New Covenant Family

Tomorrow we go to N.O. to get Silas’ processors. We officially start the part of this journey that involves actual hearing. I’m nervous, excited, a little scared for my little boy as he enters a part of the world that he has been oblivious to since birth, and very, very humbled at my small part in God’s great plan for my baby.

We got an inoccuous looking little envelope from Ochsner’s Saturday, very much like the half dozen envelopes we received from them before. Inside was a statement detailing the costs of little man’s implant surgery, letting us know what they were filing with our insurance. You may be intrigued to know that the gift of hearing via bi-lateral cochlear implants comes with a price tag of $180,000.00! I laughed so hard at the absurdity of us being able to pay anything close to that amount that I thought I might wet myself!

After deciding to keep the statement for Silas’ scrapbook, I got to thinking about that exhorbitant price and how absolutely worth it the possibility of hearing is. What I would give to be able to fix all of my children’s issues for such a trifle…. How thrilled I am to be given the opportunity to give to my children, to a future that will live on far beyond me…. And how humbled I am that the Lord has blessed us to be able to make this surgery possible. Praise God for his indescribable gift, for my precious angels with smiling faces, ringing laughs, and robotic ears.

The title is a line from a corny C&W song…. Some Days You’re the Windshield; Some Days You’re the Bug. Silly, I know, but apt to describe my day. I spent 4.5 hours in a doctor’s office this afternoon trying to get an explanation for why Silas suddenly has developed a bloody nose four nights in a row. My reward at the end of what I am hereafter referring to as “The Death March of Dora the Explorer Scrubs” — a prescription for glorified NeoSporin from a pediatrician who cannot for the life of her remember our last name (despite the fact that she sees ALL of my kids) and refers to me as “the library lady”. *smirking eyeroll here* Then, in trying to follow her advice, I reopen Silas’ scabs in his nose and he begins GUSHING blood all over me, spurring me to call my hubby home from gymnastics class with the girls. The disruption to our schedule sent Paige into a panic that spiraled quickly into a tantrum complete with growling, slobbering, kicking the walls, and throwing herself in a heap on the floor. Needless to say, I did not handle this as the crowning glory to my already extra-ordinary day and responded in a less than grown up manner. She finally calmed down enough to fall asleep about an hour ago. Some days you just are the bug. Today was my day.

….I went to the dentist today. I had the stump of a crumbling wisdom tooth extracted before it caused me any more troubles. Probably something I should have done years ago, but as most folks close to me know I have ISSUES with going to the dentist. It stems from my childhood dentist Dr. Dick (no, I am not making that up). Actually, to be fair, his dental hygienists should bear the brunt of the blame. I swear he must have gone down to the women’s prison and gotten those gals through work release. Suffice it to say that their — ahem — “tender” care of me as a youngster led me to being one of the few grown women I know who still needs someone (preferably her mommy) to hold her hand if she has to have her teeth cleaned. An extraction is enough to make me seriously consider general anesthesia and an adult diaper. But I did it today all by myself and with only a local because it needed to be done. And now all I got to say is… “How ’bout them big girl panties of mine?!?!?”

Not that anyone who really cares doesn’t already know how my day went….but hey I need to do a blogpost about something….
I went to B.R. today to take the state certification exam for library directors. Can I just say that I’m really glad that my job doesn’t depend on how I did on this test? Oh, and I really didn’t want to be a director anyway! (Imagine me making a raspberry noise at the end of that sentence).
Seriously, I could have done better if I had actual time to study. But I didn’t. And that wouldn’t be any different if I had waited and took the blasted thing next year. Such is the nature of my life. It is always way too busy for things like studying public bid law thresholds and calculating millage rates. And for that I am actually glad. Nonetheless, I do hope I actually passed it. If only so I don’t ever have to take it again…. Please join me in prayer that I passed it.

Just some pictures that we snapped last weekend. The library is doing a Big Read on To Kill a Mockingbird and I needed some pictures in a vintage style for promotional flyers. What can I say? My kids work cheap.

