Thursday, October 20, 2011

If Trust Means What I Want it to Mean, I'm In

She's baaaaaack.

Dropped off the edge of Internetland when both of our computers decided to bail within 24 hours of each other. This happened another time, believe it or not, when we were moving apartments a month before Cole was born. Diabolical, these computers. Thank goodness for the Apple store in Short Pump, because my beat-up beloved MacBook was back up and running in about 20 minutes. Phew.

In the interim, the seeming progress we had with Dean's desats at night has reversed itself. I know, I'm baffled, too. And so is Dr. Miller. And everyone else. Again, we are not seeking to confuse doctors. We strive for textbook, clear-cut problems, but that's not really working.

Reluctantly, we're trying to keep the oxygen on Dean at night (read: not sleeping) and we have confirmed his tonsilectomy/partial adenoidectomy for next Thursday. My gut says it's going to help but not *fix* the problem, but hey, we'll take anything. Dean's other surgeries were to place a G-tube and then move down his testicles (2 surgeries). Those were pretty black-and-white, do this, then this happens kind of surgeries. This one is the first one where no one is sure how much it will help. I hate that. But we all agree that it's the next step.

What I wrestle with most in all this is a theological question that should have haunted me long ago, but has been made all the more apparent since Dean's birth: how do you trust a God who doesn't promise that everything will turn out as you hope? Yes, Romans 8:28, all that stuff about how it will be for our good in the end is fantastic, but it doesn't comfort my heart. I want to trust only if I am promised a specific outcome, which, you guessed it, isn't really trust at all.

The other day at lunch, Dean randomly started choking on banana, which he eats all the time without a problem. I instinctively started yelling, "ARE YOU OK? DEAN?" and was slamming on his back. It was pretty quickly clear that he *was* ok and I took a deep breath and said, "You scared the heck out of me." Cole, also at the table, said to me, "Mommy, you're scared of everything."

Ouch. Really, I think he mostly means that with 3 boys diving off of furniture, running around and falling, choking, whatever (most of these being Dean), it feels like I'm constantly making sure someone didn't die. And then I say something like I said above.

But it looks different to my 4-year-old. He sees a mom who is constantly dodging her worst fear, and what he doesn't know is how fearful I am inside. He's right... I *am* probably scared of everything.

I do occasionally find peace in letting go of the anxiety and letting God handle it. Trite, but true. What I don't know how to do is how to accept this peace over and over and over and over and over and over again, 504 times a day. Each day. How not to let it hang over my head in the backdrop of our lives.

I would normally gravitate towards sleep and trying to take care of myself in that way. But it's when we go to sleep that Dean's body is wreaking havoc on him, that it starts to malfunction. How can you rest when you're worried that your kid's brain is being deprived of oxygen? And when that stupid pulse oximeter (that you need to know if your kid's brain is being deprived of oxygen) is alarming all night?

This was longer than I was thinking. I'd love to pretend I'm confident in all this, but I'd be lying to you. Hope the truth is all right.

2 comments:

Kevin said...

Great blog entry. I can relate. Logic sure doesn't help us figure Him out!

Cinra said...

I started to post a comment and ended up beginning to write a book........maybe I should!!

Trust and faith in God is what will get you through. I know you know that; just reinforcing. My Klint is 28 years old and when he was Dean's age I didn't even know what was causing all his issues.

Hang in there and keep praying!!

Cindy