Well, last month I wrote that Bryn's leg was fully lengthened and how great that was. Little did I know that was just a blip on this new stage of our journey.
Instead of being able to sit back and let things heal, the bone decided to do...nothing. It just wouldn't fill in. So, as they sometimes have to do, they shortened her leg again. Or I should say, Bryn shortened it again, four times a day until she had backed it up by a cm. This was discouraging, however, the great thing about it was how much it decreased her pain. She went from four pain meds to one in a matter of days and had a great week, even finally threw down her crutches and began hobbling on the leg alone.
The next scan showed little improvement and then the re-lengthening began. As the two pieces of broken bone are stretched farther and farther away from each other, so are her muscles, soft tissue, and nerves. The nerves did not appreciate being stretched and she has been in excruciating pain. On Thursday she had to be hospitalized and put on a hydra-morphine drip after crying out for hours, even in her sleep. And so we had to add back on all her pain meds and the morphine.
It is so strange to send your child to school knowing, basically, you have made them "high". The fact that her grades are still good is beyond my understanding as she sometimes falls asleep at her desk and rarely sleeps well at night.
Today we were back at BC Children's for her appointment and were told that definitely she is now fully lengthened. 4 cm total. And there is new bone growth, a good chunk of it that we could see on the x-ray. I wanted to take a copy of it so I could hug it all the way home.
Bryn was un-fazed. Maybe because she was told a month ago it was all done and her leg betrayed her? Maybe because being fully lengthened didn't take away the pain? Maybe because the only thing she really wants to hear is: "We're ready to take that thing off!" I will be happy in her place, then. The doctor loosened the rods going into her leg to try and relieve some of the pressure on the nerve, so we are hoping that will help. Please, let it help!
And now we wait. For bone. To grow.
I have been quite astonished at some of the reactions she has gotten due to the look of her leg, which has always been covered, from youth and adults alike. Some of the comments at school were difficult, although Bryn always took them stoically. Finally I told her, "You need to go to school with that thing uncovered. Then people will see what is really under that huge lump you haul around." After a few days of mulling that over, she appeared one morning in a short skirt, her leg in full view.
She and Lauren arrived that day at school at noon. Lauren told me later that students were lined up down the halls, waiting for the cafeteria, when she and Bryn came in the door. "It was the highlight of my day," Lauren said, "walking in, having every single person turn and stare at Bryn's leg. I felt like saying, 'Now do you see? Now do you get what she is living with, how amazing it is that she comes to school every day with a smile on her face, despite having to do THIS! I was so proud to be her sister!" I was so proud of both of them.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Friday, April 12, 2013
Evened Out
I was recently (and gratefully) reminded that I have not given an update on Bryn in some time. Thank you to all who continue to pray for her recovery!
She has continued to spend Wednesdays at the BCCH ortho clinic. It is so busy there, often resulting in a 3 to 4 hour wait and a very long day. Last week we got the news that she is now fully lengthened (3.9 cm) and we can stop doing the distractions, so step one is complete. I was excited and relieved that at least one thing was off the list, but Bryn was more distracted with the list of what was to come in terms of physiotherapy. It was not a happy list, one she had been through before and knew the pain of. She also asked if there was a chance her leg wouldn't keep up its growth and she would have to go through the entire process again. They said there weren't any guarantees, that perhaps it would have to be done again, but they were hopeful it wouldn't. That sucked the air out of me.
Many of the children in the waiting room have had or look forward to this procedure repeatedly. Some of them will have gone through it 4 or 5 times by the time they are full grown. I am torn between being so thankful that there is help for these beautiful kids and heart-broken at their suffering. What touches me again and again, however, is their incredible resiliency. It is us parents who look the most shell-shocked, broken, worried and in need of reassurance. Children are amazing. Most of them just find a way to get it done. I want to be a child.
Infection continues to plague her, which is so frustrating and she barely sleeps at night, our two most common prayer requests. But she is so much more mobile now, able to get herself around, not so dependent on the rest of us...there is progress. It is now time for the large gap to start filling in with new bone. It has been slow, slower than they have liked, possibly due to the infection, so we are hoping it will wake up and do its thing.
