Saving Sam (Chapter 1.17): Hurry up and wait

As we entered the month of September, Elisa and I had a laundry list of things that we had to "get through" before the baby could arrive.  I remember feeling like we were running a constant race...hurry, hurry, hurry.  We got Lukas started in his Dual Immersion program.  We got Miles started in preschool.  I had to get through a very busy workweek with many important people flying into Salt Lake City for three days worth of meetings.  On top of that, Elisa was flying her best friend into town to be an important part of our birth story, and I had a house to clean.  Wouldn't you know that as we started to chip away at all of the things we needed to do, a cold hit the family.  It started with Lukas, moved to Miles, and before we knew it, Elisa and I were feeling lousy.  Really?  We had pushed to get everything done, just so we could get stopped in our tracks.  And trust me, we needed to.  We started envisioning a birth story with snot and Kleenex and I strongly considered trying to "misplace" the camcorder.

Isn't that how things go, though?  Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up.  And wait.  Today was one of those days.  Both where Sam decided to say "wait", and where Elisa and I, for the first time, pleaded for a little patience as well.  First, Sam.  When we started the day, he was at 0.6 lpm of oxygen.  I had grand thoughts in my head that he could actually be off the stuff by the evening.  Our 48-72 hour clock could get started.  Hurry up, Sam.  Hurry up.  Sam looked up and said, "wait!".  Apparently, the nurse on call made a single attempt to drop Sam's oxygen to 0.4 lpm.  He didn't like it, so the shelved the idea of weaning for the day.  Each day we'd go, the little ball in the oxygen control would be fluttering around 0.6 lpm.  Maybe I had even gotten sucked into the new Dr. Smith, full of confidence and promise and excitement at Sam's progress.  I'm so desperate to have him home with us, I didn't really step back and realize (how could I forget?) that I'm not in control of any of this.  Sam is going to do this on his own schedule, at his own time.  I only hope that the "wait!" continues to come from Sam, and not in the hesitance of a nurse or doctor to see how he does.  

Ironically, my learning of the "hurry up and wait" lesson was only half complete.  Because within the family, other factors were at work to make Elisa and I actually think..."can we have a little time?"  Don't worry.  We're not suddenly hoping that we get some extra nights of shuteye.  We aren't selfishly hoping that we can get through another season of Friends (our show of choice during the hard moments) before Sam overtakes the house.  No, another little monster (our Miles Monster) woke up today with a cold.  Hurry up, Sam.  Hurry up, Sam.  And please wait.  Elisa and I spent the majority of the day watching Miles, trying to ascertain how sick he was and our chances of picking it up as well.  We went into prevention mode, setting up contingency overnights with Grandma and Grandpa in case we need sick kids out of the house.  We ordered kid and adult doctor's masks from Amazon to be prepared if we have to walk around the house like we all have the Bird, Swine, or other animal flu.  Suddenly, where Elisa and I were wishing that Sam could be home with us 3 days ago, we were now filled with caution.  The last thing we'd want is to bring Sam home and have him get a cold.  Haven't we just spent the last 11 days trying to get Sam's heart and lungs healthy?  

The last 11 days have been some of the most difficult of my life.  I feel safe in saying that Elisa would probably agree.  Every day, we'd get up and want more progress.  One step closer to home.  Another sign that it was all going to be okay.  Amidst my frustration, today made me realize that Elisa and I had played the "hurry up, hurry up" piece of the play perfectly.  It was up to our kids to make us see that even in the most difficult situations, a bit of patience is sometimes the best medicine that we can receive.  

Tomorrow, we have assurances that Sam's echocardiogram scans will be sent and reviewed by a pediatric specialist.  Sam will face that last 0.6 lpm of oxygen, choosing to "kick the habit" or making us decide if we want to take oxygen home with us.  Miles will be on Day 2 of his cold, and Lukas will probably be on Day 1.  We'll get our cacophony of doctor masks from Amazon.  And we'll inch closer to the end of our first chapter of Sam's long story.  

Hurry up.  Hurry up.  And wait.  

Brad