One of Those Days (12-05-2007)

 I started a blog at Blogger because I changed email addresses and forgot my password at Wordpress. Most of the stuff I've written over the years is kind of dumb, but some of it might be worth preserving. I'm copying it over here so that when I forget my login info again, I can just copy it from this one place.

Some people are quite emotional. 

 They wear their hearts on their sleeves as  they passionately ride along the ebbs and flows of each passing moment.  There  is a vibrance and air of anticipation as I talk with these people, because each  conversation has the thrill potential of a roller coaster (With a broken axle).   I am not one of these people.  

Generally speaking, I am fairly calm and reservered (probably even monotonous)  and I roll with the punches of life with a stolid stoicism that I have somehow  aquired through life’s myriad of influences.  That being said, there are times I  find myself frustrated by my cool and collected tendencies.  There are days I  want to self-destruct, but I really just don’t know how.    Today is one of those days.  

As an update: Nathaniel had surgery a few months back to fix his broken leg.  He  has congenital pseudoarthrosis, which basically means some of his bones formed  false joints.  Because of this, the bones in one of his legs have weak spots and  low blood flow.   Because of that, they’re curving, and one of them broke.   Additionally, his condition complicates the normal “fixability” of a standard  fracture.  He is two and a half years old and has a lot of growing yet to do; at  this point, we’re not really sure how well is leg is going to keep up.  

This is a relatively rare condition and is usually a symptom of another disease  called neurofibromatosis (I believe) or NF I , which has potential symptoms that  run the gamut from splotchy skin to chronic pain and blindness (among many other  things).  

A few months back, Nathaniel’s surgeon performed a bone graft on his broken leg  using a piece from his hip bone.  The hope was that the bone would “take” and  would fill in the gap and serve as the bridge between the fragmented ends in  such a way that the bone would heal and continue to grow.  He was going to be  confined to a cast for about three months.  This was Plan A.  
Six weeks ago, Nathaniel’s pediatrician suspected an infection beneath the cast,  so we had the cast removed just long enough to check things out and get a quick  X-Ray.  The x-Ray revealed that the bone was healing and Plan A seemed to be  working.
 
The surgeon, who originally diagnosed Nathaniel’s condition felt fairly certain  that he did not have NF I, but a second surgeon felt pretty sure he did, so we  had blood work done a few weeks ago.   
Yesterday, the results from the bloodwork came back positive, which means that  Nathaniel has NF I.  At this point no one knows what symptoms may crop up, and  this news scares me.  
This morning, he had his cast removed “for good,” and the X-Ray revealed that  the growth we saw six weeks ago didn’t take like the doctor had hoped.  The bone  is not healing, and Plan A did not work.  This news scares me as well.  

Meanwhile, Amelia’s therapy is going well, I believe, and she is making progress  towards — hopefully — walking with quad-canes before too long.  Having two  crippled children, both with uncertain futures and a third child – whose skin also seems somewhat splotchy  – troubles me and feels overwhelming at times.  

But here I am.  At work.  In front of my computer doing what it is I do  (whatever that is). Life goes on, and other than writing my (monthly’ish) blog  entry I will probably go about my usual routine as always: even-keeled and  collected. I’m not sure how to bring this up in everyday converstaion (I’m not  even sure what “this” is), and I doubt I would if I could,  so I will continue  to function in my little sphere and I will continue to smile and bob my head to  passing colleagues.  My day will continue to be a mostly-honest “fine.” 

It may seem as if this stoicism is a form of faith — and in some ways, I suppose it  is — but I’m afraid I’ve somehow crossed the line between faith and fatalism.   I do believe in a sovereign God who intimately continues to sustain the fabrics  of creation — from the robust purple mountain majesties to the delicate,  numbered (and increasingly fleeting) hairs on my head.  I believe that He  intends the fall of each sparrow, and He is well aware of the braces now worn by  both Amelia and Nathaniel.  

This leaves me without excuse for doubt and worry (though I continue to do both), but it also offers no excuse for apathy.  It’s a mystery, to be sure, but  we are called to live the days that have been documented already and boldy  follow the steps that were mapped before the world was made, and we are called  to do so with eyes wide with wonder and worship rather than the stony stare of a stoic.