Yesterday we received a health update on Simon. "He is healthy, growing well, eating well, etc. He had a case of serious Malaria and has been treated."
Ummmm, What?!?
Surprisingly, I didn't freak out. I did reread the sentence a few times to make sure that I had the correct information, but my immediate response was to sit back and feel at peace. My thoughts were, "this is just one more thing that I have zero control over. My input or anxiety will have no effect here. Essentially, even this life threatening illness, changes nothing."
My previous education about Malaria came from the 30 Hour Famine that I do with my youth group each year. This essentially involved pages of statistics about death rates and the importance of prevention. PREVENTION. Too late for that.
As any American would do I opened up my browser and asked Google about Malaria treatments. The information from the CDC was only somewhat satisfying, again mostly about prevention. In the end the information was basically this...it is a messy illness that causes high fevers and all kinds of awfulness. Most people die, but if you're lucky enough to receive treatment quickly, you live.
Simon lived. I began to think about what a miracle that was...
1) Simon has been institutionalized for his entire life. This means that unlike the vast majority of his peers he has had balanced meals and consistent care making him healthier than most children his age. Perhaps, this set him up to be able to endure the disease.
2) If Simon had gone to live with his Uncle and contracted Malaria he might not have had access to treatment. The fact that he was left behind meant that he was still with caretakers that had access to medical care.
3) The staff is incredibly overwhelmed with 22 children in a facility staffed and built for 12. Many of the newly abandoned kids are sick and in the hospital. This means that either Ken or Cathy has to remain at the hospital at all times. They take shifts. Simon was one of the healthiest kids there. He could have easily been overlooked in his crib with so many other children sick and in need of care. BUT someone noticed. I might never know who, how or why someone noticed, but someone did and he was taken to receive treatment before the illness took his life.
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In many ways this disease was a gift to me. (Hang in there, I have a point.) Often, when God has called us to something it isn't something that happens all at once. Often, we have to endure setbacks, disappointments, doubt, judgment, and a lot of waiting. However, these things make us stronger. They only remind us how much we long for what God has set on our hearts. Each roadblock clarifies the path.
Yesterday, my heart broke for my son. I mourned the lost opportunity to comfort him in his time of need. To wipe the sweat from his sweet little forehead. To clean the vomit. To snuggle the fever away. I wanted to be the one to administer the medicine that would make it all go away. To pray over him while I waited to see if it would take affect or if Simon would loose his life. To see his smile return as the sickness faded and to celebrate his getting well. That should have been me. I am his MOM!
However, not being there might be what I needed even more. You see, this is the easiest part of the journey. It only gets harder from here. The goal is not simply to bring him home, but to raise him to be the man God has made him to be. This will be exhausting. There will be countless doctors appointments and therapy sessions. He will call me names and push me away when he needs me most. There will be nights when I wonder if it is worth it and when I will want to give up or somehow undo what we have done. It will be on those nights when I will remember this feeling. This inescapable longing to be the one that raises him and makes every bad day better no matter what the cost. I will remind myself just how much we wanted this and all that it took to get us where we are. Then I will clean up the tears/vomit/broken things/etc., hug my son and thank God for another day.
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