I had finally arrived back in Atlanta. I had gone straight
to Scottish Rite on the northside, curled up on the floor and gone to sleep. In
the morning, Levi, looking pitiful with his oxygen tubes and IV, woke up
feeling better. He seemed generally nonplussed to see me and was soon chatting
everybody’s ear off. Before long, he was squirming so much, we disconnected his
tubes and he started running around the room, staring out the window, and
discussing every object he could see. His oxygen was stable, so they discharged
him with an inhaler later that morning.
We collected our other kids from the Boltons, our amazing
surrogate family in Fayetteville (who put everything on hold to help us) and
went home. We walked in and discovered our kitchen had been cleaned and our
fridge was overflowing with meals from various people. Over the course of the
next 2 weeks, the meals just kept pouring in from people in our church. That’s
one thing our church is really good at: feeding people.
We were so happy to be home and felt so loved by people, but
realized we were walking into a busy week. I spent a day roasting coffee and
then went into 2 full days of meetings. That weekend, I helped as much as I
could so Debra could finish her Etsy orders, which got backlogged when Levi got
sick.
Early the next week, Debra came down with the flu to end all
flus. She was weak, had a bad cough, splitting headache, and fever. I canceled
all my appointments went into caretaking mode. I was already running on empty
physically, emotionally, and relationally. I struggled hard to be a kind and
patient person (without much success). I hunkered down as best I could. I’m
sorry to say I wasn’t a pleasant person to be around last weekend. I was cold,
irritable, and generally resentful. But by Wednesday a couple good friends
helped me gain some perspective and take some deep breaths.
By Friday, Debra was struggling to breath and we took her
back to Scottish rite, asking our dear friends the Boltons to take our kids
(again) which they did graciously. We drove the hour-long drive to Northside
hospital (the ONLY hospital in Atlanta that takes our crazy insurance policy)
and Debra was poked, prodded, x-rayed, and eventually discharged with a
diagnosis of pneumonia and a prescription for the strongest antibiotic
available.
A stop at the billing office revealed that our insurance was
inactive (SOMEONE forgot to pay the premium last month... oops...) and we would
have to pay cash for our visit. Words were exchanged, opinions were voiced, and
credit cards were tentatively handed over. We walked out to our car frustrated,
tired, ready to go home. Debra was still weak and not breathing deeply.
We started the car and tried unsuccessfully to drive up the
hill and out of the parking lot. The engine was revving, but the car wasn’t
going. A look under the hood revealed the problem: transmission fluid was
spraying out of a cracked hose. Old Bessy, our beloved ’95 Odyssey, wasn’t
going anywhere. After wrestling with the hose for an hour and drenching myself
in transmission fluid, I called our mechanic. Rodney generously offered to
drive to north Atlanta to fix the hose on the spot. 3 long hours later, Bessy
was running again.
The kids were asleep at the Boltons and they encouraged us
to go home, enjoy a night in our own beds without the kids there, and sleep in.
The next morning I woke up happy to a quiet house (which had been cleaned
thoroughly by our amazing babysitter) and sipped my coffee. Life was sweet
again in that moment.
That night, the date night we planned (the first since I got
home from Africa) got cancelled, which was maybe just as well since Debra was
feeling extremely week and still not breathing well. Annabel also came down
with a fever and cough that lasted until Sunday.
Rodney came back Friday night to finish plugging holes in
the transmission lines. In the process (I think because of all the stress the
transmission had been under), I lost first gear. So Bessy runs and drives, but
starts VERY slowly. She’s also making some new noises I’ve never heard before.
And at nearly 200,000 miles, I think it’s time to put our 20-year-old van out
to pasture. So we are praying for a new van.
Yesterday, I stood up in church and publicly thanked
everyone for being Jesus to us in all the craziness. They really have been
incredible. Besides all the food, cleaning help, and visitors, I now have total
strangers asking how Levi is doing. It’s been a saga, and it’s not over. But
this morning, the kids are healthy, Debra is on the mend, and things just MIGHT
be returning to “normal”. And if they do, this time next week, Debra and I will
be going up to the Smoky Mountains for 3 days while her parents fly down to
watch the kids. Fingers crossed. Not holding breath.
As for me, all the uncertainty and everything-falling-apart-all-at-once
has had a softening effect. Many people have called this “an attack” and I don’t
disagree. But I think God is doing some really good work in me through it. I’m
not totally sure what it is yet, but I believe runs along the rails of expectation,
empathy, responsibility, and trust. It has exposed a lot of self-centeredness
and helped me face some hard realities. I’ve also gotten to watch God provide
in ways I don’t deserve. Overall, I think I’m growing. I’m not seeing a lot of
the fruit yet, but there’s some really good tilling going on.
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