I am the cliche'...

I’ve always felt pity for the adult who says that a child is the strongest person he or she knows. How unfulfilling of a life, must that adult had that a child is the strongest person they know.

I’ll make the assumption that the imaginary adult I speak of is at least 30 years old. Has at least graduated high school, if not college, grad school even maybe. Traveled possibly…knew more than one language, okay. Has a current passport somewhere, though it might not be accessibly ready, nor even contain one stamp. This person has a passion and has started working their way through their passion. They have life experience. And maybe, not always, but for the most part has enjoyed life and what it has brought their way.

The imaginary child is no greater than 5. Has maybe walked a pre k graduation, complete with miniature cap and gown. He has no true-life experience, except for maybe a character building session on the playground with a bully or two. He has traveled to Disney World and possibly met the mouse, but that would be the highlight of his travel experience. Passion in his world consists of the Backyardigans, Wonder Pets or Caillou.

So again, I ask of you…how is it possible that the strongest person an adult could possibly know, be a child?

I am the cliché. I heard a song this week for the first time. ( If you have read any of blogs, you will notice a consistent link to music in almost all of them. ) Fighter by Gym Class Hero’s is by far my favorite song of the moment. It’s my little boy. It’s my fighter. And he by far, is the strongest person I know. 

Two Months. Two Days.

I stare at the wall that is ever so daringly taunting me. I have imagined since January 27^th what it would be like to stand on the other side of this wall. My mind has gone to great lengths to imagine what was on the other side. Yet my subconscious, like a dog’s choke leash, has only let it venture to what it has presumed to be safe distances. Don’t get to far ahead of yourself. I don’t know the engineering qualifications of Jericho, but this has been my own personal Jericho.

Does the sand burn your skin as the wind blows, like it does on this side? Or is there even sand at all. Is there even a need for the mirage that I swear I see or does water flow freely? Hydration, not even daring to be an issue. And nourishment. Must I hunt on the other side or does a buffet table of only the finest delicatessens await me?

Two months. Two days. We’ve resided on the inside of our Jericho, for just as long as we resided on the outside of it. I wish I could say that hours and days go by and not once does the thought of cranio enter my mind, but that is so far from the truth. I guess I should be grateful that my subconscious only let me venture only so far as to wonder what was on the inside of these walls.

In the same way that a new tattoo is permanently with you for life, so is cranio. Seen or not, it is there. It is elusive at times, but its presence is always known. It announces it’s consistent arrival dutifully every night as I shampoo Nathan’s head. The few times he snuggles with me on the couch and I feel every piece of fabricated metal. And especially when he reminds me that he’s 100% boy as he trips, falls, bumps his head and I instantly check for pupil response and that every piece of that fore mentioned fabricated metal hasn’t shifted locations.

Two months and two days. We’re ‘on the other side.’ Yet just because we’re on the other side, doesn’t mean this side doesn’t have it’s challenges too. We’re just learning to live again. Learning to live again, with these challenges. 

Easter...

It goes without saying that Saturday, July 11, 2009 is a day in which my life completely changed. Only 2 hours had passed in the wee morning that Saturday, but I heard something that forever changed my heart, my world. I heard the whimper and faint stretch for air from a little boy that forever compromised who I was and who I am today. I expected this change and welcomed it with every fiber of my soul. What I didn’t expect was how this solitary moment would change how I felt and viewed my creator.

I was incredibly blessed and fortunate to be raised in an overly loving, supportive, Christian home. My parents knew of each other through high school, but it wasn’t until a church function that two high school students went from acquaintances to more than just friends. Sunday mornings and church were synonymous with Saturday afternoon’s and Florida State football for my family. A question was never raised of if you were going. Why ask a question, that you already know the answer too? Yet, Nathan’s arrival and the events of this past year have eternally molded my heart into a love and adoration for my heavenly father, which I never imagined could exist, one that I didn’t truly understand the depths of.

