Son’s Recovery Slow But Enlightening

I started a new job Monday. Thank God, too… it is good therapy. Dylan is taking care of himself now, making his own meals, recovering on his own weird ’sleep-all-day, stay-up-all-night’ pace. Whatever works for him. We converted our extra bedroom into a recording studio for him to use, even though we already have another studio set up on our property. He uses computers. We play through amps. We are so old school. Our musical tastes have such a wide range, my son turned to jazz in rebellion. But I have to give him credit. He’s turned me onto some really great music, and being a drummer, I am in awe of his ability to figure out the complex, progressive rhythms.

It is such a joy to watch him recovering, after being sick for so long. It has been hard, but just like dealing with any adversity, it has made me stronger. I have discovered how much patience I actually do have. I have learned empathy for others with sick children, and find gratitude in the fact that my child is doing well. I have experienced the kindness and caring of friends, co-workers and strangers. I have learned to live with the fact I cannot expect the same from my family or my husband’s family. I have accepted that this is our burden, and blessing, to struggle with and learn from.

I am a better person because of Dylan… when he was born, I grew up. I also knew what unconditional love felt like for the first time in my life. And I watched in awe as he suffered, knowing that I would not be nearly as cool if I were in that situation. And even though Dylan will be 17 this month, his illness made me overprotective… I’m sure he would just call it annoying. But that’s ok. He can roll his eyes all he wants… at the end of the day, I know he loves me. We make each other laugh… we have long conversations about politics, music, movies and books. We get really competitive at Scrabble. We have enough in common to keep us close.

I am beginning to see all the love my husband and I have shown him being repaid now, even at this age. He is very protective of me, and comes and hugs me if I am sad. After all the years of comforting him, it feels good to have him wrap me in his long, warm arms. It feels rewarding. But it isn’t all just about me. I believe the sickness taught him compassion.

I’m slowly realizing that he is on the threshold of manhood, and I can let him go, although it will be a little bit at a time. I feel sad that his childhood was interrupted when Crohn’s disease thrust him into a world of pain, fear, medication, doctors and hospitals…. But, on the other hand, I am comforted by his endurance, grace under pressure, and maturity. Not that he doesn’t get frustrated and angry. But he told me he stopped asking “why?” a long time ago. He said it was the same as wondering why he wasn’t born in a third world country. He is very wise. And I am very lucky. 

 

 

Quiet Homecoming

I have to savor this moment, and all the moments to follow. I had to stop and write down how this feels. My son is being released from the hospital today. I am on my way to sit with him until his discharge papers catch up with him. And the next time we walk in this house, he will be at home without the symptoms of Crohn’s disease. He will be able to see his life now without looking through a lense of pain and limitations. It is a wonderful beginning for him. For all of us. Maybe we can actually get on with living now.

I feel years of worry just beginning to lift from my aching shoulders. Though I would carry that burden again in a minute if needed. Like I am needed now, about 15 miles away.

So I’m going to bring my son home.

Resurrection on Good Friday This Year

I have officially been awake for 25 hours and 32 minutes as of now. My son Dylan, who suffers from Crohn’s disease, went in for a resection yesterday morning — and I just came home for a nap. On a Friday morning. It feels strange. But it also feels wonderful, because the surgery went well and this is a new beginning for him.

It’s just going to take some recovery time.

Right now, my baby is lying uncomfortably in a bed at UAB hospital, hooked to an IV, with a tube down his throat and a tube in, well, you can imagine. He also has a morphine pump that he thinks isn’t giving him enough pain relief. He had some trouble sleeping and so the doctor prescribed some magical substances that kept him quiet for a little while.

But part of his brain is tripping from the anesthesia, and he has said a lot of strange things… like someone slipped him a hit of LSD. I know though that he will wake up, back to his usual self soon. I watched a lot of improvement sitting with him all night. I am going back as soon as I can recharge my batteries… in my cell phone and in my exhausted brain.

(FYI: Right after the surgery, I got a call from Blue Cross, who I am beginning to believe is the Anti-Christ, asking about more paperwork from me. Nothing I haven’t got, though. Still looking for that bonus to deny my son his procedure. Cheap bastards!)

Thank you to any and all who said a prayer. They worked! Stay tuned!