Holding your breath

When little Emmer was born it was the most life changing experience I had ever had.  I was 27 years old when she was born. I thought I had done some living.  I had a college degree and had worked several years with the public. So therefore,  I would be an excellent parent.  I knew it ALL.  I knew how to handle every imaginary situation that I had never encountered.  I was an EXPERT.  Then Paige came along and blew my theories right out of the water.  I had to eat a lot of crow.  It don't even taste bad after a while. I did things I said I'd never do with my kids.  I said I never look all white trash and "spank" my child in the aisles of the Wal-Marts.  Well,  not only did I spank my kid there I whooped her too, and if people looked at me funny,  I asked them if they wanted one.  I also said I'd never let my child suck a pacifier when she was as old as 2-  that was completely ridiculous.  When Paige was finally 3 she lost the last pacifier she had  but, wasn't without a big fat open bite!  I can't tell you how many little lessons I learned along the way.  Jeremy and I started learning these lessons on day one. 
From the moment I knew I was having a little girl, I knew she would be my little dolly that I could dress up and put bows in her hair and show off to everyone that would look. I bought clothes and bags and shoes galore, before she was even born.  I had her hospital stay wardrobe already picked out and packed up in her little bag. I couldn't wait for her to get here.  Then she got here, and I went learned I didn't know HOW to put all those clothes on.  The first time I dressed her I almost killed her.  I was so excited to put that cute little  tiny shirt on her, little did I know that you couldn't put clothes on babies like regular people.  Newborn babies are floppy and they don't help.  As a matter of fact they draw up and make things even harder.   I decided that when the nurse brought her to me that she didn't need that tacky hospital t-shirt she had on, she needed the cute pink tiny t-shirt I had packed and brought for her to wear.  My mother, who would've normally done this, had the audacity to leave me and go eat, which left me and Jeremy alone to dress and care for this baby.  I figured that I could put a shirt on a baby - I mean how hard can that be !  I  finally got one arm in the shirt after 20 minutes of trying and coaching from Jeremy.  Then we decided that I should try to get her head in that tiny little head hole. What happened next is something that I'm still not really sure of, but I'm pretty sure I'm the only mother in history that almost killed her own baby by trying to put a shirt on.  The shirt got stuck around the forehead and she started crying and Jeremy started yelling "Get it off her! Get it off!" May day! May day! We were in trouble.  I managed to get it off her strong little tiny arm. That only angered her more. The crying was deafening and her face (the part that I could see) was turning this weird purplish color (which was a nice departure from the yellow color she was).  It was stuck there on her forehead.  The longer I struggled to get it off,  the more enraged she became. Jeremy was biting his fingernails and cursing.  I couldn't go fast enough - but hey I'd just birthed a baby...cut me a little slack.   When I finally got the shirt off of her she was beyond mad and was shaking, and then did something that I would become very familiar with.  She opened her mouth to cry as hard as she could and she held her breath and didn't breathe for what seemed like a full minute. Jeremy and I looked into each others panic stricken faces and had a little mini stroke.  We didn't know what to do. Should we call the nurse and explain what idiots we were? They probably wouldn't let us take her home if they knew we couldn't even dress her.  Finally she let out a huge massive shake the walls wail and I scooped her up and apologized over and over to her. When she finally fell back to sleep, we decided that she looked great in the diaper. Babies are supposed to be naked - it was natural and we weren't going to try that again.  Jeremy decided he needed a cigarette and some nerve pills.  I was just glad her color had come back to normal.  So, we left her alone and wrapped her up in a blanket and decided we'd learn how to do that tomorrow.

Heath has been without real clothes on for 51 days now,  he's been wrapped in soft dressings.  Fortunately for the nurses,  he doesn't hold his breath like his niece does and throw little fits when they change the dressings.  According to him,  since he got his new Yankee skin and his own skin is starting to heal the dressing changes are much more tolerable.  His pain is finally starting to decrease.  He even sat in a chair the other day to eat his dinner (or was it supper?).  He has been up walking for 2 days.  He's getting stronger every single day.  His therapy is done everyday even if his therapist doesn't come in.  He's showing them he's healing.  He is showing them he wants to go home.  He is using his hands to hold cups and forks and even a toothbrush.  Determination and grit have taken the place of pain and suffering.  The days are filled with new experiences for him now that we take for granted.  Can you imagine not being able to even scratch your head or pull your sheet up?  These are tiny insignificant things until you can't do them for yourself, but now they are on a checklist of things to accomplish before you get to go home and sleep in your own bed.  The skin itself is healing everyday and still amazes me when I look at it.  There are so many levels to healing a burn.  The skin has an awesome way of healing.  The redness is still a reminder of the awfulness that has happened and I'm sure the pain is still there to remind him.  New skin is there and growing.  The hands that were once covered in bandages are now uncovered and well on their way to healing. We can even hold his hands.  They are smoother than a baby's butt. That fire burned the callouses and roughness right off.   I will never take for granted holding someones hand.  Holding his hand is such a milestone for me, because in my mind, if I could ever squeeze his hand and he could squeeze back it would be OK.  In the next couple of days he will need another skin graft. Some places still aren't healing without a graft to cover the burned flesh.  He's almost there. He has even said himself that he now sees there is a light at the end of this long dark tunnel.  This has changed all of our lives.  It has changed how we think, how we act, how we pray, and how we live.  Heath has taught us that things don't happen by mere circumstance and chance.  He has also taught us that we can't stop trying because we don't get it right the first time.  We learn from trial and error and from experience. We may not be good at it the first time but don't give up.  The hard days are fewer and fewer and the good days are beginning to stick around more and more.   He's come such a long long way in 51 days.  He's endured more than I could have ever went through in one day much less 51 days.  I have been blessed being able to be a part of this whole situation.  I am seeing firsthand how the human spirit and will to live far outweighs self pity and sorrow.  I still can't believe it's happened and it almost seems like it was years ago instead of days ago.  When the doctors think that he has healed enough and have taught us how to care for him and they think we can do it, he will get to come home.  I have been standing around his bedside watching, holding my breath, and waiting for the moment to catch up with me so that I can exhale.


 Let every thing that hath breath praise the LORD. Praise ye the LORD - Psalm150:6

'Til Tomorrow