The week of our first Easter with Nathan, I would watch him play and wonder to myself, ‘How could I ever send him to die?’ While the thought lingered on grossly morbid and disturbing, it was something that shook me to my core and challenged me in ways I had never been challenged. I watched Nathan the rest of the days leading up to Good Friday and Easter Sunday and this thought lingered still. I imagined the fate of a world, literally sitting on my precious 9 month olds shoulders. It was something I couldn’t bare to contemplate or dream of. Yet, it made me instantly aware of how great and immeasurable my Father’s love is for us. Sending our son to die is something that I couldn’t do. Thankfully the fate of the world wouldn’t depend on me.

I marveled at Nathan yet again with that same adoration recently. Except this time, it was on a Wednesday morning, not a full 24 hours after his surgery. A surge of overflowing love and pride filled my heart for our little boy, for our little fighter. I wondered again, ‘How much He must love us.’ 

And I realize just how beautiful you are,

And how great your affections are for me,

Oh how He loves us…

One Week...

Thursday, April 29, right on schedule, Nathan was discharged from Medical City Children’s Hospital. It was very similar to bringing Nathan home for the first time after he was born. I remember every moment of walking out of the elevator and into the lobby of Medical City. I remember very vividly loading everything we had accumulated over the past 72 hours and putting it into our rental car. And I will never forget staring at him in his car seat as cars flew past us on the interstate in Dallas. We were part of those cars the day before as we commuted to and from the hospital, but that day was different. We had some extra precious cargo riding with us that day.

Somebody was definitely ready to go!

Nathan’s first night at the hotel was definitely difficult. It literally was like bringing a newborn home. Nathan tossed and turned and woke himself like clock work every 30 minutes. 4 am came and we gave Nathan Tylenol for the fever he was running and pain. We then handed him off to his amazing Mimi & Papa, so Brian and I could rest. Friday we stayed at the hotel for the most part, fearing the risk of infection. Saturday we visited a local aquarium and visited Dallas’s Fair Park. Sunday we flew back to Mobile and made our trek back to Pensacola.

As soon as Nathan walked in the door of our house, he was Nathan again. It was almost as if everything that he had been through in Dallas had been forgotten and he was our two and a half precocious little boy again. We had been told that it was incredibly common for sleep patterns to be completely altered after surgery and developing that routine would prove to be difficult. This was something that had proven itself accurate while we were in Dallas and we expected to face some of the same challenges as we came home. To our great surprise, Nathan slept completely through the night Sunday. Our little boy was definitely back.

Monday was our first bath time at home. Nathan did wonderfully with bath time, but was definitely not a fan of getting his hair washed. He learned the phrase ‘don’t touch’ while at the hospital and was very willing to let me know, he was not at all happy with me touching his head while washing his hair. We made it through though and the next thing I knew, it was Tuesday!!!

We made it! We were 1 week post op and blown away by how much progress our little guy had made! We were on the other side and couldn’t have been more elated about Nathan’s progress.

After naptime, I was flipping through the channels on the TV and saw that Dallas had been hit with over 12 tornados. My heart literally broke. I thought of every aide, nurse and doctor that we had saw while at Medical City and prayed that each of their homes had been spared in the devastation. We had known all along that we were where we needed to be and we were there when we needed to be there, but the thought of being in Dallas when the tornados hit was something that terrified me. I couldn’t imagine Nathan being in surgery or switching off duty between my parents, Brian and I all while tornados were hitting Dallas. It was horrifying. Once again, God proved that He was in control and we were so incredibly grateful for His provision over us during that time.

Today, Nathan met with his pediatrician for a follow up visit. He was paraded around the ped office and shown off to other doctors and nurses who we had to constantly remind, he was only 1 week and 1 day post op. We chuckled over having ‘normal’ doctor visits from now on and nothing major for the next couple of years.

I sit here and stare at Nathan as he plays with his cars and ‘choo choo’s’ He’s come so far in the past week and has proven to be so strong and such a fighter. I am beyond proud to be this little guy’s Mommy.

One week post op - Looking at the top of Nathan's head.

One week post op - The right side of Nathan's head.

What cha doin Momma?

One week post op - The left side of Nathan's head.

One week post op - There is still some very minor swelling under his eyes, but other than that, he's looking great!