The older sister’s voice is calm, but tense: “I just checked on him. He is breathing, but his skin is still really pale. I took a picture for you.”
I absorb her words as I sit in the stands at a freshmen football game, cheering on the baby of the family while the oldest, best sister watches over Chase in the fifteenth hour of his sleep. He sleeps a lot right now.
This last week, Chase caught a cold.
As it usually goes in large families, everyone caught a cold. But whereas we all took extra vitamins and maybe an extra nap, this very small, very basic virus dealt a throat punch to Chase’s autonomic nervous system. It took him from in school and joking with his teachers to walking only with assistance, not eating, and not even wanting to talk in a matter of 24 hours.
For much of the last five days, Chase has been on a heightened “ER watch”, meaning that Bob and I as parents were instructed that a noted status change would require not a call, but a going. It feels like the real life equivalent of the monopoly jail card…”Go directly…don’t pass…don’t collect…just GO”.
As of this morning, I’m so thankful to report that Chase managed to stay out of the hospital and it’s seeming that he’s turning a corner. His blood pressure is now registering almost human numbers and while he’s still quite weak, he’s getting stronger and starting to joke and smile again.
But I think I’m writing this out for myself as much as for you today, dear ones. The last five days have been intense and there’s no good space in general parenting for the necessary processing of acts like checking to see if your child is still breathing…or talking through that fear with the siblings.
This is one of those pieces of Chase’s story that seems to have a very direct correlation to his brain tumor. Which means he would not struggle like this if he hadn’t had cancer.
Some days – especially the tired days – that thought hits hard and insidious. It sneaks like a whisper in the back of my brain as I stare at the blood pressure machine for the hundredth time or try and help him get comfortable around chest pain and dizziness.
This is one of the pieces that doesn’t wrap nice and neat – that doesn’t have an end in sight. And it’s frustrating.
During this time, I have found myself thinking a lot about the asking for our daily bread (from the Lord’s Prayer). “Give us this day…” …not this week, this month, the lifetime…just this day, and maybe even this moment. There is an immediacy both to the request and expected answer too.
Give me this moment what I need, dear God …and when the next moment comes, faithfully give again.
I think this is the picture of sufficient grace: the circumstance might not change, but we are held and given what we need even within the heartbreak or weariness.
And so we continue…
Moment by moment.
[picture: from Darcy…originally in color to allow me to check Chase’s skin tone from a distance]