Spring is poking its nose out here on the West Coast, and the sunshine feels like hope after so many months of dreary rain. I pray that Bryn feels the hope; hope soon of new beginnings and strong limbs, of a body that can dance and run and find its freedom in being a child again; hope in limitless potential and stored up victories that will one day, hopefully, help create a character only He could have imagined. It has been difficult, dealing with this stage. I am run ragged, the kids are tired, Bryn is exhausted. So many things falling through the cracks and there are nights I go to bed knowing that I am failing to meet sometimes even the most basic needs a child deserves: individual time and attention; help with homework; making sure their teeth are brushed; devotions; vegetables with dinner! It is hard not to feel like a failure, to not worry that there is just not enough of me to make this thing called life work for us all. The reality is...there's not. So I keep waiting for Him to step in and fill the gaps, somehow, and make it work.
I just want to be a child.
The great thing is...
if I can just hold on to the truth of it...
I am.
She has continued to spend Wednesdays at the BCCH ortho clinic. It is so busy there, often resulting in a 3 to 4 hour wait and a very long day. Last week we got the news that she is now fully lengthened (3.9 cm) and we can stop doing the distractions, so step one is complete. I was excited and relieved that at least one thing was off the list, but Bryn was more distracted with the list of what was to come in terms of physiotherapy. It was not a happy list, one she had been through before and knew the pain of. She also asked if there was a chance her leg wouldn't keep up its growth and she would have to go through the entire process again. They said there weren't any guarantees, that perhaps it would have to be done again, but they were hopeful it wouldn't. That sucked the air out of me.
Many of the children in the waiting room have had or look forward to this procedure repeatedly. Some of them will have gone through it 4 or 5 times by the time they are full grown. I am torn between being so thankful that there is help for these beautiful kids and heart-broken at their suffering. What touches me again and again, however, is their incredible resiliency. It is us parents who look the most shell-shocked, broken, worried and in need of reassurance. Children are amazing. Most of them just find a way to get it done. I want to be a child.
Infection continues to plague her, which is so frustrating and she barely sleeps at night, our two most common prayer requests. But she is so much more mobile now, able to get herself around, not so dependent on the rest of us...there is progress. It is now time for the large gap to start filling in with new bone. It has been slow, slower than they have liked, possibly due to the infection, so we are hoping it will wake up and do its thing.
Spring is poking its nose out here on the West Coast, and the sunshine feels like hope after so many months of dreary rain. I pray that Bryn feels the hope; hope soon of new beginnings and strong limbs, of a body that can dance and run and find its freedom in being a child again; hope in limitless potential and stored up victories that will one day, hopefully, help create a character only He could have imagined. It has been difficult, dealing with this stage. I am run ragged, the kids are tired, Bryn is exhausted. So many things falling through the cracks and there are nights I go to bed knowing that I am failing to meet sometimes even the most basic needs a child deserves: individual time and attention; help with homework; making sure their teeth are brushed; devotions; vegetables with dinner! It is hard not to feel like a failure, to not worry that there is just not enough of me to make this thing called life work for us all. The reality is...there's not. So I keep waiting for Him to step in and fill the gaps, somehow, and make it work.
I just want to be a child.
The great thing is...
if I can just hold on to the truth of it...
I am.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Update
Things continue to be a challenge for Bryn. She was immediately hit with a second infection that brought so much pain with it, she could barely move. It is difficult and exhausting to see your loved-one in so much continuous discomfort. She has slept well only three nights since being discharged from the hospital the first time...I know from experience that sleep can make a world of difference, but how to get her comfortable enough to do so? We have not yet found the solution. She has returned to school part-time and is slowly building up the tolerance to spend more time up on crutches than just lying or sitting down.
We spent a very, very long day at BC Children's on Wednesday (she goes in every week for the "clinic time", where they x-ray, check her frame, her progress, do measurements and put her through physiotherapy). It was discouraging to hear that little bone had yet to be laid down. They have had to slow down the distractions (lengthening which we do four times a day with wrenches to widen the gap between the broken bone) from four times a day to two. Not such a bad thing from our perspective, it means knocking off the two night-time sets and gives her (and me) a better shot at getting some sleep. But it also means slowing down the entire process. She just really wants to get this thing off.
