We are connected, you and I. Our stories different, our kids’ needs unique, but I’m guessing we’re on a similar trek.
Is your family being refined and blessed by a medical needs child? Yep, mine too.
Are you worn out, and a bit fragile? Uh, huh.
Feeling deep gratitude for the care of friends and family, but somehow just a bit alone? Yes.
Your new journey intensely hard, but profoundly beautiful? With ya.
Worry that you are burdening friends with too much medical talk? Same here.
God is writing such stories with our families. We face heart defects, vision & hearing loss, blood disorders, cerebral palsy, kidney disease, deficiencies and syndromes. Some of us said yes to conditions pre-adoption, and others received diagnoses post adoption. Some have one condition and others have multiple. We are living in different states and our syringes administering different meds, but each of our hearts carry the weight of parenting a child with medical needs.
Connections have been made through Instagram, agencies and adoption events. We share stories and have quicker than customary, intimate conversations. We cheer each other on, pray, grieve, and follow along; carrying each other’s burdens in a tiny way.
Much of our experience is shared:
We are worn out.
Our planes touched down on US soil, and it was game on.
Some test results have rocked us, and others have driven us to our knees in thanks to a great Healer.
Our faith is both depleted and intensified.
Some days we are hopeful, and others, full of fear.
Nurse, advocate, and momma are the hats we wear.
At dinners with friends, we zone out during talk about TV shows or vacations.
We are on our knees more than ever, but have missed lots of Sunday services.
The little bodies we care for carry surgical scars, and we ponder how their hearts will process it all.
Our calendar boxes are filled with doctor appointments, surgeries, therapies and tests.
Our marriages are stronger, but stretched thin.
We need only five minutes to know if a doctor is going to be the advocate we seek.
Late nights are spent researching and typing questions to mentor mommas in FB groups.
We’ll travel long distances for the best doctor.
IVs are dreaded.
Strength is found in the faces of our little people, and we lean in for the lessons.
Weekly, we coordinate babysitters, not for date nights, but appointments.
Ice cream is spooned up post doctor visits, because we must celebrate as we go.
We know the ins and outs of our insurance policies, deductibles and medical caps.
Our medical needs child has siblings, and we wonder if they are getting enough attention.
Still, we are in awe of the profound work being done in the hearts of those siblings, as they soften with a deeper kind of love.
Our mailboxes usually hold at least one medical bill.
Our kids need to be catheterized, dilated and medicated. They need therapy, glasses, wheelchairs, blood transfusions, cochlear implants, casts and ostomy bags. They’ve had MRIs, echocardiograms, X-rays, scans and blood draws.
We are different, but the same. Many of us are FB, blog or adoption group friends. I read of your surgeries, and stop to pray, checking back later for an update. I grieve over hard test results. I celebrate with you when your child rolls out of a hospital in a red wagon with balloons. I’m humbled that you do the same for our family.
God has given us the blessing of this sisterhood, and calls us to “consider how we may spur one another on” (Hebrews 10:24). So be spurred on, friend, knowing that you are not alone.
I can’t be with you in the waiting room, or sit with you on your bathroom floor as you give a high volume enema, but I can pray. I can give you the name of a neurosurgeon and offer advice. I can tell you that your family is a light in this world, and is making much of God. I can tell you that I see such hard won beauty rising in you. The roots of your faith are deepening, and I’m challenged to dig deeper too. Most importantly, let me remind you that Isaiah 41:10 promises that each of us is upheld.
Dear sister, you are also the daughter of a Most High God, and He upholds us. Dictionary.com tells us that to uphold means to defend, raise, support, lift upward and keep from sinking. Um, yes, please.
So, as much as we medical adoptive mommas “get” each other, as much as we hold each other up, let’s lean most deeply in, as daughters, to God who is with us. His hands are so much stronger than ours. Let’s find rest first in He who promises strength and help. Let’s give Him whatever hard thing is penciled in next on our calendars. While at it, give Him the bills, the antibiotics and the therapy sessions.
Mentors and encouragers are a gift as we traverse this path, but ultimately this is bigger than you and I, or even you and your child. It’s about Him and us. Let’s let the needs of our little people draw us to God.
Be spurred on, sisters, knowing that we walk together. Pray for my family, and I’ll pray for yours?
Take your next step with brave faith, daughters, knowing your Father is actively keeping your family from sinking. You are fully and perfectly upheld.