Story Weaver
Friday, March 21, 2008
Sean was an unexpected, but miraculous, "oops" baby. And ever since his birth three years ago, I've instinctively known that he'd be the one (between all three of our kids) to keep the "surprises" comin'.
Just as expected, he's kept us on our toes.
When he was only a year old, Sean's energy rivaled contestants on television's "Amazing Race." In Play With Me I explained: "My youngest son has Spiderman-scaling instincts: reaching, grabbing, hoisting, sliding, and swinging his way (whenever possible) to the highest fixture in the house and once there, doing everything possible to threaten a fall: swaggering with pride, doing a teetering victory dance, waving arms gleefully above head to solicit that needed fix of parental surprise and fear."
Now, at almost 4 years old, I affectionately call him a Tazmanian devil of sorts. He continues to be a whirlwind of activity. A true mischief-maker.
This week, I found Sean standing in the living room with what we thought was an out-of-reach DVD remote. He had opened the remote-back and with a glance I could tell that the battery (a small nickel-sized disc) was missing.
Knowing Sean's obsession with batteries, I panicked. "Where's the battery, Sean? Where is it?"
He simply stared at me with a silly sort of grin and pointed to his stomach.
"You ate it?" I half screamed, while scouring the floor and nearby furniture for any sign that he might be lying.
When he put his hand on his chest and said, "It's in my tummy, Mommy. And it kind of hurts." I froze. A mischief maker, yes, but an honest one at that.
Emergency room X-rays proved that Sean's swallowed battery had made it safely through his esophogus to the stomach. With expectation that the intestinal track would simply "move things along" we were sent home from the hospital to "watch." Two days later we were still waiting for Sean's BM jackpot.
And then he began complaining of more pain.
A second trip to the ER. (And because I had that familiar "oops" baby feeling--this time I brought him to Children's Hospital in Minneapolis.) Further X-rays explained that the battery was NOT in fact moving down. It was still floating around in Sean's stomach and starting to leak.
Surgery was set up for the same day.
This "same day" was yesterday. And in my opinion there was already enough "drama" on the schedule. . . The Christos kids I'd been directing in a play were scheduled to practice ONE LAST TIME (at 5:00 pm) and then PERFORM immediately following for a 6:30 pm service. Sean's surgery was set for 4:00. I was disappointed about missing the play, but of course there was no question about where I most wanted to be.
Jennifer, too, wanted to be with the family, and with mixed feelings she chose (very mature of her, I think) to pass her acting role on to another student, and miss the service designed to feature her First Communion.
We're both SO glad we stayed with Sean.
We thought we knew how the evening would end, and we'd made our peace with that ending, but thanks be to God, Our Great Story Weaver wasn't finished with his tale. Because He (more than spunky, spiraling Sean) knows a thing or two about the element of "surprise." What happened next was this: we experienced a circumstantial parting of the Red Sea. . .
Miraculously, Sean was in and out of surgery without complications--ready to go home by 5:45. . .a mere 45 minutes before the Maundy Thursday service.
Rich and the boys hopped into one of our cars, Jennifer and I took the other. Anxiously, we drove and prayed and drove and prayed. I kept saying, "Jennifer, it's rush hour. There's a good chance we won't make it." But every stop light stayed green. And amazingly the traffic was sparce. A quick 2-minute pit stop at home, and we made it to the church on time. . .just as kids were taking their places for the play's first scene.
TALK ABOUT HOLY COMMUNION!!
The play was wonderful. Jennifer's First Communion was meaningful. My heart was soaring with thankfulness. . . for Sean's health, for these children who so earnestly shared the story of God's endless welcome, and for the gift of Christ's body and blood.
When Jen and I arrived home an hour or so later, the doctors had prepared us to find a SUPER-SLEEPY, recovering three year old.
Instead, I was greeted at the door by wildly scampering feet and a huge, happy tackling hug. "Mommy, the battery is OUT of me. It's OUT!"
