A blur

"I've made some calls, you need to go straight to the ER at Wolfson's to be admitted. Do you know where that is? You need to go immediately."

"Micah Hall? Ok no triage, straight back."

"He could go septic and need to be intubated."

"We don't have time to figure this out Mom, we have to pull out the big guns."

"This is advancing so rapidly just since he's been here, he has to go to ICU."

"You have to know we are risking kidney failure."

"it is either Stevens-Johnson's syndrome or Staph scalded skin syndrome, both present similarly, but we have to determine which it is because they are treated very differently."

"(to some students, not us) You see, it's called this because that's what it looks like, it looks like a bucket of scalding hot water was thrown on him."

And pause.

That is what he looks like. He's unrecognizable. When I returned to our room from the bathroom in ICU I looked in his room and kept walking. As I'm typing this, his face is still red and peeling, as is the rest of him, but he looks like Micah again. The swelling is gone and the blistering has stopped. In some ways this week feels like one long day. In other ways it feels like months since I was at work or out of this hospital.

I knew every parent would feel helpless in this situation. I now know helpless doesn't begin to describe it. The only things I was capable of were to hug him, touch him, rock him, or simply hold his hand. But any of that caused him sheer agony. I just sat beside his bed gowned up in my isolation gear and thought about how much I didn't want him to feel isolated.

At last count, Micah was seen by nine different specialties in the first 12 hours of his admission. (his hospital bill should be crazy to sort through) Everyone had their own opinion about which of the two diagnosis Micah had. My brother told us to insist on a dermatology consult. We didn't have to insist, they had already called her. She couldn't come until evening, but she would see him. Uncle DJ said, "this is the only time you need a dermatologist urgently, she needs to get there now, it's her time to shine". When she arrived, earlier then promised, she looked over my sweet boy and said, " look I am here cause there are a lot of big dogs arguing over what is wrong with your son." She points to the nurses station and I see two of Micah's doctors standing there watching us. "So they called me in to settle the argument." She went on to explain the very small differences in the two disorders. She did a biopsy for confirmation, but left 99% positive of her diagnosis. Staph Scalded Skin Syndrome.

Once Micah started getting four different antibiotics and countless people praying for him, his condition made rapid improvements. One of the best things about modern technology is within minutes, people all over the world can be praying for a need. We have so much love and support from everyone here and our faraway family and friends.

The scenario could have been so different. If our pediatrician had not sent us to the hospital when he did, Micah could have died. It feels very surreal to even type that sentence. In less than 24 hours he goes from a rashy looking sunburn to the ICU. I've said before that because of my job, I live with a heightened sense of awareness that no one is guaranteed tomorrow. I live my life often reflecting that thought, keeping it in mind for myself and those around me. However, I learned this week, that I don't think that about my children. It is never on my radar that they could be gone in a moment. I still feel guilty that I got frustrated with him Tuesday night for not wanting to get out of his oatmeal bath. It was bedtime and I wanted him to sleep. In hindsight, I now know his skin was scalding, and I was demanding him out of the water. I know I didn't know in the moment how sick he was, but I truly think I will feel guilt over that moment forever.

I sat at his bedside Wednesday afternoon, trying to think about the last time I held him, pain free. I decided it was Monday after his lab work. Blissfully unaware of my future desperation to simply hold him, I carried him through the parking garage looking at all the cool cars.

And now, here I type. In the hospital beside my sleeping miracle. My God went before us and took care of the details boy. My Micah Man who has charmed the doctors, nurses, and all the staff with his personality. My rare little boy who went out of his way to prove his rarity by getting a syndrome that some pediatricians don't witness ever.

I know he's rare, I just hope he doesn't feel the need to prove that to us again. One scare in this life is enough.

I've decided God truly uses music to console me during stress. Throughout the hospital stay these same few lines to a song ran through my head. Each time Micah was in pain or someone was having to hurt him to accomplish a test, these lines danced through my brain again. Oddly enough, I don't know the song well and had to google it.

So the above scenario went something like this:

"I've made some calls, you need to go straight to the ER at Wolfsons to be admitted. Do you know where that is? You need to go immediately."

-This is where the healing begins

"Micah Hall? Ok no triage, straight back."

-This is where the healing starts

"He could go septic and need to be intubated."

-When you come to where your broken within

"We don't have time to figure this out ,Mom, we have to pull out the big guns."

-This is where the healing begins

"this is advancing so rapidly just since he's been here, he has to go ICU"

-This is where the healing starts

"You have to know we are risking kidney failure."

-When you come to where your broken within

"it is either Stevens-Johnson's syndrome or Staph scalded skin syndrome, both present similarly, but we have to determine which it is because they are treated very differently."

