We leave two weeks from today for Philadelphia. Between now and then, I have bills, packing, laundry, cleaning, appointments, and phone calls...and I'm doing it pretty much all on my own because it's summer and we know what that means for the wife of a youth pastor.
But I have also managed to cram as much fun stuff as possible too! We will have a visit to the American Girl doll store, go on a special World's Greatest Day: Preschool Edition adventure with friends, go swimming (I plan to do lots of water activities, since Abby won't be cleared to do anything with water for several months, including sitting in water for a bath), celebrate Chloe's Gotcha Day, let the kids have some friends over, and go to the science center.
I'll be honest. I'm doing the fun stuff as much for me as for the kids. I need the distractions and sitting at home causes my mind to wander to less pleasant things, like hospitals, surgeries, IVs, and pain management.
If you see me out in public and ask me how I'm doing, I'll probably smile and say, "Oh, we're hanging in there." Or, "Oh, we're fine." Those are my go-to, safe answers. Matt and I have learned that a lot of people really can't (or sometimes don't want to) handle the specifics. Ignorance is bliss, and a sick kid isn't a fun topic. We get that, and we try not to say too much unless you really want to know. Nothing kills a conversation like sharing about our sick kid. We've seen the uncomfortable looks and watched people try to figure out how to delicately excuse themselves many times. Fun stuff.
If you do attempt to dig any deeper, be ready for tears. I'm 100% fine with sharing, but I am emotional. It is tough to think about your kid enduring so much. It's even harder to consider the alternative to surgery.
So, no, I'm not fine. This sucks. (Sorry, Mom. I know you hate that term.) I'm awake half the night worrying about the what ifs. And I am so thankful for the people who just acknowledge that it sucks and avoid the Christian cliches in an attempt to make me feel better. Unless you have willingly put your child through a surgery that you know will result in years of pain, additional surgeries, reduced mobility, and put her at a high risk for infection and complications, you don't get it. Remember that agreeing to this surgery means agreeing to about 30 more. This won't all be over any time soon. And the possibilities of a trach and/or gtube are less than thrilling too.
But whatever we face, God will face with us. So I am learning to just rest in the knowledge that He has planned every event in Abby's life: every surgery, every set-back, every triumph.
This song means a lot to me these days. I hope you like it too!