|Savannah sleeps in my lap|
If you don’t believe in miracles you can’t see the parade of magic that we live each day in. Miracles happen when you aren't looking for them, and sometimes when you desperately need them. You can’t bank on them, but think of the wonderful things you will miss out on if you deny their existence?
I don’t throw around the term miracle a lot. Not because I don’t believe in them, but because they can be hard to quantitate, package, explain, and share with others.
My miracle came in the cloak of the flu.
I started to feel the soft creeping of the impending illness on Tuesday. A quiet persistent cough became a progressively encompassing ache that took me over. By Tuesday night I had given up the fight and surrendered to the beast. I was bedridden and helpless to everyone around me.
Ask any mom what the cost to getting ill is and they will reply to you, that they "cannot afford to get sick." The household cracks and crumbles when the matriarch falls. It is no different in my house. When I went to bed on Tuesday I knew that Savannah was going to pay the price.
On a normal evening I get up to walk her, feed her, clean up after her, redirect her from her dead end corner, and console her, about 3 to 4 times a night. I am sure that this does not help my immune system, and I am sure it leaves me to susceptible to every bug that lurks in the shadows waiting for a weakened moment to pounce.
Tuesday evening appointments were a struggle. When they were done I rushed home. Bundled myself in as many layers as I could and went to bed freezing under the covers of my heated mattress. Savannah was fed, walked, and put to bed. That night I heard her get up twice to get a big drink of water.
On Wednesday morning I could barely move. I peeked in on her she was sleeping quietly so I went back to bed.
I have a wonderfully generous husband. I am not a small task to bear, and I know this. Asking him to care for Savannah in the manner she both needs and is accustomed to is not possible. Not for him, not even close. I knew that my illness for as long as it lasted was going to cost her far worse than me. Joe walked Savannah three times in two days, fed her what little she would eat, and reported back to me that all she was doing was sleeping.
We both slept for two days. She never stirred, she never cried, she never got stuck, got anxious, or made a sound outside of drinking her water and climbing back into her bed.
When I finally left my bedroom on Friday morning I feared that she was fading out. Leaving as a quiet, tired old lady taking her last bow as the curtain closed.
We both spent all of Friday very slowly trying to recover. She was as tired, somber, and incoherent as I was. Neither one of us had eaten much in two days and I knew that if she didn't start eating soon the ability to regain her muscle mass to walk and function would not return. Within a few hours I had gotten two good meals in her and a small walk. By the end of the afternoon I realized that she had just been waiting for me.
By the evening she had finished four good meals, peed at least 6 times and had 4 bowel movements. Her hibernation was done, and she was resurrected once again.
Me, well, I’m still on a slow bell, but my girl is still with me, certainly no worse for the wear.
If she hasn't used up all of her luck, and outlived all of her lives there is no luckier beast.
|Savannah and Wren|
A big Thanks to my mom, dad, husband and friends for helping me get through a terrible week.