Day by day and with each passing moment, strength I find, to meet my trials here;Trusting in my Father's wise bestowment, I've no cause for worry or for fear.
He whose heart is kind beyond all measure gives unto each day what He deems best--
Lovingly, its part of pain and pleasure, mingling toil with peace and rest.
When I was little, singing hymns before the Sunday evening service was one of the highlights of the day. Soon, I was able to play these hymns for myself. Unfortunately, for my very talented piano teacher (and very talented mother, aunt, and grandmother) I'm not a performance artist; playing hymns at an evening service is about as much as you'll be able to convince me to do for the general public. For me, I get the most joy in playing for myself. There is nothing more calming than sitting down in front of the piano and losing myself in the notes and words in a song, especially when I'm stressed or anxious. This particular melody has been in my head on repeat for a little over a month now.
We're just past a month post-op for Jet's first surgery, and today marks exactly a month from his second. And day by day is pretty much how we made it through the month of April, and even now to some extent. Jet was in the hospital exactly two weeks, with eleven of those days intubated and sedated. We had been hoping for a stay of half of that time, and each day seemed a little bit forward and a little bit back. And every day, especially after the second surgery, we were told we would see what the day would bring. Every day, we were told of a new med they were trying, or one that he was taken off. Every day, we would hear the words "maybe tomorrow...maybe tomorrow." His failed extubation made them extremely cautious to try again and to be absolutely certain there would be no repeat performances, but that didn't make it any less hard to see him try to get comfortable, try to lift his arms to be picked up and held, try to pull at the tubes and wires and IV lines because he was burning through the sedation faster than they could administer. We're just past a month post-op, but time hasn't dulled those memories yet, if it ever will.
The month of April was another anniversary of sorts. It was just two years ago, when Jet was only three months old, that he underwent his lifesaving surgery in China, where he was hospitalized for 41 days. Forty. One. Days. Three failed extubations before the fourth one was successful. Weeks in the ICU, where, unlike here, visitors aren't allowed in China. And I can't help but think of Jet's foster mama, his Ayi, who fought for him to have the surgery and paced the hallways of that hospital in Beijing waiting for news. And we owe her, knowing that she does this for dozens of babies. Loves them as her own. Taking care of them as their "mama for now" before they're placed with their "forever family." And like any mother, I think I can safely assume she doesn't want our thanks or to be recognized, because she was doing what any mother would.This past month has been a blur. It was the beginning of April and now it's almost the middle of May. Knowing what he went through in China doesn't make those two weeks here in the hospital any less hard for him, or for us. It doesn't make the recovery process any less hard for him, or for us. We're still dealing with withdrawal and the medications prescribed to combat that. Next week is a marathon of appointments and evaluations for cardiology, physical therapy, and feeding therapy. Before the month's end, we also see the pulmonologist and have another eye exam...and a hearing test. In case anyone is concerned, I'm 99% positive they're going to tell me his hearing is 100% selective.
It would be easy to get overwhelmed with all of the appointments and therapies scheduled. Actually, it IS easy to get overwhelmed...even easier to worry. But then I look at the pictures of where Jet was a week ago, a month ago, or even two years ago, and realize how far he's come...and that time was just made up of single days and moments put together bringing us to now. Realizing that the only reason we--he--got through them was simply because of God's grace.
I wrote this under a different photo, almost eight months ago now, and it's still fitting...Yes, we will pick up leaves and rocks and acorns and seeds and a worm. Yes, we will walk by our own self without holding hands or in a stroller. And yes, we're very thankful that our independent and ball-of-energy boy can and will do these things!
We might overreact for sneezes and coughs after almost a year now of being on edge or waiting for the next cold to hit. Jet might be moving a little slower...or at least more cautiously. We might have a newfound appreciation for hand sanitizer (and that's saying something). We might seem worn down and tired and housebound and maybe a little crabby (the crabby one is two). But without those moments of pain and heartbreak and fear and anxiety, we would have taken for granted the moments of joy and peace and calm that have sustained us until now and will continue to sustain us, thanks to the many, many prayers said to our Heavenly Father for Jordan and for us. Thank you to everyone who provided meals, coffee stops, stayed at the house, cleaned the house, helped with the yard, visited at the hospital...we will never be able to fully express our thanks to you, but we appreciate and love each and every one of you. We will continue to take everything day by day, or moment by moment, and hopefully continue onward and upward as things settle back down for our new normal once again.