When I Am Not in Control

After a long stretch of good health, we had a round of sick kids this past month. I started things off with a flu thing and passed it to them.

The signs were there for Ben and I was in denial a little bit. He always has trouble with his windpipe when he gets sick; it inflames and causes croup. Which exacerbates his asthma. But the medical books tell you that should be over by age 7. Not so for him.

So we were watching "Fellowship of the Ring" with him. He had a box of tissues, but seemed fine.

And then in 10 minutes, he went in to a slide. One minute we were watching a movie, the next he flicked off the TV and said he had to stop and took his first croupy cough. The nebulizer treatment didn't work; the steamy shower didn't work. We tried each twice. Vomiting.

I checked on him just after midnight and there was terror in his eyes. He can't really talk when he can't breathe so he had written us a few notes early on. I asked: "Do you want to go to the hospital?" Yes, he nodded.

I despise hospitals, I get asked questions, I wash my hands and use hand sanitizer constantly. But we went. He was terrified. I was terrified.

In these moments, I pray and wonder if....

We went. The night air helped, even though it was warm and humid air. We got to the ER and I asked: "Are you better? Do you want to go in?" In response, he vomited again. We went in.

And it feels dirty and diseased and the surroundings are uncomfortable and the staff never displays much urgency. I hate hospitals. But the doctor is wonderful; tells me his 9-year old just did this and Ben will eventually outgrow it. His pulse oxygen is good; he isn't wheezing. The worst has passed. He gets a dose of steroids. We can talk. He tells me, "Mom, I wasn't sure I was going to make it this time." Yeah. We wait. We are finally handed discharge papers only to have him throw up all his medicine as we left the room and have to stay, take anti-nausea medication, wait for that to take effect, take more steroids, wait. And finally go home to rest and recover.

In these times, I reflect on friends whose children are fighting deadly diseases, some who have lifelong challenges that they will not outgrow. I pray for them. I long to help ease their burdens.

In the first world, it is so easy to believe we are in control. That our destiny is ours. In these times with Ben, I am confronted with the lie of control. I can't save him. I can't save myself. I am at the mercy of God. My friends with ill children know this, they know they cannot fix their kids and their problems. They have stared it in the face and come out with the truth that eludes so many. They are better for it. But tired. And so I pray that they will find rest. And that I will find rest in the reality that I'm not in control. And that is okay.