Again, it is the discipline of being able to look back and see the tiny bits of improvement garnered, no matter how small. In a glance, it doesn't feel like we have gotten very far with this, but in reality she has made progress. Sometimes it is more beneficial to look back to where you have come from and appreciate the advances, rather than focus on the journey ahead, which can seem interminable and discouraging.
I have thought a lot about parents who have chronically ill or disabled children. You are heroes. To know every night when you lie down that it will be you to answer the cry of pain or call for help. To recognize that you will be the one to nurture the life and comfort of this child far beyond what is normally called for; it astounds me the strength that must take to continue in a heart of compassion, of selflessness. I know that one day this will be over for Bryn. For so many it is a life-committment. And while I have been incredibly proud at the willingness and compassion the other kids have shown and continue to show their sister, I also know it takes a toll on them as well. We are all tired. The encouraging thing is seeing how this will open their eyes, yet again, to the needs of those around them, instead of living within the boundaries of their own needs and desires. That in itself would be a gift. Both Bryn and Taeryn have decided they want to be nurses and work with sick children.
So, we continue to inch towards the goal of getting her back on her feet, healed and whole. One day at a time.
We spent a very, very long day at BC Children's on Wednesday (she goes in every week for the "clinic time", where they x-ray, check her frame, her progress, do measurements and put her through physiotherapy). It was discouraging to hear that little bone had yet to be laid down. They have had to slow down the distractions (lengthening which we do four times a day with wrenches to widen the gap between the broken bone) from four times a day to two. Not such a bad thing from our perspective, it means knocking off the two night-time sets and gives her (and me) a better shot at getting some sleep. But it also means slowing down the entire process. She just really wants to get this thing off.
Again, it is the discipline of being able to look back and see the tiny bits of improvement garnered, no matter how small. In a glance, it doesn't feel like we have gotten very far with this, but in reality she has made progress. Sometimes it is more beneficial to look back to where you have come from and appreciate the advances, rather than focus on the journey ahead, which can seem interminable and discouraging.
I have thought a lot about parents who have chronically ill or disabled children. You are heroes. To know every night when you lie down that it will be you to answer the cry of pain or call for help. To recognize that you will be the one to nurture the life and comfort of this child far beyond what is normally called for; it astounds me the strength that must take to continue in a heart of compassion, of selflessness. I know that one day this will be over for Bryn. For so many it is a life-committment. And while I have been incredibly proud at the willingness and compassion the other kids have shown and continue to show their sister, I also know it takes a toll on them as well. We are all tired. The encouraging thing is seeing how this will open their eyes, yet again, to the needs of those around them, instead of living within the boundaries of their own needs and desires. That in itself would be a gift. Both Bryn and Taeryn have decided they want to be nurses and work with sick children.
So, we continue to inch towards the goal of getting her back on her feet, healed and whole. One day at a time.
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Battlefield
Where to begin. It has been a tumultuous couple of weeks. Once Bryn's pain was finally under control, we were released from Children's and came home at midnight last Sunday. She was so glad to be home...I was so glad to be home. Unfortunately, we weren't there very long.
At 4:00 a.m. on Tuesday morning, she was ambulanced to the Abbotsford Hospital then ambulanced from there back to Children's in Vancouver with a suspected ruptured appendix. I have never seen her so sick. For 36 hours I waited with my wonderful friend, Cathy, as the surgeons flipped back and forth between taking her into surgery, then delaying as they ran test after test. Her appendix hadn't burst, but she was suffering from what they suspected was a serious post-op infection and were pumping three different massive doses of antiobiotics through her IV for the next three days.
It was a terrible time. The positive side was that the pain from this episode was so bad it completely surpassed the pain from her leg (if you can call that positive). After two days, she began to respond a little more, was able to partially sit up, was still unable to eat or bear the pain in her abdomen, but at least was no longer suffering the extremely high fever or very high heart rate. The most difficult thing was her discouragement. "Why is this happening?" she wanted to know. I had no answers. Why indeed.
We came home very late on Thursday night and she has been steadily improving, but her colouring is still grey and pale. She has had to resume her physiotherapy and trying to use her crutches with the steel external frame that is attached by 6 large steel pins through the outside of her leg, which seems cruel considering how awful she has been feeling, but necessary. I knew things were getting better when after I had insisted she get up on the crutches, she looked at me and said, "I am really starting to question your parenting techniques, Mom!" The sass was back, so the energy must be returning.
