Unfortunately, Brady's MRI was unsuccessful yesterday. The IV sedation did not manage to put him asleep enough and he woke up during the procedure—I guess he was too "stubborn" to give in to sleep. (I have no idea where he gets that "stubborn streak" from? ☺) Naturally when he woke up inside the machine he was terrified with all the noise, confined space, etc. (That which we hoped and prayed would NOT happen, happened. SIGH... Seems to be happening all too often lately.) We tried to settle him down and do it again, but to no avail. The minute we moved him, he knew what was up, and woke up and started crying.
So the upshot is that he'll have to go back next Thursday (4/2) and have the whole damn thing done again, and this time they will use general anesthesia. The good news is that he won't wake up during or remember the process; the bad news is the trauma we will face getting him in this time since he will likely know where he is going this time, etc., and be scared going in as he will probably remember what happened yesterday.
On a lighter note, the poor little guy looked like a drunken sailor walking around the house last night as he was coming off the medicine. At one point he pointed to the floor and said, "Stop moving!" We were concerned because we did not want him to hurt himself but you could not help but laugh at him, and frankly he was laughing at himself. (Frankly, we needed to laugh so it was good.)
I confess I was frankly pissed at not getting this done yesterday—I took an afternoon off work and will have to take another, but that's really the least of it. The worst part is that Brady went through all that trauma only to not get the results AND he has to go through the whole thing again! We end up feeling: "Can ONE thing in our life be uncomplicated?!" (You kind of wish we had just done general anesthesia to begin with but they like to try IV sedation if they the patient "qualifies", and apparently Brady did. Hooray for us! )
Not only that, but now we have to wait another week to get results of this MRI, and we have already been waiting over two months since we first found out about the "spot" on his brain. We hope and pray the "spot" is benign as the physicians believe, but we just want to know for sure at this point. At least once we finally get the test done we should know the results pretty quickly since our pediatrician and neurologist can access them about an hour after the MRI is done on the Hopkins website.
So keep us in your thoughts and prayers. You can imagine that we are on edge and frustrated at the delays. Pray that we hang in there and "keep perspective." You go down to Hopkins and see some children in far worse shape than ours. Some will never leave that hospital...
Of course we know something about that reality too, having lived it last spring with Hope. Given that context, it's hard for us not to be anxious as we return to Hopkins yet again and face another health concern with our children. Needless to say, every time we set foot in that hospital it brings back bad memories, and it seems like we've had to go there pretty often recently. And we have to go back again next week...
Oh well, what can you do... At the end of the day all you can do is TRUST God, "no matter how hard it may be"... but I can tell you that right now it's VERY hard for me. I feel like every time I trust I get burned... It's like I'm having to rebuild what it means to TRUST God from the ground up. TRUST certainly doesn't mean that everything I desire or pray for is going to happen; in fact, far from it. I probably always knew that intellectually, but now as we live through this season of personal hardship and suffering, I am experiencing it firsthand.
On the other hand, on a "deeper level" I know I do TRUST the promises of God. I'm convinced that this "deeper level" of TRUST is what has kept me going the past year or so as we have endured such difficult life circumstances. It has to sustain me until such time as the "surface level" of TRUST is rebuilt. Deep down, what other choice do I have right now but to TRUST? There's really nothing I can do about this situation on my own—it's out of my control. Even though it's totally frustrating to feel powerless to do anything, we just have to be patient and hope for the best and not give into fear of the worst.
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"I love to tell the story..." I live my life at the nexus of science and faith. I'm a scientist by training, and paid to tell the story of NASA Science, but I'm married to a United Methodist pastor and active in my church. I believe that "threads of glory" from God's larger Story weave their way through all the other stories we tell and I seek to expose them through my writing. I live in Waldorf, MD, with my wife Laurie, my son Brady (~16), and my daughter Becca (13).
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