A Year Later….

This time last year Ethan was in ICU fighting for his life. I find myself alternating between thanking God for his healing and crying as I remember the scariest two weeks this mama has ever experienced.

He was septic…a mysterious, very rare infection that stemmed from a golf-ball sized abscess in his liver. Some of the poison landed in his left wrist, swelling it into a caricature of itself and sending him into excruciating pain. They needed to do emergency surgery to clean the infection out of that joint, but his platelets were so low, they were afraid he’d bleed out on the operating table. The surgery would have to wait while they gave him platelets, trying to get the count up high enough, fighting against this monstrous infection that was depleting all the good stuff (platelets and minerals) from his blood as fast as they pumped bags of the missing ingredients back into his him. A medical balancing act.

Battling the fever. Ice packs under his arms, behind his neck, cold compresses on his forehead. Replace the ice as the fire burned inside him, unchecked. Then the sweats. Hair and hospital gown drenched. Fresh towels to put behind his back, flipping his pillow to the dry side. All the while praying…praying…praying.

No answers. Endless repetitive questions. Had he cut himself, a scratch he might not have noticed? Had he travelled out of country? Had anybody close to him travelled out of country? Had he been swimming in a river or lake? No, no, no, no, NO! The doctors didn’t know what to do. Fighting with three of the strongest antibiotics available to them. Continual bags of magnesium, calcium, potassium flowing through IV tubes. Blood tests…always blood tests from veins they couldn’t find, leaving a trail of black and blue in their wake.

Sent to Wake Forest. More of the same, but in a place where he was just a number, not a person, requiring me to go into full-fledged Mama Bear mode, and making me so glad I was there to fight for him.

Two weeks in the hospital, and finally sent home. My eyes welled up as I follow him to car. His clothes hang loose on his frame from all the weight he lost. But we’re going home…July 16th…the best birthday present in the world. Home, with a port in his arm for daily antibiotic infusions that lasted six more weeks. Physical therapy for longer than that. Finally, a clean bill of health.

A year later, I see him smiling, and heathy and happy and ALIVE. Thank you, God. And thank you to all the many, many people who prayed for him. Some of you, I don’t even know, but I thank you with all my heart.