-This is where the healing begins

"(to some students, not us) You see, it's called this because thats what it looks like, it looks like a bucket of scalding hot water was thrown on him"

-This is where the healing starts

We journeyed through this for reasons unknown. But we absolutely did not journey it alone. God showed up like He always does and reminded us that He is God. And all of you, loved, prayed, supported us.

With an eternally grateful heart, seeing God all over my little boy, thank you for your prayers.

His health is a miracle.

So is ours.

"So let it fall down
There's freedom waiting in the sound
When you let your walls fall to the ground
We're here now
We're here now, oh

This is where the healing begins, oh
This is where the healing starts
When you come to where you're broken within
The light meets the dark
The light meets the dark"

`Tenth Avenue North

It's been a while

So it's been a while since I've blogged. It's not that I don't have anything to say. I have too much. My mind can't filter all the last few months have held. This afternoon, I was driving home from work. I'm playing music way too loud. I reason that I'm in traffic, I might as well drown out the other noise. Plus, it drowns out some of the day too. I'm singing these words,

"Because you had a bad day, you're taking one down
You sing a sad song just to turn it around
You say you don't know, you tell me don't lie
You work at a smile and you go for a ride."

As I'm replaying my day, I look to my left. It's one of those moments where irony drips off everything you see. There is the homeless man, holding up a sign. "God bless you." Wow. Perspective. I believe, no matter what, it is possible that my day has been better then his.

God has been teaching me a lot about perspective lately. We often compare ourselves to others, making us feel worse or better. It's funny because my comparison to the homeless man doesn't really make my own day any better. I still had a really hard day. It just simply reminds me that other people also have hard days. Harder then any day I could imagine. And that knowledge makes me want to help.

Nicole Johnson (from women of faith) calls these "drop your rock" moments. You know those moments, when we suddenly have a loved one drug across the line and into a circle that we drew a long time ago. We get ready to throw our rock till we see THEIR face and realize it is recognizable to us.

We yell and scream about illegal immigrants. I talk to an entire family who would rather live in hiding here then face death in their own country. They have tried the "right" channels here, but have been unsuccessful Rather then return to sheer madness, they cling to each other here. Tell me that I wouldn't seek refuge for my own family in such a situation.

Everyone is applauding Florida for drug testing people on "welfare". It's costing the state far more money then we are saving, because oddly enough, all the anecdotal stories are wrong. Most people who need help, actually aren't using drugs. Tell me I wouldn't be the first in line if my kids needed food.

It's the hospital staff who believe a family is making a terrible choice by not sitting at the bedside of their possibly dying mom. Has anyone shared that this particular family also has a dying grandmother, and a dad trying to love on everyone. They are choosing to be with the loved one who still recognizes their presence. Tell me I wouldn't make the same choice.

It's the big picture. The rare glimpses we all get at the most random of moments. Clarity. We rub our eyes, drop our rocks, and suddenly can read what is written in the sand. Some days, like today, I just have to wonder if Jesus wrote one word:

Perspective.

This week

"Is there anyone else she would be waiting on", the nurse asked me sometime around three am Sunday morning. His question interrupted a flood of thoughts that came to a sudden stop when he questioned me. I explained that we had a few more family members coming home today and she may just be waiting on them.

He left the room and I thought, "So this is what it feels like to be on the answering side of that question." I can't count how many times I've asked families this. I held tight to Mamaw's hand, thankful that she was peaceful and appeared comfortable. I let my mind start it's flood again, one raindrop at a time.

I'm sitting at her counter with Andrea, Matthew, and DJ. We are tasting the hot homemade rolls and blackberry preserves freshly made from the blackberries we picked this morning.

I'm on her couch with the flu watching Mamaw call my mom and tell her how high my temp had gotten.

I'm fussing about going to see the movie Little Women cause I wanted to see something else.

I'm in her living room on Christmas Eve opening presents.

I'm celebrating with her because her magic potion (baking soda and vinegar) saved me from what my cousins called a "killer bee" sting.

I'm learning how to play checkers.

I'm giggling watching her chin quiver when she tries not to cry at something sweet.

I'm just swimming through my childhood and adulthood, amazed that God would give me such a Godly Grandmother.

Then I wonder how in the world we got here.

