My heart feels heavy today, as I carry the kids’ blankets and pillows into the living room where together the older two will cuddle with me on the couch while their younger sister and Daddy sleep a bit more. Yesterday, was rough. Our slightly sloppy light-up dinosaur covered in Christmas cheer warms the early morning chill, adding whimsy and light-heartedness to the dark corners of the room. I look over at my middle child’s eye, and breathe a sigh of relief as the bleeding has gone down. Midday yesterday, Ken ran into the house carrying my little boy, begging me to help him. Cyrus had somehow tripped and fallen onto an umbrella prong. Slicing his eye. There was so much blood. I hurried Cyrus to Urgent Care, where the doctor tried to assess his wound. Unfortunately, after nearly an hour there, they directed us on to the Emergency Room. We needed a specialist. Together, my little boy and I journeyed through the outdoor covid-testing site that leads to our island’s little ER, and huddled together, as far as we were could sit from others. Geared up in masks, Cyrus kept asking why we had to stay there. After a reasonably-long wait, they took us in back and after another hour, the Doctor was able to assess that Cyrus would thankfully, be OK. “He is lucky,” the Doctor reiterated. From what he could see, the corner of Cyrus’ eye had an ulcerated area but it was not too deep as to be more serious. Also, there was no tearing on his cornea, from what he could see. We will administer antibiotic drops every two hours into his eye moving forward, praying that everything heals great as Cyrus’ body repairs itself.

As we enter this holiday season, I’m reminded of my sweet little one-year-old boy being hospitalized nearly two years ago after a full-day spent at the ER. Those three days we were apart were so incredibly difficult (Ken was with Cyrus full-time while I stayed at home with Ruby and newborn Rosie) as Doctors ran test after test on his little body, trying to understand what he was fighting. I praise God for my little man coming home – both then and yesterday. Watching any of my children journey through pain hurts me in ways I can’t begin to describe. I bawled over makeshift dinner last night, recounting God’s faithfulness in my life. How He’s taken care of me, and my family. How God saved me from dying when I went into anaphylaxis during college. How He’s saved my children when they’ve had allergic reactions and serious infections. Hospitals can be so triggering to me, and yet they represent a place of healing and hope. I praise God for the doctors and nurses who work with such compassion and grace. They truly are the hands and feet of Jesus.

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