Dear Old
Friend,
As you
know, I just came back from helping to take care of my precious four year old
grandson who had a very serious infection in his foot, which began to spread up
his leg, and initially wasn’t responding to antibiotics. It was a pretty scary time! I am so grateful for all of the people who
prayed and for all of the people at home and at work who were so supportive and made it
possible for me to go. My daughter
needed the help and rest and I was so glad to be able to give her a break and
to spend time with my sweet boy in the hospital.
Because he
was being given IV antibiotics, my grandson had been stuck with needles
repeatedly in order to find a good vein.
In addition, blood had to be drawn periodically to be cultured, and it could
not be tainted with the antibiotic, so this required sticking him again. Each incident was pure torment, with that
precious child crying and begging them as politely as he could to please
stop. It was heartbreaking! As a result,
every single time anyone came into the room, he would eye them suspiciously and
ask, “Why are you here?” Explaining to him that the nurses and technicians were
only doing these things to help him get better did absolutely nothing to allay
his fears. Eventually, even when there wasn't anything being done to him which was hurting him,
he would cry and scream anyway, in fearful expectation that it would.
Once the IV
antibiotics finally took hold and got things under control, the goal was to get
him ready to go home with oral antibiotics; but, sadly, after repeated failed
attempts to get him to swallow and keep the medicine down, it was decided that
a PICC line had to be put in his arm so that he could continue IV antibiotics
at home. Because that line was inserted
surgically, thankfully he did not have to feel the pain of another IV stick;
but, when he woke up and we explained that, with his new line, he would not
feel any pain when the nurses hooked him up to the antibiotic or flushed the line,
he didn’t believe us! He still cried
each time they touched the new line until he finally realized that we were
right.
Once they
were satisfied that the PICC line was functioning properly and that my daughter
understood how to properly care for it and was comfortable with
administering the antibiotics herself, my grandson was finally released. While he was in the hospital, because he was
not feeling well, he had been content to quietly play on his iPad, listen to
books and watch television, but once he was home and feeling better he was full
of pent up four-year-old energy.
Unfortunately, he still had to be careful with his PICC line and had to
limit the use of his foot. Consequently,
he would play quietly until he couldn’t stand it any longer, and then he would
suddenly become a little wild man. He would
jump and roar, laugh and throw himself around trying to release some of that
energy.
On one
occasion he decided that standing on the sofa next to me and then falling face
down into my lap was a great idea. I tried
to dissuade him, to no avail; so, every time he fell I would catch him to keep
him from face planting into the arm of the couch or crash landing onto the
floor. Fortunately he does not weigh a
lot, but it was still a challenge to catch a launching child who was all
flailing arms and legs!
After a
number of death-defying leaps, he became upset that I was catching him. He interpreted my actions as attempts to
prevent him from doing what he wanted to do, rather than as life-saving
interventions. As his frustration
mounted and my explanations of why I was doing what I was doing failed to
mollify him, I finally told him that we needed to stop this little game; then,
because my daughter called me at that moment, I stood up to go into the other
room.
Rather than
stopping his acrobatic feats when I turned my back, my grandson saw only a
great opportunity to do exactly what he had wanted to do all along, now that I
was out of the way; and, you can imagine what happened next: He face planted directly into the arm of the
sofa and wailing ensued!
While I
comforted a very sad little boy and explained that this was exactly what I had
been trying to prevent (a pious way of saying ‘I told you so’), God made a
point of reminding me that I had no room to be self-righteous, because my
grandson and I are a lot alike.
When the
trials of life come, I quickly become terrified of what pain might lie ahead
for me or for those who matter the most to me.
It makes no difference to me that God might be doing something
beneficial, I still become suspicious of his goodness and distrustful of his
love. I am certain that I know what is best, and I resent what I perceive to be
God’s efforts at keeping me from getting what I desire. I have even been known to propel myself headlong
into situations where I know God doesn’t want me to go; but, instead of telling
me ‘I told you so’ or getting angry with me when I get hurt, God always picks
me up, gently takes me in his arms and tells me that he loves me and understands
my fears. He whispers to me about how,
because he knows my frailty, he sent his son to rescue me, even when I wasn’t
ready to admit I needed to be rescued; and, he assures me that there is nothing
I could ever do which would separate me from his love. He simply gives me grace.
No matter
how old we get, my grandson and I will always be God’s precious children and we
will always need that grace!
Love
Always,
Bonnie
