Thoughts and feelings from Virginia

Friday September 27, 2013
 

 Email from Virginia (Grandma)

At last a moment to reflect…how have our lives changed, what matters most, how do we maintain optimism and faith, which mantras sustain me?

Our lives are changed forever.  Whatever degree of recovery Kollin achieves, we are changed. No going back. No reclaiming that cataclysmic 2 seconds.  From here on out our souls are seared with memories: that  first phone call from Jodie, our quick race to the UVRMC ER hoping against hope for a quick reprieve, feeling the rotor sweep as Life Flight lifted our motionless Kollin to Primary Children’s Hospital, those interminable, dark and fearful 3+ weeks in PICU—Kollin frantic for breath, one new invasive procedure threatening after the next, our dear boy in pain, lips taped shut and unable to speak—unable to ask questions, unable to express his needs or describe his pain and fear, watching for that feeble right thumb to signal “thumbs up” to our questions, unable at times to decipher his sign language for pain, for suction for….. Then gradually signs of healing: finally his respirator tube removed only to be replaced moments later by a  CPAP   face mask gripping his face.  Occasionally a quiet whisper (“I love you, Sarah” after she spent a night hovering at his bedside).  Then a smaller, less claustrophobic mask allowing us to see his eyes and glimpse that sparkle once again.  

Those were weeks of anxiety for me that were nonetheless counterbalanced by watching his parents become competent, unwavering caretakers for their boy.  They are no strangers to hospital visits, having become accustomed to the routines and procedures during the periods of kidney care/ transplant for Devon and Ethan.  But this was new, a healthy athlete full of life and joy  met a life altering change of script without any sense of warning or foreboding.  No sense of what to expect, no sense of his prospects.  But there they were, quickly learning the import of every number on the  monitors surrounding him.  

I learned valuable lessons from Gary and Jodie: never sit idle, never let fear encompass you, allow no anger or remorse into your soul, never give up primary responsibility for your child’s recovery. 

Since Gary is my son, and since Jodie is known far and wide for her ebullient good nature, for her unstinting nurturing of her children, I must record the great  “patriarchal power” of my quiet, gentlemanly son.  As this misfortune unfolded, all Gary’s inherent virtues came into play: his strength of body, mind, and spirit manifested themselves in such a way that I was left feeling that his entire life had been preparing him for this moment.  Immediately he became a part of every discussion regarding Kolin’s treatment.  He focused instantly on the future, on rehabilitation, on recovery and was prayerful in determining which procedures to allow.  His strength, his  calm, his confidence, his ever-present mentoring lent peace to Kollin. He drew a sense of well-being from his dad’s presence.  He drew on his whiteboard: Dad, it’s too hard without you.  If ever his dad was absent from the room, he kept an unwavering eye on the door, waiting for the first glimpse of his dad, lifting his mobile right arm in a “high five”  greeting.  If Kollin needs repositioning, or lifting, it is his dad whose gentle strength supports his son.  If he needs coaching through a difficult time, it is his dad who holds him in an embrace whispering is his ear, offering heartfelt and uplifting prayers.  If Kollin needs to muster strength to try a new move in rehab, it is his dad who is there beaming, filling his mind with images that carry him successfully through each new challenge. What a time of dichotomy.  This mother’s heart swelling with gratitude for the fine man who is her son, my heart in tumult watching my son grieving for his son.  

I could not speak the terror of those first weeks were it not for the present day of hope and wonder.  Once out of PICU, Kollin gained ground.  At last, the “swallow test” passed!  Those pathetic days of Kollin signing for a drink were over!  He is drinking, eating!  Breathing on his own!  Relieved of most of his pain!

Yesterday was my first visit after a 2-day gap.  When last I visited he was sleeping soundly after a morning session of Rehab.  I envisioned a replay when I entered the hospital yesterday, but no, I found him in Rebab—SITTING in a wheelchair.  A Cheshire cat grin across his face.  He asked, “Shall I astound  you?”  YES.  Off he went, both hands adept at pushing himself down the hall, making turns, backing up.  Once we were back in his room, his dad did a “transfer” from chair to bed with Kollin participating in the move with the use his arms to settle him back down into bed.  As I had followed him down the hall, I thought I saw movement in his left fingers, grasping the wheel of his chair.  Back in the room, I kept my eye on that hand—yes, the miracles keep coming—he has movement  in those fingers now!  More?  YES!  He can sense touch from his toes through his thighs.  Sensing touch and controlling movement are two independent nerve functions, but it seems we are in a period of hope, of achievement, of progress, of rapid and oh-so-joyous recovery of many vital functions for our Kollin.

So, how have our lives changed?  Kollin;’s body will always be a reminder of those dark days.  But his bright spirit, his quick wit, his kind and thoughtful ways remind us that Kollin is more than nerve, sinew, and muscle; he is a bright and shining star, a beloved son of parents and of his Heavenly Father. The service rendered to him by family is a sacramental act, an honor.  That boy’s spirit is well, healthy, undamaged and we rejoice.  That is what matters most.

How do we maintain optimism and faith?  For one thing, we know no one day will be like the next.  Some are worse, most are better.  It is a trend we rely on.  The real truth: we have been comforted and tutored by the thoughtful words, prayers and deeds of our friends and neighbors. We have been dumbfounded by the thousands of strangers who have shared kind words and uplifting experiences!   “Strangers” is not the right word—people previously unknown to us who have nonetheless mourned with us, lifting our load.  Those who have shared this time with us stretch across the country.  Prayers are reaching heavenward from Europe, particularly Hungary where big brother Mason served as a missionary.  Prayers rise from Mozambique where big brother Braydon is currently serving as a missionary.  We have “watchers” in Turkey and the Middle East.  How very extraordinary!  How deeply touching.  A web of kindness covers the world—all generated by the unfortunate accident of a little boy.  Surely great goodness is in store.  Our hearts are healed by those who share.

Our own faith has grown, been tested and tutored over the years.  It is sufficient to sustain us.  Life is all about challenge; there is opposition in all things.  Through it all our Heavenly Father sustains us.  We never doubt his presence, his love, his compassion, and his power to heal—in whatever form that healing may come.  True, we would quite welcome a healing of Biblical proportions. We need not ask Why?  We simply need to rejoice in Kollin’s life and to move forward with absolute confidence that there is great Purpose in Kollin’s life.   His personality is magnetic; his faith and goodness are defining traits that appear instantly to all who encounter him.  The Pray For Kollin blog (masterminded by his 14 year old cousin!) gives us a platform to share our journey, to express our gratitude for all the prayers offered on his behalf, to update you on the fulfillment of those prayers, and to ask that you keep with the program, continue your prayers on his behalf.  Somehow the goodness abroad in the world enriches us all.  It is a time for gratitude and thanksgiving.

My mantas:

Tomorrow will be different from today!

We are sheltered by a good and giving God.

People are good!

We will move ahead with courage and purpose.

Take charge of our lives; live to serve.