Here We Go Again

OK, this is NOT the post I had planned on writing!

So I wrote that last post early Sunday morning, after a fitful sleep. I went to sleep without hearing from Dennis, but figured no news was good news, and that if there were a problem he would have called. Still, I was distracted and jumpy at church with worry, and kept stepping outside to try to call him, but he never answered. We got to church early (Hm... wonder why that always happens when Dennis is not with us?) so my dad could tie the boy's ties. I have never learned how. Tying ties is not really my thing.

It felt so good to be at church, among so many people who love me and my family, especially after my lonely stint at Loma Linda. It felt good to talk to my friends face to face, and see the looks of genuine concern in their eyes.

The primary program was wonderful, by the way! Everyone did such a great job, and the spirit was very strong! I especially liked how Caleb was dancing around up there, waving his arms to mimic the conductor. When I caught his eye and motioned for him to stand still, he stood at stiff attention. But that only lasted for a few seconds before his head started bopping back and forth, and soon his body followed and he was dancing around again. I guess he was really feeling the spirit... or something.

All reports have been that my children have been wonderful during this whole experience - Alex has been extremely responsible, the other boys so sweet. So I don't know what it is, but from the moment I was with them again, they started fighting like cats and dogs, calling each other names, tormenting each other is the harshest ways. The two little ones have been making trouble too, getting into stuff, being destructive for pleasure. I guess I just imagined coming home and having my family around me, and all my children would be knit together in love, united in a cause during this family crisis. Oh please. I suppose they are stressed out and as helpless feeling as I am, and that is the only way they know how to express it. I guess I should be grateful that they are saving it all for me, and not taking it out on my mom and all the people who are being so helpful with rides and such. But still, in moments of sorrow, the last thing I need or want to do is hear my dear children slinging vicious names at my other dear children. It takes so much out of me to jump into the fray and tear kids apart.

So that might explain Caleb's antics up there during the program. But hopefully many of the congregation didn't notice Caleb's antics because they were too distracted by the completely out-of-control 2 year old causing havoc on the back pew of the Chapel (mine too). Fun.


I never made it to Sunday school, as there were so many friends asking how Dylan was doing and how I was doing. I could tell them about Dylan, but had a hard time telling them how I was doing. I also had no answers for what they could do for Dylan or our family. But I was grateful for all the offers.


During Yong Womens, Alysa, the primary president - and my rock - stepped in and handed me a huge stack of papers. I started looking though them. They were sweet letters and pictures from every child in the primary for Dylan. They were precious, and my tears started streaming down my face. I could hear the YW leaders sitting behind me were having similar reactions. I had to stop looking before I ruined all those pretty pictures with my tears.

I had to rush out of YW to watch Derek give his talk that he wrote all by himself about how Heavenly Father loves all his children. He did a great job.

Back at home, I finally heard from Dennis. Dylan was in a procedure when he called. They had put him under, and with the help of an ultrasound, were using a long needle to extract infectious fluid from an abscess deep in the muscle his pelvic area, where the antibiotics were not able to penetrate. Oh man. Dennis said he had had a long night staying up with Dylan while he suffered in pain.

At home, any hopes for a nap quickly evaporated as I tried to get everything I needed to get done in my one day home before going back to the hospital for who knows how long. Of course, a fabulous dinner was brought over by Kathy and Diane, much more food than we could eat. Dennis wasn't there, thus the leftovers. But it was really good, and we took the time to sit outside in the beautiful fall evening and enjoy it. I am so glad we did. For dessert they had brought a huge pan of the most wonderful something - chex cereal with melted chocolate and caramel, AND just to be on the safe side, and batch of chocolate chip cookies.

The doorbell rang. It was the Jacksons with not one, not two, but three plates full of humongous cinnamon rolls. If you've ever had one of Melissa's cinnamon rolls, you know that they are the ultimate comfort food! Simply amazing!

The doorbell rang again. The Stevens brought over a bag of gigantic soft oatmeal cookies - my favorite! I'd be bring the whole bag with me to go see Dylan.

Ding - dong. Evan Carlyle was at the door with a plate of beautiful butterscotch brownies (say that five time fast). They were snatched off the plate in no time at all.

We already had a huge untouched chocolate cake on the counter, and a couple boxes of Moose Munch Crunch from Harry & David (one of those is going to the hospital with me too!)

Is that where they get the term "Living the sweet life?" If sugar = love, then we are very, very loved!

By the way, I understand that calories don't count in a crisis situation. Good to know!

