There was a moment in the pre-op ward where I stared at the floor and wished it would open up and transport us to another place, but it did not. The door swung open and his name was called. Caleb walked bravely in and stopped briefly at the door of the theatre, closed his eyes and breathed deeply as if willing his courage to compel him forward. He has already been here enough times to know what the next step means.
This was the moment. The moment we had awaited and the moment we dreaded. His eyes stayed fixed on mine as I sang to him “Our God is an awesome God! He reigns from heaven on earth, with wisdom, power and love, our God is an awesome God.” It was the only things we could do - declare the power, might and presence on our Father God in that place and cling so intimately and tightly to it!
There is an indescribable brokenness that you feel as you turn to walk out of the theatre. It is the complete guttered surrender that comes from leaving your child knowing that they will ultimately be awaking to pain and discomfort for probably the next 6 months but at least the next 6 weeks.
I recall the moment years ago when God revealed Mary heart to me- for here was a mother who ultimately stood by her sons side as he was tortured and suffered excruciating pain and literally watching the life drip out of him. Here was a mother who stood her place, kept her eyes on her child and stayed by his side through what must have been the essence of a broken heart. In these moments your strength collapses and once outside you fall into the arms of your husband and your God who is so much bigger than the pain that overwhelms your heart.
So what do you do when you are waiting 4 hours for your precious child to come back to you? We return to the room to the arms of a friend who has walked the steps of our journey so intimately beside us to find a sense of peace within its walls. In sharing we discover that God has given us both the same picture and words- another confirmation of his wholeness in this day and journey. We walked to lunch feeling as if we were in a movie revolving around us and we stood still in the midst. The warmth of the sun tried to melt away the tension that had settled permanently within us and for a few moments it succeeded. There were moments of smiles and laughter that had to be felt or the worry and sadness would swallow us.
THE PHONE CALL
Nearly 3 hours in we get the call - it is one of our surgeons explaining the first part of the surgery has gone better than expected and in hearing those words it feels as though the tension captured in my head explodes at once. Our sister friend on the journey sitting with us explained that my face literally changed in that moment and it was as if everything dropped. 70% done he explains and then in another hour he should be back to us. Over the course of the two phone calls it is explained to us that Caleb has had the list of procedures listed above.
THE WAIT
The 1 hour turned into 2 and there is a sense of protectiveness that stirs and you are found helpless and powerless to do anything but wait for that call. We receive the second call from our surgical team saying the procedure is finished and he is awake but we will have to wait to see him - one excruciating hour later we are called into recovery. It is a maturing of patience in these days where you have no option, no choice - you must be patient and trust. Trust that the moments will be delivered in the right time and even though you wish it was earlier, you find yourself steadying your heart and mind to wait ... simply wait.
RECOVERY
Your feet do not walk quickly enough to get to recovery. He is very sleepy and peaceful and you sigh realising that there is a simple comfort in just being there, next to him, near him, being able to touch, watch and feel him. He is wrapped in a maze of cords and bandages and yet he sits in the midst of them peaceful and sleepy. HiS leg is completely encased as if to protect us until we are strong enough to face the invasive reality of what lies beneath.
The first stage goes well as he slips in and out of his dreams. He tells us that as soon as he closes his eyes, he is dreaming.
But then the pain breaks through the cocktail of drugs … The moaning, the restlessness, the crying, and the sense of disempowerment. He settles, not comfortable but accepting of the pain, as I sing worship over him. Caleb is taught how to use his PCA (how he controls the morphine) and he bravely tries to only use it when the pain is unbearable. His heart rate spikes and his oxygen drops as he becomes agitated and all we can do is offer our arms of comfort and songs of heaven over him.
And then the pain subsides and he settles and this is how the night continues - waves of pain and discomfort subsiding into moments of calm. The hours of night are insignificant as the clock no longer determine our moments but the needs of that time. We are quick to realise that you take strength and peace from the moments of calm and catch your breath as break through pain, muscles spasms and discomfort wash over him quickly and you must respond and be there as they hit.
