and we all keep marveling over how tiny she is; and are enjoying the snow days and the deliberate slowness of the world that a new baby and six to eight inches of wet snow demand.

My mom corrected my memory; it was Saint Joseph's, not Saint Luke's --Saint Luke's is where Will was born. 

Every time I go to the hospital, I get to retell my whole health life story and it brings me more stories.   For those who aren't privy to my past, I was a 2 lb 11 onz baby myself back in 1966.  Every once in a while, I go to the grocery store and try to pick out a chicken to see just how small that was.   The intubation tubes back then were brittle by comparison with modern plastic catheters.  This was before medicine had that wonderful steroid that helps open the lungs and assist premies to breathe without undue stress upon birth.  The catheter came out at some point and in the haste of trying to re-stabilize me, the tubing probably broke my right vocal cord bone, dislocating it and leaving me with half the airway of a normal 2 lb 11 onz baby.  Think Swizzle stick for a snorkeling tube and you get an idea of how much air was getting to my lungs.  

The anestsisiologist present at my birth had taken to me and asked every medical professional, even flying to Boston to consult at Children's instead of going to a scheduled conference to determine what to do because I was retracting.   The decision was unanimous.  "Trache."   and so I was.   You know the part about staying in the hospital now until I was almost six months.   The tracheotomy stayed for 8 years.   I really never thought about it much until after it was taken away, you can't know what you never experienced so I never gave it much mind, it simply was.  

But there were effects left to linger from that experience, I learned to fish early because I couldn't swim.  I think I still love fishing more than swimming for that reason.   I remember the first week after I got rid of the tracheotomy riding my bike against orders from the doctor.  I know the bike felt faster and that I've never quite felt that flying freedom I experienced that day.   I have a larger scar on my neck because of it, but the memory of that moment is bigger.

But you start telling this story and there is always so much more than can be explained by a single blog entry or even a slew...because there's the fact that we went to a charismatic retreat when I was six and the participants prayed for my neck to be healed and that weekend was the first time my  mom was ever able to plug my trache up and have me not instantly turn blue.

Aparently I watched tv for a few minutes before deciding to go out and ride my bike.  My mom watched as I rode fearing I would collapse.  I didn't. Two years later, my dad took me to James Avery (Tx silversmith) after the surgery to get rid of the trache. I picked out a silver dove decending. He bought my mom a gold sand dollar pendant.  It has the date the trache was removed engraved on the back.  

To this day, I don't feel right if I'm not wearing my dove and I feel the closest affinity to the Holy Spirit.  It is like a wedding ring to my neck.

And all these little stories merge and reveal deeper patterns that one cannot see when one is in the process of being woven into other people's lives, they indicate the deeper tapestry envisioned by God when He loved each of us into existence.  As an amature weaver, I can only see some of the threads, but I know I've got to hold on to the 12 here and all the family and friends I've been given.

So when I told my brother "God is not Random," it was because my first nurse asked me about my Catholicism as she waited patiently for her boyfriend of five years who was also waiting for her, to find a new job so they could marry and he could provide for their family if they were blessed with children.  Having had a six year courtship myself, I knew how hard this is and then she peeled open, about how people don't understand but I could see the great beauty and gift she was revealing by her sacrifice and his, both showing great courage in a world that does not know the value of "waiting in joyful hope." It struck me as God's humor to give me a nurse living the theme we'd chosen for this year when I was feeling impatient about delivery.  

There is more, always more..there was another mother and two other nurses...will write more of it tomorrow.


Cathy Chapman said...

I was at that retreat where we prayed for you. The priest was a Dominican, Francis McNutt. (He's a dad and maybe granddad by now.) I remember him saying that he believed God had healed you but that it wasn't instantaneous but the tube would be out much earlier than the doctors thought... and it was!

MightyMom said...

waiting is hard. damn hard.

I ain't good at waiting.....

and here I am.....waiting again.

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