The End Of A Chapter
When you look back at the many chapters of your family’s story, are there some you never thought you’d have to write? Maybe it was a time of heartache, suffering, pain or longing. Or maybe it was one of crisis, unknowing and fear. We closed one of those chapters a few days ago, one we thought we’d never write. The ending, thankfully, was a happy one, but the many words and sentences leading up to it were stressful and worrisome. I share this story because, perhaps, you have similar chapters written in your life’s book. I also share it as a cathartic experience for myself, bringing to light the many emotions that punctuated its many twists and turns.
This past July, our boys decided it was a good day for a family fishing trip. Now, keep in mind, we own one fishing pole and have been fishing a total of two times since the boys were born. So, after a quick trip to Target to buy a second pole, the cutting of hot dogs for bait, and wrangling everyone into the car, we set off to the “city pond”, ten minutes down the road.
It was a super hot day (remember, it was July), and we had our new puppy, Flora, in tow. Peter got the boys situated with their poles and I was securing Flora to a chair, when we heard a splash and Emmett yelling “Eli fell in the water!” I turned around to see Eli flailing in the water, thinking he was taking a nice, cool dip. In the split second it took me to get to the side of the pond, I waited for him to surface (he’s a good swimmer, after all). The water was only about three feet deep; all he had to do was put his feet down. But he never did. Instead, he swam around in a circle, eyes open and looking towards the sky. I screamed at Peter to jump in and help him, which he quickly did. He pulled Eli out and stood him on the ground. A mere ten seconds (or less) had passed. Eli was soaking wet and confused, but was talking and lucid. He wasn’t coughing or struggling to breathe, but couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. I rushed him to the car, dried him off and held him, whispering calming words and “I love you’s.” The reality of the situation eventually overwhelmed him, and through sobs, he said “I thought I was going to die!” I hugged him tighter, sitting with him until his little body relaxed and his mind calmed. I walked around to the backside of the car, out of his sight, and broke down, my body shaking with sobs. The reality of the situation had finally caught up with me, too. I was terrified, confused, panicked, worried…the most I’d ever been as a parent. Feelings of helplessness and guilt washed over me. If I hadn’t been fiddling with the puppy, if I’d been looking at the pond, my eyes on my boys, none of this would have happened, right? Right?
The next seven months consisted of visits to our pediatrician, a referral to a neurologist, a 45- minute EEG, an overnight EEG, and an MRI. Phone calls and appointments with doctors along with newfound medical terminology became our new norm. Was it a seizure? Was it an autoimmune disorder? Was it caused by head trauma? So many questions, that led to more and more questions and, subsequently, a longer wait to find the answers.
Eli remained stoic throughout the entire ordeal. He’s my easy-going kid, who rarely gets ruffled, more introspective than outwardly emotional. We had discussed the “event” in detail, trying to figure out if he could remember anything leading up to the fall in the water (he remembered nothing). We prepared him for all of this doctor’s visits and tests, watching videos of what an EEG and and MRI would both feel and sound like. We asked him how he was feeling, both physically and emotionally, processed with him, prepared him the best we could for all that was happening. And he remained stoic. The gravity of what he was feeling didn’t show itself until we received an email from his teacher about his “lack of attention” and falling behind in his classwork. We had NEVER received this type of communication about him, so we were both shocked and confused. We had mistaken his stoicism for understanding, his lack of emotion for acceptance. How could we have missed this? It also forced us to consider whether this was a “symptom” of something larger. Was something happening with his brain? Could this be what caused him to fall in the water? It was a slippery slope of more questions, more confusion, more worry.
Each test ordered brought a new piece to the puzzle, but offered very little in the way of the final picture. Finally, after completing his last test, in a series of brain-scanning tests, we received the answer we’d been eagerly awaiting: he was healthy. No sign of trauma, no long-term effects, no brain dysfunction. It was a fluke event, most likely caused by heat and dehydration. The burden of worry we had been dragging around with us finally lifted, the confusion settled. But it was Eli’s subtle reaction to this news that had the biggest impact. His school work improved, his attention span returned, his smile lit up his face, his jokes became funnier, his face more relaxed. We saw him, really saw him, and recognized all that he had been through. He was our “old” Eli, but with a new story.
We were officially discharged from his neurologist a few days ago, the final shackle unlocked. We have settled into a routine that doesn’t consist of doctor’s visits or tests (other than the school kind!). We did it together, in spite of worry, confusion, questions, fear. We cried more than we’d ever cried, loved harder than we’d ever loved. And we can finally write the words we’ve been longing to write: The End.