Contrary to medical prediction, Sean never did wind down. Even after "celebrating" for several hours he was still going!
Have you ever heard of the "Energizer Sean-ny?"
Just as expected, he's kept us on our toes.
When he was only a year old, Sean's energy rivaled contestants on television's "Amazing Race." In Play With Me I explained: "My youngest son has Spiderman-scaling instincts: reaching, grabbing, hoisting, sliding, and swinging his way (whenever possible) to the highest fixture in the house and once there, doing everything possible to threaten a fall: swaggering with pride, doing a teetering victory dance, waving arms gleefully above head to solicit that needed fix of parental surprise and fear."
Now, at almost 4 years old, I affectionately call him a Tazmanian devil of sorts. He continues to be a whirlwind of activity. A true mischief-maker.
This week, I found Sean standing in the living room with what we thought was an out-of-reach DVD remote. He had opened the remote-back and with a glance I could tell that the battery (a small nickel-sized disc) was missing.
Knowing Sean's obsession with batteries, I panicked. "Where's the battery, Sean? Where is it?"
He simply stared at me with a silly sort of grin and pointed to his stomach.
"You ate it?" I half screamed, while scouring the floor and nearby furniture for any sign that he might be lying.
When he put his hand on his chest and said, "It's in my tummy, Mommy. And it kind of hurts." I froze. A mischief maker, yes, but an honest one at that.
Emergency room X-rays proved that Sean's swallowed battery had made it safely through his esophogus to the stomach. With expectation that the intestinal track would simply "move things along" we were sent home from the hospital to "watch." Two days later we were still waiting for Sean's BM jackpot.
And then he began complaining of more pain.
A second trip to the ER. (And because I had that familiar "oops" baby feeling--this time I brought him to Children's Hospital in Minneapolis.) Further X-rays explained that the battery was NOT in fact moving down. It was still floating around in Sean's stomach and starting to leak.
Surgery was set up for the same day.
This "same day" was yesterday. And in my opinion there was already enough "drama" on the schedule. . . The Christos kids I'd been directing in a play were scheduled to practice ONE LAST TIME (at 5:00 pm) and then PERFORM immediately following for a 6:30 pm service. Sean's surgery was set for 4:00. I was disappointed about missing the play, but of course there was no question about where I most wanted to be.
Jennifer, too, wanted to be with the family, and with mixed feelings she chose (very mature of her, I think) to pass her acting role on to another student, and miss the service designed to feature her First Communion.
We're both SO glad we stayed with Sean.
We thought we knew how the evening would end, and we'd made our peace with that ending, but thanks be to God, Our Great Story Weaver wasn't finished with his tale. Because He (more than spunky, spiraling Sean) knows a thing or two about the element of "surprise." What happened next was this: we experienced a circumstantial parting of the Red Sea. . .
Miraculously, Sean was in and out of surgery without complications--ready to go home by 5:45. . .a mere 45 minutes before the Maundy Thursday service.
Rich and the boys hopped into one of our cars, Jennifer and I took the other. Anxiously, we drove and prayed and drove and prayed. I kept saying, "Jennifer, it's rush hour. There's a good chance we won't make it." But every stop light stayed green. And amazingly the traffic was sparce. A quick 2-minute pit stop at home, and we made it to the church on time. . .just as kids were taking their places for the play's first scene.
TALK ABOUT HOLY COMMUNION!!
The play was wonderful. Jennifer's First Communion was meaningful. My heart was soaring with thankfulness. . . for Sean's health, for these children who so earnestly shared the story of God's endless welcome, and for the gift of Christ's body and blood.
When Jen and I arrived home an hour or so later, the doctors had prepared us to find a SUPER-SLEEPY, recovering three year old.
Instead, I was greeted at the door by wildly scampering feet and a huge, happy tackling hug. "Mommy, the battery is OUT of me. It's OUT!"
Contrary to medical prediction, Sean never did wind down. Even after "celebrating" for several hours he was still going!
Have you ever heard of the "Energizer Sean-ny?"