Since being home the past 46 hours, she has already improved so much in maneovering herself. It is amazing. Why is it that children are so much better at finding ways to meet their challenges? Even so, it was difficult for the other children having to be left at home again. Waking up in the morning to find your mother and sister had disappeared in the night was not easy. Thank God for my friend, Sharon, who had flown out from Saskatoon to stay with us. They loved being with her which made a very stressful time a little bit easier.
This is a picture of the Ilizarov Frame attached to the outside of her left leg. It isn't pretty! One morning a nurse came in and said (to me), "Are you ready to learn how to clean the pinsites?" (Where the rods pierce her leg). I said..."No." She was a little annoyed. "I can't send you home if you can't do the cleaning!" she said sternly. "I can't do the cleaning if I'm lying passed out on the floor!" I replied, in complete honesty. Just looking at them up close made my knees weak (this is a nice picture of them all cleaned up...believe me!) Bryn piped up, "I'll do it! Teach me, I'll clean them!" And she has, twice a day ever since and has done a superb job. So I'm told...I still can't look very closely.
We have been talking a lot lately about choices. It would be so easy to focus on the negative, to become weary from the battle of believing that God is for us and not against us. I have to admit, I was angry as we got into that ambulance at four in the morning. I was angry that she just couldn't relax, heal, have things go smoothly. I was angry that I had to once again leave behind three children, that Myron wasn't there to help. I was angry watching her suffer so much after working so hard to overcome. It wasn't fair. It isn't fair. I once again kicked at my faith and there was a tiny part of me that wished it would just explode and dissipate, that I wouldn't have to believe or trust or call on a God that continued to confuse me. But I knew He was there, darn it, knew (after I had calmed down again) that He loved her, had raised many to pray for her, and continues to be for us. And as I said to the paramedic in the ambulance, "It can't be for nothing. The biggest tragedy would be if we didn't allow all of this to change us for the good." But that is a choice, isn't it? I am here to believe when the children can't; they are here to believe when I am unable. Together, we will find a way through to the next day.
Thank you to those who continued to pray, even without recent updates. The prayers were needed so much more than you even knew, and I bless you for your faithfulness!
Love,
Gillian
(PS- I know I said I would give brief updates, but the therapeutic benefits of ranting in type once again gripped me!)
At 4:00 a.m. on Tuesday morning, she was ambulanced to the Abbotsford Hospital then ambulanced from there back to Children's in Vancouver with a suspected ruptured appendix. I have never seen her so sick. For 36 hours I waited with my wonderful friend, Cathy, as the surgeons flipped back and forth between taking her into surgery, then delaying as they ran test after test. Her appendix hadn't burst, but she was suffering from what they suspected was a serious post-op infection and were pumping three different massive doses of antiobiotics through her IV for the next three days.
It was a terrible time. The positive side was that the pain from this episode was so bad it completely surpassed the pain from her leg (if you can call that positive). After two days, she began to respond a little more, was able to partially sit up, was still unable to eat or bear the pain in her abdomen, but at least was no longer suffering the extremely high fever or very high heart rate. The most difficult thing was her discouragement. "Why is this happening?" she wanted to know. I had no answers. Why indeed.
We came home very late on Thursday night and she has been steadily improving, but her colouring is still grey and pale. She has had to resume her physiotherapy and trying to use her crutches with the steel external frame that is attached by 6 large steel pins through the outside of her leg, which seems cruel considering how awful she has been feeling, but necessary. I knew things were getting better when after I had insisted she get up on the crutches, she looked at me and said, "I am really starting to question your parenting techniques, Mom!" The sass was back, so the energy must be returning.