Sunday evening Dennis' report was good. Dylan was doing much better, eating and sitting up. His temperature was down. Yay! I spoke to Dylan, and he asked me to bring all his stuff people have been giving him that up until now he had not felt like playing with. He asked for some specific action figures and toys. That was a very good sign. I dutifully packed up all his requests, the primary letters, the cookies and junk, the giant red card his brothers had made that says "GET WEEL SOON!" in big letters on front, and the various pictures Caleb had drawn and carefully cut out. Caleb also picked several roses from the garden. They were past their prime, and the stems were cut to about 2 inches. He put them in a plastic cup, and wrote "DYLANCALEB" on the cup. He carried them around all evening, and the next morning saying "Don't forget to give these to Dylan." Sweet boy. He really misses his brother.

Monday morning I headed out to Loma Linda and found Dylan sitting up in bed, cheerful and perky. He had no fever and was talking up a storm, wanted to eat, wanted to know what was going on at home. He was Dylan! I hadn't seen that Dylan for over a week! The physical therapist came in and got Dylan up and in a walker. Because he is is isolation, he can't leave the room, but he did several laps back and forth in the cramped quarters of the hospital room. He was trying so hard, and was doing such a great job!

Finally! After more than a week he had finally turned a corner. The antibiotics were working and he was up and moving. This is what everyone had been praying and waiting for. I was so relieved, because I really didn't know how much more of this I was going to be able to take! There was talk of him getting home by the end of the week. Hallelujah!

Dylan and I had a great time together. I showed him his flowers from Caleb, his giant card and picture from his brothers. He ate most of his cinnamon roll. We carefully read all the letters from the primary together, and laughed. He loved them! They really made his happy. All the nurses said, "Wow! Who sent you all those letters?" Dylan said, "my friends from church." "You sure have a lot of friends." "I know." I told him he lucked out because it was the primary program so everybody was at primary. More kids mean more letters. They were really great!

We watched movies and hung out, and I thought how great it was going to be from here on out. Now that Dylan was feeling better, I was looking forward to these next few days where I could spend a lot of alone time with just him. He is such a great little kid, and I love to be with him.

After lunch he was tired and he slept all afternoon. I noticed that his temperature started to go up, but I wasn't too surprised. He is still sick after all.

My good friend Kristi came in the evening and brought me dinner, even though she was leaving for Hawaii with her family in the morning and had so much to do still to pack. It was so nice of her to come, knowing she'd be up all night packing. She brought me In-N-Out, bless her soul! We had a great visit. I just love that girl! We've been friends since we each had one kid. Now we have 11 between us, and she has always been a great resource of wisdom and strength for me through the years.

So here is the part where this post about how everything is getting better goes awry.


I walk Kristi out of the room and say my good-byes. As she walks away, a doctor comes up to me and asks me to sit down. He has forms. He tells me that the MRI results from Friday night, along with other tests and the recurrent fevers have made the doctors decide that Dylan needs another surgery.

Numb.


Your kidding me.

He explains the the infection that was in his hip had crept over the hip bone and settled in the back of his pelvis. They worry that if they don't catch it now it will creep up his back, which is already inflamed...

There was more, but my mind was still stuck on the word "surgery." Again.

That poor, poor kid! Just when he was finally up and moving about - it's taken a full week to get him to that point. Now we will be starting all over again. I think we'll be stuck here for a while.

I should have never got my hopes up and started assuming things. You'd think I would have learned that lesson by now.

I haven't had the heart to tell him about the surgery yet. His spirits are pretty thrashed at this point already. Mine are in pieces.

He had a rough time last night. More fever and severe pain. His IV blew, and had to have another one put in - his third so far. He is so brave! He has been given another order for no food or water. He was thirsty and I had to tell him no.

I held his little warm hand all night. It was all I could do for him.

It is morning, and he is still sleeping. Another doctor came in and "explained" a lot of stuff about blood cultures, a bone infection, bone scraping, low hemoglobin levels, a blood transfusion, heart mummers, a possible infection of the heart valves. Just trivial stuff, you know, idle chat.

We're looking at another fun day.

It is strange because I haven't cried yet. I frankly don't know what to feel. I might still be angry. Ya, OK, I am angry. This should never have happened! Maybe I am sad. Of course I am sad. Who could watch a little kid suffer and not be sad. Yet I don't cry. Maybe I am just tired. I am tired of crying, tired of worrying, tired of waiting. I'm just tired. Too tired to cry.

But don't worry. I'm sure the tears will come. They always do.

I do know that a whole lot of wonderful people have been praying for my boy. I know that many dear friends and loved ones have been fasting Sunday or Monday, and I realize that the Doctor's decision came Monday evening. I don't think that is a coincidence. It is was the praying and fasting that helped the doctors know the proper course to take, and that surgery is that course. This is what needs to be done, and I believe it will work.

Maybe I don't cry because of hope. Maybe I don't cry because of faith. Maybe I don't cry because the spirit has somehow reached into inside my frazzled mind and broken heart to tell me everything will be OK.

I'll take it.