One hour and fifteen minutes. That's how much time it takes to drive from my house to the children's hospital nearest us. We've traveled that way just a few times in the last year. Only when absolutely necessary. Most of our appointments are with doctors in Topeka. As the girls have aged, their deficits have become more pronounced. Which means we'll have more opportunities to make that drive.
One hour and fifteen minutes is plenty of time to make a list. So that's what I do. Today I made a list. One of the girls has chronic ear and respiratory infections. So today we traveled to the children's hospital to see a specialist. While I drove, I made my list. My list of questions for the doctor, for the case manager, and for God. Questions for the doctor included a lot of Whys. Questions for the case manager included a lot of What-are-we-gonna-do-about---. Questions for God included a lot of What Ifs. Once I had a solid list, I took a deep breath. The anxious feelings swelling in my gut were too confusing to deal with, so I did what I could. I prayed.
One hour and fifteen minutes is a lot of time to pray. I prayed for the girls. I prayed for the innocent, not-feeling-so-good little one sitting behind me. I prayed for their biological mom. I prayed for their family member that is still trying to get them. I prayed for my family. I prayed for my friend, whose little girl is having surgery later this week. And then I prayed for my heart. My heart that doesn't allow for any feelings around the unknown future of our case. Because allowing any feelings would only result in breakage.
Once we arrived at the hospital and saw the specialist, we got some answers. Not all my questions were answered, but some. Next Monday we go back. On that day, both girls will see another specialist. That time it'll be for more tests. These girls have been poked and prodded so many times, but my hope and prayer is that we will gain more answers next Monday. The good news, the girls are using their legs! They both stand at furniture, and one decided to show off last weekend and let go, and is now walking behind a ladybug rider toy. They eat really well but continue to not gain and lose weight. They're 18 months, wearing 9 month clothes and infant size 2 shoes. And they have mouths full of teeth that are too big for their tiny, beautiful faces! One says "Mom, Mom, Mom" over and over and over and over and over, no matter how many times I say "what?" while the other one disappears in the house like a silent ninja. They both giggle so hard they fall over. And their hair continues to grow puffier! The bad news, the specialist today answered questions about their care while on visits with their bio family that I didn't like hearing. After leaving the hospital I was able to get my mind off some of these answers while visiting a friend. And then I had phone conversations with my parents. And then began the drive home.
One hour and fifteen minutes home. Plenty of time to think. It was pouring rain on our drive home. The radio in my car wouldn't pick up a signal. So I listened. I listened to the raspy breaths of a sleeping baby behind me. And I got mad. The thought of a parent not doing everything in their power to keep their child safe and healthy angers me. As a therapist, I do an exercise with kids I work with. We blow up balloons. Red balloons. Red equals the color of anger. The size of the balloon equals how much anger you're feeling in your body. Small balloons equal marginal anger, or the feeling of being mad. As the balloons get bigger, we identify different stages of anger feelings. If I were to blow up a red balloon in my car today, it would have exploded. The list of questions for God I had made earlier in the day began to consume me. I wasn't just angry at the girls' bio family. I was angry at Him. Not just for the girls' sake, but for mine. For putting me in this place. For opening doors I now wanted to slam shut in His face. For breaking my heart.
What if I can't stop the girls from moving to another state? What if I can't control where their tiny feet go? What if I can't protect their small, delicate hands from being pulled into harms way? What if they move out of my home, leaving me broken?
One hour and fifteen minutes. Driving through rain. Through tears. And then it stopped. The radio found a station. I could hear her sleeping behind me again. She was safe. And I was reminded of His great love and the peace I have for God's will in my life. This is what played:
When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll; whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, "It is well, it is well with my soul." Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, let this blessed assurance control; that Christ has regarded my helpless estate, and has shed his own blood for my soul. "It is well, it is well with my soul." Oh Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight, the clouds be rolled back as a scroll; the trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend; even so, it is well with my soul.
