Stilts of Grace: My Narrative - Chapter 1: January 3rd

Intro & Prologue here

Full story to date here

“Don’t forget to send us pictures of palm trees!” I said, kissing Mark goodbye at the airport. He was off to warm and sunny Florida for the annual January conference for Saint Paul’s Outreach (SPO), leaving me to solo-parent for the next few days. While many moms are seasoned pros at doing the mom thing on their own, the blessing of his trips being so infrequent comes with the challenge that I am not accustomed to the upheaval in routine, nor do I sleep well while he’s gone. I had a little trick tucked up my sleeve this time, one that I’d tried with great success on our recent U.K adventure: melatonin. While I was hopeful that at least my sleep might be better this time around, included in these days was the re-entry of the younger 3 to school after their two-week Christmas break. 

Returning to school routines after the holidays was hard in the best of times, and harder when I was on my own. Not only that, but I had heard rumors of a possible blizzard and I inwardly rolled my eyes at yet another giant snowfall perfectly-timed during Mark’s absence, leaving me to the exhausting shoveling in the wake of the demise of our snowblower. Minnesota’s 6 months of winter were not my favorite. At least this year our older children were still off school and could help with the shoveling. There was also the silver lining that if enough fell, as was predicted, I would receive the early morning phone call announcing school’s cancellation for the younger kids, giving us all the gift of extra sleep for one more day.

Mark’s yearly absence just after New Years had resulted in the development of a few traditions for those of us at home. Most noteworthy was the assembling and decorating of post-Christmas clearance gingerbread houses. One year I managed to find them at 90% off, and now, whether they were a great clearance deal or not, the expectation was that we’d spend a day on that activity. This year I had found some fun options including an Oreo house that sounded much tastier than the usual cardboard-like gingerbread (not that they were ever eaten). 

The annual tradition, just before the first call

As usual, the kids eagerly unpacked their kits, dividing up the houses and decorations. I was thrilled that they were all old enough to not need a lot of oversight; I enjoyed their enthusiasm for this craft much more than participating in it myself. Part way through their fun, my phone rang with a call from my mom. Leaving the kids to themselves I ran to another room and answered. 
“Hello?” 
“Hi Betsy,” Mom began, immediately indicating by the tone of her voice that something was terribly wrong. My first thought was of Kate, my younger sister. She was in the military overseas and while she wasn’t actively engaged in anything immediately dangerous, she was the one to which my concern pointed first. 
“…Kevin just took Heidi to Urgent Care.” she continued. 

Relief coursed through me; Kate was fine. Heidi probably needed some IV fluids, I reasoned. She had been unwell with the same GI bug that visited us all after our Christmas get-together. In the midst of caring for my own family I had loosely followed the messages about who had what, when, and how bad, but I was surprised to hear that her case was lingering this long. It seemed a wise move to get her to Urgent Care and I assumed a bag or two of fluids would set her on the road to a quick recovery. I genuinely didn’t think this warranted the concern I heard in Mom’s voice; I cared but I was not terribly concerned. I said I’d be praying and asked her to keep me posted. 

I returned to the kids and their gingerbread houses, explaining that Aunt Heidi was at Urgent Care but I was sure she’d be fine. Mark called a bit later and I snapped pictures of each kid chatting with him using my new Christmas gift, a retro plug-in handset for my cell phone. I had no inkling of just how much I would be using this sanity-saving device in the weeks ahead. 

When Mom called again a bit later, the news about Heidi was no better and much more confusing. She informed me that Heidi had been diagnosed with sepsis. 
“Sepsis????!!!” I repeated more to myself than her. My thoughts scrambled as I tried to make sense of this: do people get sepsis from GI bugs? Are there degrees of sepsis? How? What happened? 
Still, I rationalized, if they were at Urgent Care she was already getting the attention she needed. Surely this must be a minor case, though I could not remember that being a “thing.”  Mom had no further insights but would continue to keep in touch. Now I wanted to talk to Kevin and get the rest of the story. I was terribly confused. 

Around 8pm I finally spoke with Kevin, grateful that my new handset allowed me to hear so clearly, not least because Meg was wailing in his arms making it difficult to understanding everything he was saying. I gathered that he was at home, having returned briefly to say goodnight to their children and allow my parents time to arrive to spend the night with the kids. His plan was to rejoin Heidi after their arrival. Meanwhile, he explained, Heidi was being transferred via ambulance to the better-equipped E.R. of a local hospital for further care and observation. The fact that Kevin was home encouraged my continued belief that she was in stable condition and there was no reason to believe anything but that with the help of medical care she would be home soon. 