I was supposed to be off this week to help Mamaw get settled in at home. She was supposed to leave the hospital on Monday to go home with hospice. Last Thursday she had asked Mom how many more nights until she got to go home. Together, Mom and Mamaw counted the nights until Monday. Mom told her that she would be leaving the hospital at eleven am Monday morning. Obviously, we all knew she wasn't well. But this was not in the plan. Then Friday morning, mom calls and tells me that Mamaw had developed a bit of a rattling sound and her levels weren't good. Mom was trying to decide if DJ should come home. I went ahead and called Sarah. I told them that if they wanted to have a good conversation with Mamaw they should probably come on home. It just worked out perfectly for them to fly in on Saturday. Later Friday night, I was driving around wondering if I jumped too soon. Wondering, if they really should come on home. I prayed and asked God for a message. Within a few minutes a devotional came on the radio. It was all about the quote, "enjoy yourself, it's later then you think." Message received, DJ and I both need to get home. I decide to go on home on Saturday now too, instead of Sunday as planned. Then late Friday night, Mom calls me and says the hospital had called them. Mamaw was only breathing four breaths a minute. Instantly my mind was racing. I couldn't sleep, couldn't focus. So at four am I got up, finished packing and left with Micah to get home as fast as possible. I happened to drive through Charlotte perfectly to pick up DJ and Sarah and we made it to the hospital. After one look at Mamaw I could tell, it was indeed much later then I thought.

The nurse came back in. I don't know what time it is, but I'm still holding her hand. She's comfortable so he leaves and I go back to my thoughts. As I start to drift off to sleep this song, There is a Redeemer, started going through my head:
"thank you oh my father,
For giving us your Son.
And for leaving your Spirit,
Til your work on earth is done."
Random enough, but I found myself singing it over and over.

I pondered Mamaw's last words to all of us, "tell the grandkids to be good to each other and to love each other."

Now it's six am Sunday morning. Mom and I are both very confused about the time change. I watched as Mom read Mamaw her Bible, her devotional, and prayed with her. Sunday is such a blur of visitors, changes, and emotions. Sunday night, it became very obvious that Mamaw would not be with us here much longer. That same wonderful nurse had the night shift. He encouraged us to sleep. I just couldn't. I held her hand again and reminded myself to breathe during the pauses that she didn't.

My racing thoughts now turned from memories to faith. A faith that Mamaw lived all of the time. I thought about how much God was there. His work was all over Mamaw and everything around us. I saw God in my rockstar sister in law, Sarah. She managed to seamlessly take care of Micah, Annalee, and all of us while very much grieving herself. God was with each visitor as they walked in with food, encouragement, and most of all love. God was allowing us to read the scrapbook to Mamaw so she at least got to hear how grateful we all are for her life. God kept Mamaw from being in significant pain. God allowed Papaw to sit beside her as she journeyed away from this life. God allowed the immediate family members time with her, and got us all home. Looking back, I see His fingerprints everywhere.

Mamaw died at 11:02 Monday morning. Surrounded by her family, with a room full of people, she simply stopped breathing.

"Thank you Oh my Father,
For giving us your Son,
And for leaving your Spirit,

Her work on earth is done."

We are all so worried about Papaw. He told all of us that they were married for sixty six years, two months, and seven days. He is sad and grieving. This morning, however, he tells me, "I'm just looking to do God's will." He is forever a follower of Christ. His work, for whatever reason, is meant to continue and he can already acknowledge that.

Yet again, I see God. I will never stop learning from God or from Papaw.

I too want to seek God's will. I can't shake the feeling that, for all of us, it really is later then we think.

Maranatha!

The Animals

Something about petting that crazy chicken today made me laugh. Reading Rachel's comment about catching the cat reminded me of so many stories. I've worked several jobs since college, but each have involved making home visits. Because of this, I've accumulated quite a few animal stories. Because I need to giggle and take a trip down memory lane, I'll share a few stories with you.

My first crazy encounter of the animal kind occurred when I was working as a crisis counselor for flood victims. This is also when I learned to always, always, take a 360 look around a home when I first walk in. Oh my, how naive I was just out of college. :-) Anyways, I walked inside this trailer and I was looking at the male owner sitting on his couch across the front door. I had a wall behind me. I did notice these crazy looking fish to my right. I started to hear this noise behind me, this scratch, scratch noise. Then I heard something moving, something squeaky. I looked at my partner who was facing the wall behind me and I noticed that his eyes were huge. I debated turning around. Part of me didn't want to know. Finally I slowly did and to my horror, there were mice cages stacked the length of the wall from floor to ceiling. The man obviously noticed us, noticing his mice. I very calmly asked him why he would have so many. He said he had them to feed his snakes and his fish. Somehow, I knew not to ask or say another thing. My partner didn't. He asked if he really fed the fish those mice. The man said, "Sure I do, here I'll show you." Then he did. I tried not to watch. I didn't want to see, but like all train wrecks, my eyes veered that direction. Sure enough, those dumb fish were eating that poor mouse.