As I was pulling in to the pediatrician’s office parking lot this afternoon, haranguing Sky one more time about forgetting her graded papers folder and her assignment folder — Momma if you are reading this don’t say anything about the apple and the tree –I was greeted with an ambulance, TWO police cars, and some very obviously distraught people in the parking lot. While herding my gaggle out of the Suburban and through the front doors, I heard snippets of sentences that held words like OCS, very sick, case worker, and plan. I could feel my blood pressure medicine magically evaporating out of my kidneys (or wherever it vanishes from when you most need it).
Fortunately, my children were blissfully shouting over each other to divulge their great accomplishments of the day and elbowing each other to be the one standing closest to the baby in my arms. They asked once or twice about the ambulance, but a quick scan of the parking lot revealed no tell-tale white station wagon with a state seal on the side. That would have caught their attention right off and forever doomed any chance of their remaining ignorant of the drama du jour.
I learned quickly what was up once inside the waiting area. Apparently a mother had come in obviously high with a very sick or possibly injured baby. The doctor had notified the police and called an ambulance. I’m thinking the baby must have been leaving in the ambulance as we arrived, but the mother was still at the pediatrician’s office waiting for OCS to come and take her statement. The police had come, then left for a while, and then came back. I guess they were taking the mother into custody after OCS finished their part of the initial investigation.
Maybe it says something for how off-kilter five years of fostering has made me, but I have to say that the whole experience today left me with more positive feelings than negative. Let me explain…
For one thing, this mother obviously knew she was high when she brought the baby in. And she brought the baby in. She didn’t sit in her trailer watching her baby suffering and thinking about how she just couldn’t get her help because then she’d get busted. She brought her to the doctors knowing that it would likely end in humiliation for her. If nothing else, this little child can know that her mother loved her enough to face shame for her.
Secondly, my pediatrician’s office handled the situation and the family with dignity and compassion. I didn’t hear the nurses whispering. I didn’t see anyone casting meaningful glares down the hallway as the mother shuffled sniffling between the parking lot outside where the police were questioning her and the small examining room where the child protection investigator was ensconced.
Thirdly, there was a peculiar absence of real drama. Apart from the mutterings of several of the other mommies in the waiting room who had actually witnessed the scene when the mother and baby had arrived and when the pediatrician contacted the police, there was nothing to indicate that something was very amiss (excepting the notable number of our city’s finest standing at the edges of the parking lot).
No shouting, no loud sobbing, no flung chairs nor slammed doors. The mother had done what she felt compelled to do whether right or wrong and the doctor had responded with integrity and genuine concern. Even the mother in her fogged state seemed to see the inevitability of the state’s presence in her life. She even seemed relieved.
I noticed my children, groaning and squirming in their chairs after an hour and a half of waiting for what was supposed to be a 20 minute in-and-out appointment. I thought about the fact that they did not seem to perceive the thousand tiny clues of danger and chaos that drifted around them. Clues that they once would have keened to like blood hounds, their noses seasoned by years of their own neglect and trauma. I was grateful that despite our almost constant struggle against the relentless tidal wave of their memories, that at least we had travelled far enough down this road that we couldn’t be sucked into terror by the site of a too thin woman shuddering and scratching her arms in a tell-tale gesture. And for this I stood and silently thanked the Lord.
As much as I wanted to respect what was left of her privacy, I couldn’t help but watch the mother as she left. Her sparrow like shoulders formed a question mark as she walked away from the office building for the last time towards the police car still parked out front.

We baptized our youngest this past Sunday. It was a glorious day, made more glorious by the presence of so many of our friends and family. Anyone who believes that ecumenical Christianity is dead just needed to look at the first two rows of St Mike’s on that fine morning. The Baptist Kingreys and the Roman Catholic Edwards arm in arm celebrating the work of Jesus in the life of an Anglican child. That’s what loving Jesus will do for you!