Three weeks ago, it seemed like my biggest worry was what clothes to wear that day and what to make for dinner that evening. I had no idea how quickly my life and my world could change...
On Thursday night, May 13th, I tucked my precious 5 week old baby boy into bed, just like normal. That night, Ben seemed a little fussier than usual, and by early the next morning he had a temperature of 102.7. Worried about his high fever, I took Ben to the doctor. The doctor examined him, confirmed that he appeared to be quite sick, but could not identify the source of his illness. Even after giving him Tylenol, Ben had a high fever and was moaning in misery. When Ben didn't appear to be improving, Aaron and I decided to take him to the ER that afternoon. At the ER, the doctors ran blood test, urine tests, and x-rays. Aside from a low white blood cell count, we were told that the test results were basically unremarkable. On a long shot, it was decided to give Ben a spinal tap. Within an hour of screening the culture, we were informed that Ben had bacterial meningitis, strep pneumonia strain. Because we knew so little about meningitis at the time, Aaron and I felt shocked, but not overly concerned. Ben was given antibiotics and admitted to the pediatric floor. The doctor explained to us that Ben would need a 1-2 week course of antibiotic treatment and that we would get to take Ben home, good as new. Little did we know...
Friday night was a night I would like to forget forever. Despite my efforts to soothe and comfort him, Ben was having an increased difficulty in breathing and was unable to nurse. I held Ben helplessly as he writhed and moaned pathetically. By Saturday morning, it became apparent that Ben was seriously ill. His heart rate was extremely high, his oxygen levels were low, and his temperature measured 105. Finally, when Ben was examined by a doctor, it was determined that Ben needed to be transported to the children's hospital. Feeling terrified, Aaron, my mom, my in-laws and I, could do nothing but hug, cry, and pray. It felt like things moved in slow motion and fast forward, all at the same time--while Ben's condition rapidly deteriorated, it seemed that the doctors didn't move fast enough. Soon we boarded the ambulance, flying 95 mph down the road. Like a scene from my worst nightmare, I watched in horror, as the life drained from Ben's little body, en route to the hospital. The color in Bens face went from pink, to white, to gray, to blue. Thankfully, the medics were able to keep Ben revived until we reached the hospital, where Ben was rushed immediately to the PICU. As doctors and nurses swarmed Ben, we were told to give Ben a kiss, and were then escorted to the lobby. We waited in agony, as our tiny, sick baby boy was intubated on the spot.
I felt total disbelief when I layed eyes on Ben: the ventilator protruding from his throat, the feeding tube winding down his nose, IVs and ports pumping him full of medications and fluids in both arms and legs, catheters in every orifice, and leads and sensors hooked up to several monitors. Ben lay on a small table, comatose and paralyzed, as all of his bodily functions were mechanically controlled, and blood was transfused into his tiny little veins. I could not have experienced more pain and torture if my own heart had been pulled from my chest and ripped in two, leaving a searing pain in its void. We learned that because of the infection, Ben's brain was irritated and inflamed, exessive fluid surrounded his swollen brain, and a blood clot was found in the sagitial sinus vein in his brain. Ben's condition was grim: if he lived, it was unclear whether Ben would open his eyes, whether he would be able to see or hear, whether he would breathe on his own, and whether he would regain the use of his arms and legs. In the five endless, timeless days that we spent in the PICU, we turned in prayer to the only source of peace and comfort capeable of lifting our heavy hearts.
We prayed. We prayed that our sweet baby son would be comforted. We prayed that we might have an increase of faith and strength in order to endure our hardship. We prayed for the ability to understand the Lord's will. The answers to our prayers came in the many tender mercies that we recieved, the peace that we felt in our hearts. As though the veil had been lifted, I felt the presence of angels attending to Ben and felt the overwhelming love that our Savior has for my precious son. The lessons and feelings that I experienced during that time were powerful and profound and have forever changed my whole being.
