It Wasn’t What I Was Expecting to Hear

There is something about numbers sometimes…

March 23, 2018

Today is our 16^th wedding anniversary.

This morning, I left Boston Children’s Hospital with Liam, for the last time for care related to his ankle injury.

It has been exactly 41 weeks since the day of his injury, June 9, 2017

Liam was born on July 9^th, having grown in my belly for 41 weeks.

We were early to the appointment.  Our first time without Andy.  They took us right away and we were greeted by a research assistant.  She explained the study.  We were happy to help.  “And,” she added, “Liam will receive $15 for his time” – smile from Liam “great!”.

15 min later, after Liam completed the survey, the assistant handed him a white envelope.  $15 cash.  Big smile.  “Nice!! That’s the easiest 15 bucks I ever made, well except on my birthday every year, that’s easy money.”

“Oh no, no its not. There was nothing about your entry that was easy. Not for me or for you.”

“My entry?  Wasn’t it an exit?”

Lol.  “both”

Dr. May says everything looks great.  He expects that Liam will live a fully active, pain free life, but there is always the chance for arthritic issues in that joint.  If so, hopefully later rather than sooner.

Dr. May says, “So, I don’t need to see you again, unless you have any problems. Call me”

It wasn’t what I was expecting to hear.

I hadn’t prepared myself, that it would be the last time we drove in for an appointment. I mean, I’m good with it. We love Boston and all, but I won’t miss the early morning drives in rush hour traffic to make 8AM check-in.  I won’t miss taking two hours to get home after an afternoon visit to Children’s.

Or will I? …

Maybe I will miss it, a bit.  Time in the car with a 14-year-old boy becomes more precious by the day.  The clock is ticking away.  Soon, he will be driving the car, on his own, and will be the one giving rides.

It wasn’t what I was expecting to hear.

I hadn’t prepared myself that it would be the last time we get to see Dr. May; the good doctor who skillfully put our son’s mangled ankle back together in a two plus hour surgery.  I hadn’t prepared a proper thank you, planned for a photo op or thought enough to offer a hug with the handshake.  It took me by surprise, and suddenly, we were leaving the exam room.

We followed our traditions:  breakfast at the caf, a Red Mango frozen yogurt.  For the first time, Andy wasn’t with us, so I had both end of visit tasks: get the Starbucks and turn in the valet ticket for the car.   Does this really cost us $15 every time?  I guess it’s a deal for Boston.

“so, this is our last time mom?”

“yeah buddy” sorry, I would have planned something special.  I mean, I thought he would want to see you one more time, like 3 to 6 months, but I guess you are doing great so……We will plan a Boston day; all four of us, to celebrate.   We could even pop in to Children’s for breakfast or a Red Mango.”

“oh, good idea.”

Waiting for the car, I looked through some photos from the time of the injury.  That’s when I realized – it had been just over 9 months. Just like his birth.  I flipped through my calendar and counted, wait, its been 41 weeks.  41 weeks.  huh.

He navigated me out of the city.  “We might make it in time for you to get to school by 11.”

“Do I have to go to school?  I don’t really want to.  I’m tired.”

“I think you should sweetie.  If I had known it was the last time, I would have planned something.  But I have to be back, so you might as well head to school.”

Some quiet

I turned on the radio – Boston radio station, Mix 104.1 “Mix Cares for Kids” radiothon – raising money for Boston Children’s Hospital all day.  We listened to one of the stories.  The radio personality kicked off the next ask with “Boston Children’s Hospital gets kids back on their feet!”

They sure do.

We looked at each other.  A tear dripped down each of our cheeks. We were just beyond the city now.  The grey sky and salt coated pavement ahead.  Three seasons have passed.

“It’s your first hero’s journey you know.  Not everyone experiences that at 14. What do you know now, that you didn’t before?  About yourself?  What’s different?”

Pause.  “I know that I don’t know.  And, I don’t know what I don’t know.”

I looked in my review mirror.  I could see the whole city behind me.  I remembered the night we drove in, in the red ambulance.  The full moon in front of us, just over the horizon, sitting below fluffy white clouds, as the summer sky turned dark.  The bright city lights, the purple lights on the Bunker Hill Bridge.  This frozen-in-time image of the Boston night sky in my mind – so clear I could paint it.  So grateful for the health care we need, when we need it.  So close to home.

“I’m remembering when we drove in, and all the times we have come.”

“Me too mom.”

