Suit of Steel.

I pulled into my sister's driveway, knowing Deak hadn't been feeling well. His breathing was quick, much like mine when I'm beginning to feel the heat after a mile or so into a run. I had to work that day. I don't remember why, but I did.
It had come fast, and late in the day. There hadn't been much time to notice anything...and Nikki mentioned she thought he wasn't feeling well.
When I laid my eyes on that tiny ten pound body of my baby boy, I knew something was wrong.

Survival...
As mothers, we have those, you know - invisible survival suits of armor. I envision mine being metal and thick - even bulletproof. It has a helmet as well; I need something to keep my head from spinning out of control. These suits typically come fully equipped with lavishly sewn pockets made especially for our hearts. I have to stick mine somewhere, because if I begin to use it while in survival, the suit of steel is null. The heart is a deal - breaker.

So, dressed now in platinum steel, I drove...fast. As quickly as my Mazda could to see the one Doctor I trusted with my son's life. Because I knew. I knew his life was struggling hard to stay with me. By the time I got to the Dr. Kramer's office it was nearly evening, and my baby was blue. The sound of his breathing that night will live with me forever; shallow, rapid, and barely audible. Dr. Kramer gave me a look, and with a gentle hand on my back, let me know that it was time to take him somewhere else. I said I could drive him. I would be able to make it on my own. Dr. Kramer trusted me and gave me an oxygen tank to support my baby's lungs while we drove. I remember he told me to drive fast.
Blair came soon, and then we left.

There weren't many words during that car ride. Blair holds my heart too closely, and I was afraid of letting go.

The oxygen tank ran out as we entered the emergency room. I held my son as tightly as I could and then they took him. They ran with him yelling things like "STAT" and words I had only heard while watching Greys. I was supposed to be filling out paperwork, but I stopped. And, then I ran. I had to be with him. I ran down past the nurses station and entered a room where 20 or so people were preparing to help save my baby. I held him on my chest while lying on a stretcher...tubes, needles and masks being pushed and poked, and I just held him.

After Deak had stabilized for the moment, they allowed Blair and my parents to enter the area they had placed him in. A man in a white coat entered the room with some x-rays and began saying lots of things I never wanted to hear. One sentence resonated too deeply... "It doesn't look good."
The suit I had put on while driving from Nikki's stayed on through that conversation, but I was lucky. I felt a hole ripping in the pocket where my heart was located, and I knew I needed a break.
When the white coat left, I made up some sort of story about needing to use the bathroom, and I left.
I held my heart open wide, and the pain was/is still too real.
I couldn't lose him now.
Why would you give him to me just to take him back so soon?
Please. No.
I need him.
After a couple of minutes, I fixed the hole and returned to Deak's side.

Deak fought for the next week. Only one night in the PICU, and the next five on the children's floor. I slept on chairs and listened to nurses discuss their love lives outside my door. I saw the faces of parents who were losing their children each day when I ate in the cafeteria, their eyes told me...and my heart broke. That was almost me. For the second time.

Deak was sick last week, and my trauma returned. He had a high fever for four or so days, and then ended up with Roseola. As I waited with Dr. Kramer and his nurses for the testing to be done, (tests that required blood to be drawn from my son's skull while he was strapped to a board) I heard a mother across the hall ask the nurses if they minded if she left the room while her toddler was immunized. My initial reaction was one of irritation, but then I remembered the road I had been on which had required my survival suit be made of such strong material. Material that mother across the hall probably didn't need yet. Material no mother should ever have to rely on.
That initial reaction of irritation turned to gratitude eventually.
Gratitude that I can do this.
Gratitude that the 10 pound baby I had held on so tightly to 2 1/2 years ago, was asleep across my chest, with my arms wrapped around him.
Gratitude that this illness that was plaguing Deak now had been the first in a long time.
Gratitude for a God which provided this suit of armor for me to wear, and gratitude he had made it with some really tough stuff.