This was the moment. The moment we had awaited and the moment we dreaded. His eyes stayed fixed on mine as I sang to him “Our God is an awesome God! He reigns from heaven on earth, with wisdom, power and love, our God is an awesome God.” It was the only things we could do - declare the power, might and presence on our Father God in that place and cling so intimately and tightly to it!
There is an indescribable brokenness that you feel as you turn to walk out of the theatre. It is the complete guttered surrender that comes from leaving your child knowing that they will ultimately be awaking to pain and discomfort for probably the next 6 months but at least the next 6 weeks.
I recall the moment years ago when God revealed Mary heart to me- for here was a mother who ultimately stood by her sons side as he was tortured and suffered excruciating pain and literally watching the life drip out of him. Here was a mother who stood her place, kept her eyes on her child and stayed by his side through what must have been the essence of a broken heart. In these moments your strength collapses and once outside you fall into the arms of your husband and your God who is so much bigger than the pain that overwhelms your heart.
So what do you do when you are waiting 4 hours for your precious child to come back to you? We return to the room to the arms of a friend who has walked the steps of our journey so intimately beside us to find a sense of peace within its walls. In sharing we discover that God has given us both the same picture and words- another confirmation of his wholeness in this day and journey. We walked to lunch feeling as if we were in a movie revolving around us and we stood still in the midst. The warmth of the sun tried to melt away the tension that had settled permanently within us and for a few moments it succeeded. There were moments of smiles and laughter that had to be felt or the worry and sadness would swallow us.
THE PHONE CALL
Nearly 3 hours in we get the call - it is one of our surgeons explaining the first part of the surgery has gone better than expected and in hearing those words it feels as though the tension captured in my head explodes at once. Our sister friend on the journey sitting with us explained that my face literally changed in that moment and it was as if everything dropped. 70% done he explains and then in another hour he should be back to us. Over the course of the two phone calls it is explained to us that Caleb has had the list of procedures listed above.
THE WAIT
The 1 hour turned into 2 and there is a sense of protectiveness that stirs and you are found helpless and powerless to do anything but wait for that call. We receive the second call from our surgical team saying the procedure is finished and he is awake but we will have to wait to see him - one excruciating hour later we are called into recovery. It is a maturing of patience in these days where you have no option, no choice - you must be patient and trust. Trust that the moments will be delivered in the right time and even though you wish it was earlier, you find yourself steadying your heart and mind to wait ... simply wait.
RECOVERY
Your feet do not walk quickly enough to get to recovery. He is very sleepy and peaceful and you sigh realising that there is a simple comfort in just being there, next to him, near him, being able to touch, watch and feel him. He is wrapped in a maze of cords and bandages and yet he sits in the midst of them peaceful and sleepy. HiS leg is completely encased as if to protect us until we are strong enough to face the invasive reality of what lies beneath.
The first stage goes well as he slips in and out of his dreams. He tells us that as soon as he closes his eyes, he is dreaming.
But then the pain breaks through the cocktail of drugs … The moaning, the restlessness, the crying, and the sense of disempowerment. He settles, not comfortable but accepting of the pain, as I sing worship over him. Caleb is taught how to use his PCA (how he controls the morphine) and he bravely tries to only use it when the pain is unbearable. His heart rate spikes and his oxygen drops as he becomes agitated and all we can do is offer our arms of comfort and songs of heaven over him.
And then the pain subsides and he settles and this is how the night continues - waves of pain and discomfort subsiding into moments of calm. The hours of night are insignificant as the clock no longer determine our moments but the needs of that time. We are quick to realise that you take strength and peace from the moments of calm and catch your breath as break through pain, muscles spasms and discomfort wash over him quickly and you must respond and be there as they hit.
Day one done and we are acutely aware of the fragrance of the prayers that have wafted over us all day. We have felt acutely held and upheld. And we know and breathe in the strength of knowing we are never alone.
1 comment:
What an awesome way to walk into theatre - I can hear your voices singing - it brings a smile to my face - amongst the tears. What an awesome revelation God gave you of Mary's heart. Janet, we pray for God's strength to uphold you (and Dug too) through this journey - I can only begin to imagine the heartache felt when watching your child go through such pain. We do indeed serve an awesome God though and what a great gift He has given us through the power of prayer!!!
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