Fear

I'm sitting in the hospital with Emily watching numbers on the machine.  Numbers that tell me how she's breathing, the way her heart is beating, and if her blood has enough oxygen.

Watching the numbers wishing they could tell me something they can't.  Is my daughter alright?

Yesterday she had 3 hours of various seizure activity.  From convulsing, to staring, to simply closing her eyes and being unresponsive.  She's not seizing anymore, but she's not herself yet either.  I'm told this is normal for what she's been through.  She's irritable and tired and doesn't really want to be Emily right now. 

Through the very difficult night we had last night, her eardrum burst.  It was probably caused by injury during the initial seizure.  It swelled and at some point perforated.  I was horrified to see my child bleeding from her ear.  Let me tell you, that is not a comforting symptom. 

Even though she was recently diagnosed with a seizure disorder, it didn't feel real.  Somehow I still distanced myself from this moment I'm in now.  I thought I would just give her the meds so I didn't have to worry about it anymore.  I thought it wasn't a big problem. 

Why would I think that?  Seizures can harm her, they damage brains, they cause confusion, they change her personality.  They scare me.

What if she doesn't come back?  We've lost so much already.  Anything else feels like too much. 

I recently read the blog of a father sharing his feelings about his dying child, he wrote: "everyday, like Isaac, I offer my child to God, and so far everyday He has returned that gift.  I know that one day I may have to follow through".  Those words have stuck with me.

Emily has always belonged to God.  I understand that.  It's not only about knowing that she will be alright--no matter what-- it's that I have to crawl up on that alter with her and offer my heart to God, knowing that even if it breaks again for this precious girl, He's there and He cares.  Lay my faith down where it counts.  I am scared that my daughter will die.  I am afraid that I will have to live without her in this life.  I'm terrified that she will lose more function than she already has.  I'm scared of seizures carrying her away.  I'm afraid of living my life in fear.

I say things like 'fear is not from God' and 'fear and faith can not live in the same heart' all the time.  Maybe that's not true.  Maybe sometimes fear rises up so that faith can push it down; maybe God allows some fear to remind me that He is in control; to show me His hands when I just don't understand.  Maybe fear is just my human response when I am so out of control, and when I can't help her.  Faith fills in as a Spirit response reminding me again that there is hope in every situation and all thing work together for good, even when I can't see it.

I know Emily is alright, her days have been numbered since the beginning of time, as have mine.  I also know that as I have sat by her bedside and held her hand through nearly 13 years that sometimes that's all I can do.  Focus on faith.  Pray for her. Surrender what is not really mine to give.

I don't have answers here, just a blog.  Just thoughts, words, and feelings---my reality sent out into cyberspace--and the Truth of a God who loves us all, no matter what.