Falling Grace

To My Most Amiable Readers....

I couldn't write of it for a long time. I was right there beside him. Reuben was playing on a tree house slide at our friend's home, charging up the slide, reaching the top and coming back down, when all of a sudden he ran off the far side. Before I could reach him his tumbling form hit the ground, his head striking a car battery.

I thought he was dead. His eyes locked to the right and his mouth contorted in pain but he didn't cry. For a long fifteen seconds the only sounds were my own "no no no, Reuben!" His arms and legs were limp as I scooped him up. He wailed. In a flurry of activity we took him to the emergency room where they took an x-ray of his head and discovered nothing. They were about to send us home with him, saying it was a concussion, when he threw up blood.

A neurosurgeon was called in and they took a scan of his skull and brain, which showed that part of his skull was crushed (behind the right ear) and was pushing inward into the brain. They needed to operate to remove the crushed pieces and insert a plastic plate. I will not attempt to convey the hell I was living through at that moment. He's only two years old.

I shakily dressed in scrubs and kissed his drug-induced sleepy face. My tears fell on him. They told me I had to go. I left the operating room a crushed little woman.

People came and supported us, but I could not be with them. I sat as near as I could to where he was. I knelt on the floor and cried and prayed. "Lord, give me back my son...Lord, heal...."

I sang. I pleaded. I stormed the doors of Heaven with Nancy praying and singing with me.

A long time passed. The neurosurgeon came. Good news, the bone fragments had not pierced the protective sack around the brain and the implant went in successfully. Also important was that he did not convulse during the surgery (which would indicate the brain reacting to injury). The next 24 hours would be delicate; waiting to see if convulsions would present or any other abnormalities.

I got to go to him. He was waking and crying and looking so small on that big hospital bed. But he looked so...ALIVE! I cradled him in my arms; his head half-shaved and an ominous bandage covering a half moon-shaped incision. We left in ambulance for the public hospital which has a NICU facility. There I had to leave him again (limited visiting hours). I protested, I begged, I told them I would not leave him. With compassion-filled eyes they firmly told me 'no'. I could hear him crying for me as Dustin supported me out of the hospital. He was scared. I was torn apart to not be able to hold him and make him feel safe. Most horrid night.

Didn't sleep. Went to the hospital bright and early and waited. Could hear him crying but was not allowed to go to him. Plotted barging in anyways. Decided arrest would be a bad idea. Finally at his side again, and praise the Lord, I didn't have to leave him again. The neurosurgeon scanned him again to check for swelling, and as no convulsions presented, we were able to transfer to the clinic where I could stay with him in a private room.

He was very angry, very confused, and struggled with his IV ports. Sleep was a blessing. My prayers turned to "Lord, let me see him smile again..." I overflowed with praise to God for sparing his life.

The next morning we got our first beautiful smile as he realized that he could make his bed move by pushing the buttons. My little boy was back! Mischievous and ornery, but he's back!!!

We got to bring him home. I needed to sleep beside him for about two weeks. I just couldn't be away from him; it brought such peace and security to my heart to feel his warm, alive little body tucked in next to mine. A week after his surgery he received a clean bill of health at his check-up. Joy. Pure joy.

I couldn't write of this before. I did so now only by blinking away tears and swallowing my sobs. This accident has sobered me, though I am a diligent and responsible parent, something terrifying still happened to our son. I am deeply grateful to the Lord; He has been so merciful to us.
Your Most Devoted,
Sarah