Note to self, in your next job, don't do home visits.

A few years later, I'm working with mentally ill individuals. I have a wonderful schizophrenic who was not going to be returning home for a long time. Somehow, I was tasked with taking her cat to the shelter. I was blessed with my dear friend Rachel, who I managed to talk into assisting me with this task. This cat HATED people. We tried being nice. I promise we did. By my recollection, we tried treats, we tried food, we tried calling her, we tried toys, and being really quite. We ended with a broom, a blanket, a cage and a lot of screaming. We won.

Note to self, in my next job, don't voluntarily do things like this.

Flash forward a few more years, now I'm at hospice. I'm talking to this lady about her mom's death. Her mom, who had died a few hours before, is laying in the hospital bed beside us. I'm trying to convince this nice lady that she has to let her mom go to a funeral home. (A whole other story). Suddenly I feel this pain, shoot up from my ankle. I raise my leg and there is this dog, hanging off the back of my leg. I had no idea the Yorkie was there and suddenly I'm drop kicking it across the room. Not the best thing to do to a family who has just experienced a death.

Note to self, 360 glance is not enough, check under objects.

Just about a month ago, I'm sitting at a kitchen table writing some information about family members. I feel something over my shoulder. I look and I am eye to eye with a mastiff. He snorts in my face and lays down. Fine. Then I feel something at my feet. A bull dog has decided that my cute shoe must be eaten, while I'm wearing them. I try not to call attention to this as the daughter of my patient is crying. I move my feet. I push the dog away. I finally take off my shoes and put them behind me. That's when the dog licked the bottom of my feet. I shrieked because it tickled and almost jumped into my nurses lap. I had to then explain why I was barefoot.

Note to self, just wear my sketchers. Forget that I own any other shoes.

Let me fast forward through chasing a dog down the street, inheriting our current dog Mocha from a schizophrenic, a snake, and a random collection of dead sea animals in aquariums full of formaldehyde.

Now, all my lessons learned lead me to today. I walk in the home. My 360 glance does not immediately send off any red flags. But wait, what is that on the back porch under the table? Yep, it's a chicken. Second glance. Chickens. OK, because of another long story that involves me running from two chickens while a patients husband watched on security cameras, I'm not a fan of chickens. But, I'm wearing my sketchers and they are on the back porch, I'll be fine. My nurse arrives and I, knowing she doesn't adhere to my 360 rule, quietly point out the chickens. The son sees her glance towards the porch and starts to talk about how sweet and nice chickens are. I smile and nod. I'm still glad they are outside. He asks if I'm afraid. I make a comment about being pecked before, but really have nothing against chickens in general. I then turn and talk to my patient. I feel his son sit next to me on the couch. He is holding a big fat chicken. "Go ahead and pet her" he says. So, I do. I pet the stupid chicken sitting on the couch, in the middle of a beautiful home, in the city.

Note to self, I'd be so bored sitting in a cubicle all day.

Happy 2nd Birthday Micah!

Dear Micah,

I first started these letters to Natalie when she was two. I am determined to remember the little details of who you all are at each age. You are absolutely a little man.

I just left your room a minute ago. You are surrounded by stuffed animals, mostly dogs. It seems that each night you add another one to your collection. We've quickly gone from allowing nothing in your bed to hardly being able to find you amongst all the stuffed things. You threw away your pacifiers a few nights ago. We cut them so they would lose the suction. You had six in your bed and tried each one of them. You sighed and handed them to me one by one, saying "boken mama, boken." I told you we had better throw them away. You stood at the trash can and tried each of them one more time before throwing them in the trash. Then you simply said, "bye paci's" and you were done. You haven't asked for them since.

You are however, the master at delaying bedtime. I can't count how many times you ask for water or a light or the covers each night. Even when you are exhausted, you push the limits. You have learned to open your door and sneak out. Fortunately for us, you slam it closed behind you, so we find you in the hallway each time.

You have learned to count to six. When you play your toy drum you tap the sticks together and say "two, three four." We aren't sure who you have heard doing that, but Daddy is so excited. He says we need a drummer in the Buchanan family. You love all things music. At church you start singing most songs on the second chorus, like you are observing at first and don't want to sing it wrong.

When driving down the road, you always point out planes, boats, busses, bikes, and helmets. You feel the need to point to your own head each time you see a biker wearing a helmet. You love watching Curious George and think Elmo is the best. You always want music on while driving. Your favorite is Sadie Hawkins Dance, but you will allow us to play other songs that Bob and Larry (veggie tales) sing.

Wait a minute...

I'm back now, I just had to give you some water...

