Fear of Drowning, or Looking for Hope.

I remember a day at the beach from my childhood. I don't know how old I was, but I hadn't started school yet. My mom and one of my aunts were enjoying the sun. I was playing at the water's edge. The waves would come up and go back out. I was at the line between the dry sand and the surf. What water was there, had to have been less than one inch deep. I remember the water coming in and as it went back out, I felt like I was being pulled out to sea with it. I can remember the sensation as if it was yesterday. I remember feeling small and frightened. I felt paralyzed, unable to pull against the tide to the safety of the dry sand. I knew I was drowning and there was nothing I could do to stop it!



Today, I have that same sensation. I feel that I am being pulled out to see, and no matter how hard I fight against it, I can't stop the tremendous force of the ocean. I am overwhelmed by the circumstances life has thrown at me, and I feel like I am drowning.



Yesterday morning, Simon's blood counts were not good. While his platelets were up slightly, his red count had dropped. His granulcytes level had dropped below the 500 threshold. White cells only last a very short time, so they cannot be transfused. There is a new medicine available that is supposed to help increase the granulcytes. We are blessed, in that our insurance does not require a prior authorization for the medicine. Simon received his first dose yesterday through his port.



The hope was that today his granulcytes would be above the 500 mark, but they have hardly budged, so he received another round today. His hemoglobin has dropped low enough that a transfusion is likely. If it continues to fall, we will have to schedule a trip to the hospital for another transfusion.



On Thursday afternoon, the entire family has to go in for blood work, looking for a bone marrow match. I am exhausted and trying to keep my head above water. While my cold is getting better, it still plagues me. I wonder how much more I can endure before I myself collapse. My head is pounding, and I just want to sleep.



Adding to my distress is the knowledge that Bob will be leaving soon. While there is nothing definite, it is looking like he will be back on the road again soon. Also, come April, I will have to figure out how to get Warren to and from school, as the bus he rides is scheduled to be canceled.



As difficult as the last 4 weeks have been, I am trying to wrap my head around doing this as a single parent. How will I be able to get the 4 healthy kids where they need to be and take care of Simon? Come April, I'll be looking at the added 2 trips across town to get Warren to and from school. April will also be about the time I'll need to add trips to Denver to the schedule. The transplant team is up at Children's Hospital in Denver, and I don't know how I will do it.



Tomorrow, I have a meeting at Warren's school. It is the meeting that was supposed to take place the same day that we ended up in the ER for Simon's rash. The day this whole ordeal began. The meeting is to come up with an advanced learning plan for Warren. He scored in the 99th percentile on his cognitive abilities test, and the school wants to make sure they are meeting his needs as a gifted learner.



Warren is also my son, and I am excited for the prospects for his future. While I want to be celebrating his achievement, all I can think about is how I can make the meeting there and get Simon to his unplanned appointment, not to mention picking the other 3 kids up from school on the other side of town. How will I do this next month when Bob is gone? If I feel like I am drowning now, how will I cope then?

In my exhausted state, it is hard to find hope, and yet search for it I must. I find hope in the fact that Simon is in good spirits. I find hope in the fact that according to his blood counts, he should be a very sick little boy, and yet he is not. I find hope in the fact that his hemoglobin is so low that he should barely be getting off of the couch, and yet he continues to play with the other kids. He is up and about and active.

And finally, I find hope in the knowledge that God is bigger than the boogie man. He has yet to lead me anywhere that He did not also provide me with the tools necessary to make the journey. While I may be out of gas, God's tank is full, and never runs dry. He is stronger than the strongest rip tide, and I only need hold out my hand and He will save me from drowning.