Praying for a miracle

That’s how I feel most days with Luke.  This time last year, he was up for hours on end screaming, with no end in sight.  It wasn’t until Christmas, nearly 8 months of screaming at night for 2-3 hours at at time, that he finally slept through the night.

That was hell.

The tears I have shed on this boy would fill Lake Austin.  All 21 feet of it that we’re down because of this drought.

Funny, because that’s how I feel.  Completely and totally drained.  People ask all the time, “So, how’s Luke?”  Up until February I didn’t mind answering.  But when he gave up all food and started throwing up daily I’ve begun to hate that question.  It’s not that I mind people asking and genuinely wanting to know.  It’s the internal struggle of, “how much should I really tell them?”  Because inevitably there are tears with that answer.

It’s nearly 2am and he’s thrown up three times today.  I just put another load of laundry in the wash.  I just cleaned up another bed covered in throw up.  Changed another diaper that to most moms would be an immediate call to the doctor because it was such horrible diarrhea.  Wept another foot of tears begging God to just freakin’ let up.  I. am. so. frustrated.  And I’m really in pain seeing him struggle so much.

I’ve begun to hate seeing kids chowing on a Happy Meal at McDonald’s.  Luke can’t even keep a Cheerio down.  It is hard to hear other toddlers babbling and saying words when his vocabulary is so limited.  Hearing people say, “Oh, he’s so tiny” sometimes makes me want to sigh heavily and do some bodily damage.  And I feel like a complete baby for even whining about all that.

The past few months, even with therapy, I’m slowly seeing a regression.  One that I have been in denial is happening.  But it is happening.  I am trying very hard not to freak out.  Freak outs don’t usually end well.  They usually end with me on Google and babbling to the blog.  Not good.

There are only two things I know to do.  Pray and call his pediatrician.  No amount of tears is going to fix this one.  I remember one evening in the NICU on a particularly cruddy day asking God if I held Luke a little longer, hugged him a little tighter, kissed on him a little more…could I love his problems away?  Tonight, as I rocked him in the nursery to calm him down, I asked those same questions.

This journey with Luke is so hard.  I love him and other children so much that sometimes, it physically hurts.  I pray that God gives us the right answers, the right doctors, the right bits of solace when we most need it so that we can endure this journey.  Tonight, we just all need some sleep…

Tagged as: luke