As we chatted, I briefly mentioned something about the my own episode of rational assumptions that led to delayed care nine years prior, only to underline that I could understand why Heidi had declined to go in any earlier. In my case, I had chalked up my days of a continued high fever and body aches to a summer influenza that would simply have to work its course. Only when I began losing both my short-term memory and stamina to walk from bedroom to bathroom did I allow Mark to take me to Urgent Care. A simple pulse-ox reading suggested pneumonia, confirmed by x-ray. I was dumb-founded; I’d had no cough, nothing that would indicate a bacterial infection that left for longer could’ve killed me (it became a terrible cough only when the antibiotics began breaking up the infection in my lungs). Heidi’s case seemed similar enough, and I still felt everything sounded as though the outcome would also be similar to mine. The impression I was left with as I hung up was that she would be on a 24 hour observation hold at this E.R. Whether this was what Kevin had said, or simply what I had interpreted through the haze of emotions and a screaming baby, I really can’t say.  

That evening I had my weekly 9pm Adoration hour. Our parish’s beautiful Adoration chapel had been open for nearly a year, and it had already been a source of tremendous grace and peace in my life. Those weekly hours had taken me through the anxiety-ridden final weeks of pregnancy with a baby that I was somewhat irrationally convinced I was going to lose, and, as I would see only in hindsight, filled the pages of my journal with words of preparation and consolation I would so desperately need in the unforeseen coming months. Just the previous week had offered an experience I can’t describe that renewed my awe and wonder at a God who hides himself in a tiny host that radiates all He is to those who desire to see and know Him. 

A daytime view of our beautiful Adoration chapel.
I was sitting in nearly the same place that evening.

As a busy mom I always looked forward to that hour of uninterrupted prayerful silence. Certainly this week I had an important prayer to take with me, but as I sat there in the presence of the loving King of the universe, I simply felt confused. I prayed into Heidi’s illness while calling to mind all the times in our family in which circumstances not unlike this have turned out fine: cancer, frightening chronic diagnoses, premature babies… God seemed to have a theme within our family of taking us to the edge of trust & fear, and rescuing us. I had no reason to doubt, and every reason to believe based on his pattern of goodness in our lives, that this would be the same. Not only that, but while this was clearly serious, from my vantage point it seemed like the kind of serious thing that the miracle of modern medicine would be able to handle. Surely by tomorrow Heidi would be on the mend. My prayers that hour were a mix of growing concern, disbelief, and the bombardment of thoughts like, “Will Heidi’s milk supply withstand this illness and separation? Poor Heidi! Poor baby Meg!” “Monica’s birthday is tomorrow, poor Monica!” “Why did Heidi of all people get sepsis following the GI bug that visited all our homes, but no one else did?”

Returning from Adoration that evening, I got a message from Mom with the most concrete information I’d been given up to that point, offering the first linking pieces of this confusing puzzle, “Kevin is staying at the hospital tonight. Heidi is seriously ill. Temp at or above 103. Treating with IV antibiotics for strep, but dr is flummoxed by what might really be going on.  Monica has now gotten Meg to sleep. Meg has been refusing all attempts with bottles or cups. She does suck on a wet washcloth, but I’m concerned about her getting enough fluids.” 

I knew some of Heidi’s children had been treated for strep just before Christmas. It certainly seemed plausible to me that strep had been lingering somewhere in her environment since then. This offered no explanation for why she was so ill from it (this remains a mystery) but its presence and possible cause of sepsis certainly felt like puzzle pieces that could fit together. 
I responded, “I just got back from my holy hour at Church, praying for her. My heart is breaking for Meg, too. Have you tried liquid on a spoon? If she's been spoon-fed at all she might be more willing to put up with that?”

Her reply offered the hope I hadn’t expected so soon on the heels of her previous message, but it was the news I had anticipated would come at some point, “Will give that a go at the next opportunity.  Kevin called. Heidi’s temp is now below 100. Said everything is improving, except the stiffness in her extremities from the perfusion.” 

Content now that soon enough all would indeed be well, I turned off the light and easily drifted off to sleep, ears primed for the likely early morning school-cancellation call.

Chapters 2 & 3 here