Friday, May 31, 2013


I told Kelli to be ready around 9am. We had a two and half hour drive to the hospital and I hate driving. I hate trying to find my way around the hospital. I hate the loss of the familiar, the loss of control.

Kelli is in the middle of her summer doctor tour. This trip was to her orthopedist. She has already seen her endocrinologist and her cardiologist will get to see her in July.

Routine checks. Making sure all is well before she goes away to college.

When we first got the call that faraway Friday afternoon I had no idea what was ahead. Those first days and weeks were scary, overwhelming and tear-filled. My baby. My sweet, sweet girl. Turner's Syndrome. Finally we had a name for that feeling I had in my gut, that motherly instinct that some how she was different. There was just something.

We ate up the road and finally arrived at the hospital. We maneuvered around construction, and parked, my hands white on the steering wheel. We had to ask how to get where we needed to be, finally sat down to wait our turn, silent, both of us praying that everything would be as it was supposed to be and for the words, "No change."

Kelli went off for her x-ray and I sat and watched. This room was full of life, full of stories that I will never know. Children in wheelchairs and walkers. Children with legs dragging. Children with crooked backs. Parents with strong arms, lifting their precious ones out of their chairs with arms and legs limp, dangling. Parents who have gotten phone calls. Did they lose themselves in the wave of fear? Did they have a time where they couldn't figure out which way was up? Did tears find them in the quiet places when no one was looking? Did they beg God to let them take it, to make it theirs?

Kelli came back to the waiting room wearing shorts provided to her by the hospital. She laughed. They were huge and blue and baggy. The father across the way brought his girl back to her chair, hooked up the necessary tubes, talked with the nurse companion, laughed and headed to their next destination. The girl with the walker, dragging legs, also came back. She wanted her regular clothes back on, wanted to lose the blue baggy hospital shorts. She came out of the dressing room, bedazzled and ready to walk down the hall with her mom and dad.

A new normal. Life unexpected turns into a life blessed. Fear turns to gratitude and there is a solid knowing. We are held. No matter what, I am held, Kelli is held.  In hands all knowing, we are held.

The doctor came in. He looked at my girl.

No change.

We walked down the hallway. Quiet. Wondering how to get back to the van but knowing.


1 comment:

  1. Heartfelt and loving! She is beautiful and so are you.


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