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. 

 

 

Sadness, I Thought I Knew Thee

I thought after 42 years, I knew sadness. I thought I felt it when my father rejected and abused me, and when I fell in love with someone who didn’t love me back. I could have sworn it was there when I lost the best job I ever had, considered divorce, buried family members, and heard my child was chronically ill.

But I had to look into my son’s eyes to see it for the first time. True sadness. I’ve seen him scared, in pain, angry, frustrated and confused. But not sad. Not hopeless… until now.

His resection was around 6 weeks ago, and his recovery is not going as fast as he had planned. He had hoped to be physically stronger by now. But Crohn’s disease kicked the crap out of him for three years at least, not to mention the medications and side effects. A normal recovery is around 8 weeks. He is on schedule, but he is sick of being sick and Lord knows I don’t blame him.

Two neighbors, who were like sisters to him, moved away, then he got sick. That would have been enough, but then being too ill to finish school, and losing contact with most of his friends has made him hesitant with others. I watched my happy, healthy little boy grow into a pale, thin young man with pain in his face. He is well versed in the disappointment that shape many of us during our the teens. He has learned an early lesson in the fleeting nature of friendship and loyalty. I wish some of these things he didn’t have to learn all at once.

I had been planning to return to work. But I have unemployment until July, and I am going to spend it trying to help him to learn to enjoy life again. Even if it is 15 minutes at a time.

 

 

Nothing Like Cheating Death To Put Things In Perspective

My husband got very lucky this week. He was at work, under a tractor, when the guy in the cab pulled the wrong lever and the tractor jumped. The wheel rolled up over Stephen’s foot, onto his calf up to the the side of his knee and landed there, pinning him on a cushion of gravel. Had it been asphalt, his bones would have been shattered.

He said it was the longest five mintues of his life, his leg under all that weight, and his foot sticking out the other side of the tire. He lay there screaming at his partner, as they poor guy rushed to get a crane to lift it off of his leg.

He expected blood. He expected the searing pain of shattered bone, but as bad as it was, nothing was broken. After the paramedics left, in a combination of adrenaline and shock, he hobbled to his truck and drove home.

He said his biggest mistake was ignoring the gut feeling he had moments before the steel monster landed on him. He said he thought, “that thing is gonna get me” but he didn’t move in time. His first worry was missing work.

Now that it has been a couple of days, we both began to realize how lucky he was. Not just that he didn’t lose a leg. Or weeks of income. Had he been lying in some other position he could have easily lost his life, or an arm, and the ability to play guitar. I think that gratitude helps get him through the hellish days of sitting at home, hostage to horrible TV programming and restlessness.

In the meantime, I’ll be purchasing some life insurance on him. We were living without it, and I had never worried about it much. He always said his mom and dad would “take care” of me and Dylan if something happened to him. Well, I don’t trust that anymore. We would be screwed. His mom is a selfish you-know-what, and frankly, I don’t want to ask her for a dime.

Also, I found this very interesting and thought I’d share it: if I take out a life insurance policy on my husband, I would pay no taxes if I were to collect on that policy. But if he were he to purchase the policy and name me as a beneficiary, I would be responsible for taxes on that income. (Got that tip from The Suze Ormand Show.)

I guess now if I’m shopping for life insurance, I can’t make fun of the SelectQuote commercials anymore. I am one of those people they wanted to scare and it worked.