out of sorts

The house feels quiet and hesitant, even with children running around it. The laughter and banter that usually gushes out of the bedrooms is gone. It feels very unsettling to me, and I find that even after a bath and a new book, I still feel unsettled and sad. The reason for all this is Samantha. Her little self is not here, and even though I know she'll be back soon, I find myself trying to speed the time.

A basic summary of events goes something like this:
She had a tummy ache in the middle of the night. Kisses, tums, and a drink of water later, I put her back to bed. She ended up thowing up several times that night. The next day, she was quiet, had no appetite, and no energy. That night, she threw up again but she had no symptoms that I would have considered unusual. The next morning, she gave me a very specific and detailed account of her still-present tummy ache. I suspected appendicitis.

I looked it up online, and it seemed fairly unusual for a three-year-old, but her symptoms matched the descriptions perfectly. Josh took her to a local hospital for a few tests, and returned home an hour later telling me they were headed to a hospital in the capital city, about 4 hours drive away. A friend was already on the way over with his car.

He grabbed a shirt and a toothbrush and threw it in the bag. I added a Leapster, some tylenol, and samantha's favorite blanket and doll. Just like that, they were gone.

Later that afternoon, my friend Amy had me completely convinced and at-ease about leaving my other children indefinitely with her, so I grabbed a spot on the train to meet them in the capital city. There were no seats left on the train, so my ticket was a standing ticket. Perhaps it was the suddenness of the situation, or the absence of a plush first-class seat, but I felt at that moment on the train like things were moving fast and my emotions were all over the place.

I blocked out thoughts of anesthesia complications, of the appendix bursting on the way and spewing all its appendixey things through Samantha's tiny intestines, of frustrating medical situations in a culture that, even though its familiar, still feels decidedly foreign when my baby's health is on the line. I prayed for peace and trust in the Lord's goodness to me. I prayed that I would remember all the times and ways He has proven His faithfulness to me, even when I couldn't see clearly the outcome. And, finally, the train arrived.

I got to the hospital and felt relieved at the evidences of a good standard of care even as I ran through the hallways, peering into exam room doors looking for the little foreign girl, who seemed so tiny on this day. All the thoughts I've had recently about how my children are growing up seemed very premature as I found Samantha, lying hot and sick on the exam table.

A quick ultrasound confirmed that her appendix was swollen to three times its normal size. I tried to recreate Madeline's plight to her - do you remember how she woke Miss Clavel in the middle of the night?! - to help keep her mind off the painful pressure of the technician's touch on her tummy.

She was admitted, and not long after went into surgery. It was 8:30pm. Josh and I ate Cheetos and KFC while we nervously waited just steps outside the operating room. It was the first food we'd eaten since 7am.

Finally, the noise of the operating room door opening brought us rushing to the entrance. The doctor proudly held out her stinky appendix for our examination. It was seriously stinky. She pointed out that there were a few perforations, which might lead to some infection, but otherwise, everything went well.

The next couple of days were a hazy mix of sleeplessness, temperature checks and IV drips. Last night, I returned home to get the other girls from their extended sleepover at Amy's house and left Samantha in Josh's very competent hands. The goodbye I had to give her at the hospital was a pathetic attempt to be strong when just behind my strong face was a flood of tears, waiting to be released as soon as the elevator doors closed. At the time I left, her fever still had not returned to normal and was having frequent pain.

My only comfort in leaving her has been that Josh is much more capable than I of making sure she gets the best and quickest care. I'd probably read her more stories, and snuggle in the bed, but it's josh who will stay on top of the situation and make the choices that are best for her care. And he's not a bad snuggler, either.

The only problem is, that leaves me at home...in a home that feels very empty without her. Even Emma seems to feel a bit lost - today she wandered from room to room looking for something to do. This marks the first day - ever - in the history of her life that I've seen her that way. It's like a critical part of herself - and our family - is missing. I feel it too, and with all my heart want them back now!

The continued fever has caused us and the doctors to assume there's still some lingering infection, so they won't be discharged as soon as we'd hoped. I'm still holding on to the prayer that they'll be released Monday or Tuesday, at the latest.

Even though I am miserably passing the time until they return, I look back at this and see so very many evidences of God's goodness to us - the early detection, the friend willing to drop everything and drive us to the capital, the guidance of which hospital to go to, the ability to leave my other kids with someone who will love them and care for them for as long as I needed...I really could go on with so many more things. I know God has been good to us and preserved Samatha's health and life. There are so many things to be thankful for and so many reasons to bask in His goodness.

And once they get back home where they belong, I'll have another reason too.