You know mostly all your colors. You love to point at everything and tell us what color it is. I think I have to give credit to daycare for this. You knew most of them before we even realized it.

You love Heidi! She is your favorite friend. I love to watch you two play and interact. It's fun to know you've had a friend since the day you were born. Heidi gave you a basketball hoop for your birthday. You love it too and always tell us you want to play with your "ball hoop."

You also love Natalie/Sissy. Everywhere she goes, you go. You've just recently started battling with her and being more assertive. For the most part though, you just really want to play with her. She is quiet protective of you and you are of her. You defend each other when time outs are given. Natalie had to go to time out the other day. You put your hand on your forehead and said, "oh no sissy!"

As you can tell, you talk ALOT. Much more then Natalie did at this age. You are articulate and so funny. You play air guitar, dance your heart out, and love to do flips in our living room.

Most of all, you are gentle and kind. You take care of all of us and our dogs. You give the biggest hugs and slobber filled kisses. You still scream "mama!!!" when I get home from work. You quietly whisper "love too" before I leave your room at night. I pray that you always maintain such a gentle spirit. It is welcoming and charming. I pray that you always hear God whispering how much he loves you and you are forever able to say to Him, "love too." I pray you grow to be a man who loves God and loves others with as much as energy as you show us all the time.

I love you so much Micah man!

Good night!

Kindergarten

I stood in the dressing room with Natalie tonight, watching her strike pose after pose while she tried on new outfits for Kindergarten. She kept calling me "darling". She was cracking herself up and chattering on and on about her new school.

She is so very excited. I am too. I just keep wondering how it's possible that she is this old? I know every parent feels this way. I know all of us say that time goes by too fast and we blink and they are grown. I've tried so hard to soak up the moments with her and yet, I was simply awe struck tonight by the idea of kindergarten. Here it is, the school schedules, the routine, the homework, the friends, lunches, and drama. I know she is ready. I'm not so sure that Chris and I are. In fact, I think I'm scared. I'm afraid she won't have something she needs or we will forget to tell her something. I'm afraid I'll somehow set her up to get picked on. I'm hoping these feelings are normal, right? I know I can't shelter her from everything. And I know despite our best efforts, some kid out there will be mean to her at some point. I know she has to go.

I also know I'm grateful for this beautiful little girl that she is now. I'm just not so sure how to drop her off into this whole new world.

"Darling," says Natalie.

I snap back from my racing thoughts to see her with her nose to the mirror making a smashed face against it.

"Yes, Natalie?"

"Did you know I can see three of me in these mirrors unless I smash my face like this, then I can only see one?"

I laugh at her and think that's how I feel right now. All smashed up against this new venture. I step away and see my baby girl in my arms, my teenage girl in the mirror, and this beautiful Kindergartner right in front of me.

"I see all three of you darling. All of the time."

The Job

I hardly ever look because I really don't want to know the number. But tonight I did, I looked at the obituaries. One of my patients had a sweet wife who blogged regularly about their journey. Her last blog entry was a link to his obituary. So, against my better judgement, I clicked on the link.

I knew three tonight on the death notice list. So I read all three and laughed at some of the details I already knew. We have had a lot of deaths this week on our little team. Today I could feel the impact in the room as everyone suddenly got tearful. I don't cry much, but today was hard.

It is hard because we had some long time patients that died. Hard because we had some ethical issues that I still haven't sorted out in my mind. Hard because we have had an amazingly high number of young patients with young children. Hard because of good questions without good answers. Hard because the job is so fast paced there is absolutely no time to sit and process anything. Hard simply because it is a hard job.

I ended the day talking to the spouse of another young patient. I choked back tears as he discussed her now very rapid decline. He is always so calm and organized. He discussed their daughters. He was discussing some of their behaviors and I gently pointed out they were being very "girl" in some ways. I told him a couple of things about girls that I could honestly tell he didn't really know. He's a really good dad and my heart broke as we talked. This is the kind of thing his wife would have told him, if she wasn't so sick. Although that thought was never spoken between us, it didn't have to be. Our call wrapped up with a scheduled visit for me to see those precious girls again. He told me that one of the daughters asked him why this would happen to their mom if God is supposedly good. We joked that we were glad our chaplain is joining me during the next visit. Then, I asked him some questions and suggested she is only asking what most adults are thinking. For the first time, I heard the emotion in his voice when he agreed. For a while, I just listened. They are strong Christians, so we talked briefly about the Bible. I gently posed the thought that God hates death too, which is why He sent Jesus to conquer it. This husband agreed.

Hard because it just is. Hard because God is good even when nothing around us feels like it.

Hard because we still live on this side of His soon coming Kingdom...