Recoup

We've been home since Saturday evening.  Nina is tired and sore, I am exhausted.  I catch myself yawning and wonder why I'm so tired.  And then I remember.  This wasn't just a one-week, or two-week, or even a two month ordeal.  We've been dealing with this for three years.  Three years of wondering when the next episode would hit.  Three years of trying diets, medications, anything to see any type of change.  Three years of wondering, praying, pleading.  Three years of walking on eggshells.

And now it's done.  And I'm not quite sure what to think or do now.


Our first answers came through the use of the hida scan - a super cool high-tech machine that tests how well her gallbladder functions.  Yeah.  Hers didn't.  The valve at the bottom of the gallbladder that is supposed to allow the bile to drain - didn't work.  At all.  And thus, we have the answer to three years of constant pain.

Yes, I did allow her to have a bacon cheeseburger and giant pile of french fries the night before surgery day. You only live once, right?

The next morning we got all dolled up in our cute surgical outfits and posed for the camera. Our surgeon said we had to be the two most excited people she'd ever seen in pre-op. Our response? "We've waited three years for this day! We're ready!"

The surgery went perfectly. Her gallbladder was so diseased the surgeon was worried it might rupture before she got it out. No wonder she was in so much pain.

All the nurses agreed her first post-op meals were the strangest they'd ever seen - veggies and chocolate ice cream for dinner, fruit loops, donuts, a banana, and tomato juice for breakfast. That's my kid.

Her recovery has been slow. She had an allergic reaction to betadine, the wash they use to sterilize the skin before surgery. The pain meds either make her throw up, have an itchy nose, or just plain don't work. But the pain in her side is gone. The pain that has been her constant companion for three years. Gone.

In her words - "Now I can go back to being a normal kid."

One More Day

Once again I find myself in a hotel room in Denver, listening to the sweet sounds of my sleeping child.  She is so peaceful, so perfect.

Once again I am reminded of just how passionately and deeply her Heavenly Father cares for her.  While I know in my heart that the last three years of pain and frustration were not in His perfect plan for her life, I also know without a shadow of a doubt that He has used this journey for so much good.

She is stronger than she ever thought possible.

She has compassion and love beyond compare for any child in pain.

She has no fear of doctors, hospitals, nurses.  She considers them her friends.

She has learned to stand up for herself, to express herself, to speak her mind.


Today the Les Miserables soundtrack has been playing in my head, particularly the song "One Day More."  It is a song of promise, a song of hope.  A song that reminds me we can continue to fight one more day.

And one more day is all I have to ask of her.  Tomorrow she will fall asleep under anesthesia one more time.  Tomorrow will be one more surgery.  But tomorrow also holds the promise of the end.  The end of three years of pain.  The end of countless nights wondering how, and what, and why.

Tonight she is snuggling with a stuffed hippo named Sugar.  Sugar will be next to my Nina when she falls asleep tomorrow, and Sugar will be by her side when she wakes.  As will I.

When the answers don't come easy

I don't like the unknown.

I struggle with the what-ifs.

Especially when it comes to my children.

I actually started this post a month ago. I had to leave it alone. Let it sit. Let me sit.

A month ago, we were in Denver, meeting with a GI doctor. Trying to identify why my daughter has battled stomach pain for three years. Trying to rule out possibilities.

Tonight, we are in Denver. Again. My daughter is sleeping next to me. I am snuggling on the couch with 2 sweet kitties who are not my own. My roommate from college and her sweet hubby have graciously put us up for the night while we meet with yet another doc.

This afternoon, I held my daughter in a doctor's office as she sobbed. She didn't understand why they couldn't just do the surgery. Their postponement of surgery equaled "They don't believe me and they don't care" to my tender-hearted girl. She didn't understand that the doctor cares about her so much that she wants to make sure everything is looked at before surgery.

Today, I found out that the stomach pain my daughter has been dealing with for the last 10 months could actually be related to the stomach pain she had 3 years ago. The stomach pain that sent us to Denver to a doctor that didn't understand, didn't take the time to listen. The doctor that, honestly, taught my daughter that doctors cannot be trusted.

Tomorrow, we will drive back home.

Next Tuesday, we will drive back to Denver.

Next Wednesday, we will have yet another round of tests.

Next Thursday, we might actually be able to have the surgery that could make my daughter's pain go away.

But tonight, I sit on the couch with two cats who aren't mine and watch my daughter sleep. I wonder at the wisdom God gives doctors - to be able to see past the test results (or lack thereof) to the root of the problem. I wonder at the journey our family has been on for the past three years - the appointments, the prayers, the pain. I battle my own demons of anger, frustration, fear.

I wonder how this battle will be used for His glory. He promises that. And I intend to hold Him to it.