Please Pray

Today began like any other day. Then around 8:00 my mom called me at work to say that Tate woke up with a lot of puffiness around his bottom left eyelid. I told her he didn't bang it on anything, so we figured he may have gotten bit by something in his sleep. Either way, she took him to the pediatrician just to be safe.

I got a call at work around 11:30. My mom said that the doctor thought it was some type of infection and wanted to do some blood work. So they pricked his finger and wanted to take some more blood in a blood test. But when they were trying to find his veins they were having a lot of trouble so they wanted him to go over to the hospital to have someone in the lab do it. WHAT???

Hospital? Labs? Bloodwork? The last time I heard any words like these, my baby passed away within hours. It all came rushing back to me. Of course, I am much more sensitive to anything being wrong with my little boy now that we have dealt with the most terrible thing. I felt sick and hot and confused and overwhelmed as I hung up the phone. It's a good thing I was in the office at school because they kept me as calm as I could be and got me situated. By the time I got my purse, Brad was already in the lobby (he was actually bringing me lunch today). So we left in a rush for the doctor's office.

I couldn't help but be afraid that something was really wrong and that this was just the beginning of another nightmare. I found myself already pleading with God, "Please don't take my other baby." It seems so silly to jump to this conclusion and yet, at the time, it's all I could think about.

We got to the doctor and Tate was happy as could be. He didn't cry at all when they pricked his finger and was proud to show off his "muscles" as they looked for veins (which they still couldn't find). We headed to the hospital and after an hour and a half of waiting, we went into a room so they could draw his blood. Tate laid there like a champ, letting the nurse look at his arm. When she stuck the needle in, he screamed and begged me to make her take it out..."STOP touching my arm!" he kept yelling...talk about breaking a mommy's heart. She was jiggling it in his arm for about three minutes (yes, I was watching the clock, praying it would be over soon) and she didn't get one drop of blood. So we took a little break and another nurse came in to try again. By this time, Tate was on to us, but he laid still and let her try. Thank God, she got it almost right away. Once she was done, Tate sat up, drank his apple juice and ate the graham cracker she gave him.

The doctor told me that she thinks it is some sort of infection that is showing up in his eye (which she says is common in little ones). The finger prick showed all his levels to be within normal range. We'll get the results of the bloodtest each day for the next five days to make sure it's nothing serious and in the mean time she put him on some antibiotics.

I am praying that the doctor is right and that this is really no big deal. But I can't help but worry. I hate this. I hate that these horrible thoughts even enter my mind. It's just so incredibly scary. So many people say that losing a child is the worst thing any parent can go through... but there is something worse, and that's losing another one. So when something happens that makes me think, even for the briefest moment, that Tate's life may be in jeopardy, I can feel myself completely falling apart. I don't know if this will ever go away.

So please, please pray for sweet Tate. Pray that it is just a small infection that will go away. Pray that he stays strong and fights it. Pray that Brad and I remain strong for him. Pray for the worry and anxiety to calm down. Thanks so much.

Love to y'all,
Tracy