The next two weeks felt like a rollercoaster of highs and lows, mostly lows. Ben seemed to be a leaky boat; when the doctors would plug one hole, two new holes would spring loose. I sat by Ben's bedside on constant vigil, holding his fisted hand, and watching his every breath, while I held my own. After a few small steps forward, last weekend, Ben took a giant, hope-crushing step backwards. Ben developed seizures that caused apneaic spells and he consequently stopped breathing. As we rushed Ben, pale and gray, back to the PICU, the doctor took Ben from my arms, and I wondered if it would be the last time I would hold my sweet baby. It was utterly devastating to feel our son's life slipping away once again. After more rounds of tests and medications, the doctors were able to stabilize Ben, and we were once again left to wait. Wait to see if Ben would survive. Aaron and I prayed in earnest, petitioning the Lord to heal our son, but summoning the faith to wholly submit ourselves to His will, regardless of the outcome. Evoking the power of the priesthood, Aaron gave Ben a special blessing. In the blessing, Aaron told Ben how much he is loved by his parents and how much his mom and dad wanted him to stay on this earth. Aaron also told Ben that if he wanted to, it would be okay for him to go back to his home in heaven. Unquestionably, releasing our son from his suffering was the most difficult thing Aaron and I have ever done, yet we felt total peace knowing that our son's life was in the hands of the Lord. A short time later, a noticeable calm washed over Ben. The change was night and day. Whereas previously Ben was irratable and inconsolable, Ben was now content and even responsive. Ben Smiled. He laughed. In that moment, we were given our answer. We knew without a doubt that Ben had chosen to stay with us. He chose to fight.
Over the past few days, we have witnessed a series of miracles. Ben began to breathe well on his own. On Monday, Ben passed his swallow study and began feeding with a bottle. On Tuesday, Ben's hearing test determined that Ben can hear. Today, Ben's feeding tube was removed and he is plumping up well. Against all odds, Ben is not only alive, he is thriving.
Throughout the turbulent events of the past three and a half weeks, we have been overwhelmed by the love, prayers, and service offered on our family's behalf. Our heavy hearts were bouyed up by the ourpouring of support extended to us by our ward family, our neighbors, our friends, our family, and even strangers. Our ward family included Ben specifically in much prayer and fasting. Members of our ward have generously provided dinner to us each night, allowing us the normalcy of eating dinner together as a family. If casseroles could fix our son, Ben would be at 110%. Our neighbors mowed our lawn, watered our garden, delivered treats and snacks, and prayed for us. Our friends visited us in the hospital, sent us thoughtful gifts, uplifting cards, comments of support, and remembered us in their prayers. Total strangers, touched by Ben's sweet spirit, prayed for him.Our immediate and extended family prayed for Ben as if he was their own son. Our own dear parents carried much of our heavy weight, allowing us to lean on their shoulders in the lonely night-time hours at the hospital and caring around the clock for Hank and Max, who are mercifully oblivious to the suffering of their baby brother. We cannot express our gratitude for the innumerable prayers and countless kindnesses rendered towards our family.
Right now we are still in the hospital, waiting for Ben to recover enough to return home. Ben still has many, many challanges ahead of him as we are only beginning this difficult journey. Many things are still uncertain, but some things I know for sure: I know that through the atonement of Jesus Christ and the covenants that we made with our Heavenly Father, our family will be able to live together eternally. I know that through Christ's suffering, our own hearts can be healed. I know that our loving Father in heaven hears and answers our prayers. I know that through faith in the Lord, and the power of the priesthood, ALL things are possible.
I am so proud of Ben. My heart is brimming with love for that precious little boy. I feel humbled by the courage that he has demonstrated throughout this challenge and I am insprired by the strength of his spirit. I am truly privliged to have been given such a special child and feel blessed that I was chosen to be Ben's mother. I know that the Lord has great plans for Ben.
Ben is my miracle.
Hank, Max, Aaron and I met Hank's best buddies, Ethan and Harper, at Chuck E. Cheese's for some fun and games. Honestly, Aaron and I found Chuck E. Cheese's to be a little bit of a rip off, but the kids seemed to have a blast. Hank loved playing all the games, and Max just thought it was fun to feed the machines with tokens.
After pizza, the kiddies ate some yummy cupcakes (decorated with squirt guns picked especially by Hank) that Hank helped to make.
Even the Birthday Boy needs his sleep, so after naptime, both of Hank's Nana's and Papa's joined us at the treehouse (the Ronald McDonald type place that we stayed) for a family dinner and party.
As usual, Hank was spoiled rotten and got lots of presents...firetrucks, games, train sets, and an outdoor sand/water table.