Silence

I took his hand.  I glanced over at him.  Salty tears dripping down both of our faces.      Re-membering.  Relief.  Feeling the intensity of the moment and each significant moment of the past 41 weeks, rolling through our bodies like waves, rising onto the shore.   Some sighs.  Some time.  Some more salty tears.  Holding his hand as we drove north.

“You did it Liam.  You did it and you are going to be ok.  It’s going to be ok.  I know it’s scary. It’s been scary, and it will be scary sometimes.  But,   you     are    doing it.”

“I love you Liam.”

Liam blinked, and nodded.   A little smile.

“You know, its been 41 weeks, since your injury and you grew in my belly for 41 weeks.  A new baby at 41 weeks and there is something about you that is new now too.  Remember when school started, and you had just started walking with the boot, what you told me?”

“That I’m not just going to wish the school year away and wait for summer”

The gift of presence.

We spent some time talking about that for a bit as we drove north.  Looking forward to something, anything, and still being present, in the moment.

And the gift of experiencing the health care system.

“Maybe I’ll be a doctor?  A doctor who is skilled at the medical piece and the people part – what’s that called? Bedside manner?”

“You will make a great doctor, healer, or whatever else you want to do Liam.   Anything.  You can do anything.”

We listened to a couple more stories from the radiothon.

“These are too sad mom, lets shut it off”

We talked about school.

We talked about writing a thank you note to Dr. May and letter to Gordan Hayward, the Celtics starter who experienced the same injury as Liam in the first five minutes of the season opener.  Liam was watching from our couch, a visceral experience for him to say the least.

We talked about getting his license and driving his friends in the car.  He asked what he should do if friends get in his car with alcohol or drugs.  We talked about his resource officer at school. He decided it would be a good idea to ask him some questions. He will be the first one of his friends to have a driver’s license.

We talked about peers, and pressure, and being authentic, and letting the world know who you are and what you stand for.  We talked about values and boundaries, and speaking with compassion and truth.  We ran through a couple scenarios.  This kid is solid.

“How about if you stay home this afternoon, and write those letters while its fresh and real for you?  And just let your body process all of this.”

“Yes.  Thank you.”

I put music on low. He laid his seat back, got comfy and fell asleep. His knees nearly touching the dash now.  5’9 at the start of the journey.  6 feet today.

Journeys of the unknown give us gifts.  This one gave me the precious gift of time with my teen.

As we prepare to release our growing man cub into the world in just a few years, the time in the car, waiting at doctors appointments, going to physical therapy, getting out of school early or heading in late, stopping for a snack on the way, massaging his ankle and body, nurturing and nourishing him to health – has given us sacred moments, meaningful conversations, and memorable experiences, that I inscribe in my mind with purple permanent ink.

There have been times when it has been painful, and awful, and helpless to witness my child in pain and in fear.  But it is also true that this time has helped secure our connection, our love and our relationship.  In each experience in life, we are born new again: new parts of our being, and our soul, and our path.  New parts become clear, show up, and are discovered.  41 precious weeks of not knowing, and of knowing.  41 precious weeks of gestation, bonding and growing.  41 precious weeks of questions.

Who did I need to be to parent an injured child? To take him through the journey, not just over it?

What did each moment need?

How could I bring him a sense of love and trust?  How could I bring it to myself first?

How could I honor the truth of the real loss of control that he experienced (and I experienced) in this journey and that he will experience again in life?  That we all experience in life.

When he asked the questions of “why this” and “why me” and “what if”, how could I guide the development of self-compassion, resiliency, resourcefulness and flexibility?  In him, in me and in us?

For me, and now for Liam, these are some of the questions of the journey; of this one, of the next.  These are the questions that may guide us when the unexpected happens.

It wasn’t what I was expecting to hear.

“Mrs. Deselle, come quick, Liam got hurt on the trampoline!!!!!”

 

I know that I don’t know.  And, I know that I know.

My heart walks outside of my body.

My heart walks outside of my body.

 

***Shared with permission from Liam.  Although his first choice would be to keep this experience private, he sees the value in sharing our journey with others.  We have talked about the lack of rich and thoughtful material available around parenting teens and emerging adults, in comparison to parenting young children.

He is good with me sharing my writings, because he also knows it is how I create.  It is how I honor and love myself.  It is how I am in the world.  His request – if you know him and see him, please do not initiate conversation about the writing, or the journey.  Except to ask him how he is doing.  If he wants to share more intimate details on his own with others, he will initiate that.

Thank you for respecting his wishes.

A grateful mom.