The Brakes

We are back in the hospital with William. Last night, he started vomiting a lot. We realized that it was not your typical run of the mill stomach bug, and brought him to the ER around 4:30a. I am sitting here with him now, back again on the 7th floor of the NC Children's Hospital and we still don't actually know what is wrong with him. When we got here, they did the typical shunt radiologic stuff - CT, x-rays and abdominal ultrasound. Unconclusive. They decided to do a lumbar puncture to see if his shunt was malfunctioning. Unconclusive. So now we've been admitted for observation overnight, and are waiting for the neurosurgeons to come out of surgery to talk about our next steps.

Will is in pretty good spirits for a boy who spent the better part of 4 hours throwing up and hasn't been able to nap much or eat anything today. While he was taking one of his short naps, I felt inspired and wrote the following poem. Its kind of personal and raw, but I feel like sharing it.

My Son's Hands

My son’s hands show a map of his history
A tale of a baby born too early
Fuzzy and wrinkled and pink
With a strength and will to survive
Against a silent shielded bleed under the surface
And a fate unbeknownst

My son’s hands show his courage
A potentially crippling disability
Hands clenched at first with the tightest of grip
That slowly loosened over time with love
And started to touch things and explore the world
Amazing and wide and unexpected

My son’s hands show his future
Of a beautiful grown man
With children of his own
And a life we were afraid to think was possible
When those babies ask about his hands
My son will stand proudly and say

My hands have scars from needle pricks
IVs started and failed and started again
To help me stay alive and fight to be here today
Stretching and thriving, stronger to hold you
Tiny white dots on the backs of grown limber hands
That tell a tale, show a history, explain a courage