Since being home the past 46 hours, she has already improved so much in maneovering herself. It is amazing. Why is it that children are so much better at finding ways to meet their challenges? Even so, it was difficult for the other children having to be left at home again. Waking up in the morning to find your mother and sister had disappeared in the night was not easy. Thank God for my friend, Sharon, who had flown out from Saskatoon to stay with us. They loved being with her which made a very stressful time a little bit easier. This is a picture of the Ilizarov Frame attached to the outside of her left leg. It isn't pretty! One morning a nurse came in and said (to me), "Are you ready to learn how to clean the pinsites?" (Where the rods pierce her leg). I said..."No." She was a little annoyed. "I can't send you home if you can't do the cleaning!" she said sternly. "I can't do the cleaning if I'm lying passed out on the floor!" I replied, in complete honesty. Just looking at them up close made my knees weak (this is a nice picture of them all cleaned up...believe me!) Bryn piped up, "I'll do it! Teach me, I'll clean them!" And she has, twice a day ever since and has done a superb job. So I'm told...I still can't look very closely.
We have been talking a lot lately about choices. It would be so easy to focus on the negative, to become weary from the battle of believing that God is for us and not against us. I have to admit, I was angry as we got into that ambulance at four in the morning. I was angry that she just couldn't relax, heal, have things go smoothly. I was angry that I had to once again leave behind three children, that Myron wasn't there to help. I was angry watching her suffer so much after working so hard to overcome. It wasn't fair. It isn't fair. I once again kicked at my faith and there was a tiny part of me that wished it would just explode and dissipate, that I wouldn't have to believe or trust or call on a God that continued to confuse me. But I knew He was there, darn it, knew (after I had calmed down again) that He loved her, had raised many to pray for her, and continues to be for us. And as I said to the paramedic in the ambulance, "It can't be for nothing. The biggest tragedy would be if we didn't allow all of this to change us for the good." But that is a choice, isn't it? I am here to believe when the children can't; they are here to believe when I am unable. Together, we will find a way through to the next day.
Thank you to those who continued to pray, even without recent updates. The prayers were needed so much more than you even knew, and I bless you for your faithfulness!
Love,
Gillian
(PS- I know I said I would give brief updates, but the therapeutic benefits of ranting in type once again gripped me!)
Friday, February 1, 2013
Day Three (Which Was Yesterday)
It is three o'clock on day three and Bryn has had quite a day. Last night they called in a doctor to look at her leg as she has numbness. They are hoping it is due to swelling under the frame and will continue to watch it. They had to increase her pain meds through the night and when she was awakened at 4:00 a.m. and asked what her pain level was, she answered a "2", which was a far cry from the 7-8 she has had since the surgery, which was so nice to hear. It is back up today, but at least she had a reprieve for a while.
This morning they got her up on her crutches, just standing. It was very painful, but she managed to get her "bad" foot on to the floor. The more weight she can bear on it the better as it will push the bone to lay more down. She has been suffering from nausea and dizziness the rest of the day, and then they came to clean all the pin sites which was supposed to be the worst of the procedures. However, she found it quite bearable and not too bad at all. She took great interest in it and will be taught to do it herself after time. I tried to look but felt somewhat queasy.
After that all the blood drained from her face and she was very light-headed. Of course, this was just when the physiotherapists returned for her second session. I felt so bad for her, she hadn't had a chance to rest yet. She wasn't keen on trying anything again but finally decided to get it over with. They got her back up on her feet (foot) and on the crutches and painfully, slowly, she not only took a few shuffles forward, she eventually inched her way out the door to the hallway and back. It took about twenty minutes to cover the eight feet, gritting of teeth and wiping of tears out the corners of her eyes, but she did it. She had literally, LITERALLY, just been lifted back into bed when the surgeon and his assistant walked in. "You just missed it!" I said. "She just made it out to the hall!" Half-jokingly he said to her, "I don't believe it!" She looked at him, turned to the physiotherapist and said, "I'm going to do it again!"
We all just stared at her. The physio said, "You mean tomorrow." Nope, she meant right now, she was going to prove it to the surgeon, so slowly, she got herself out of bed, on to her crutches did the walk in half the time and got herself back into bed. The whole team looked at each other and the surgeon said, "This is a first. I've often walked in just after a patient has tried their first "walk". I've done over 600 of these surgeries, and not once has a patient said they were determined to do it again so I could see. I actually have tears in my eyes. I will never forget this moment, Bryn, as long as I live. That was really something special." I had to laugh. As soon as she had something to prove, she became a different person. It was quite something.
Now she is fast asleep. She will probably be in a fair amount of pain the rest of the evening, but she is progressing well. And we are moving on closer to day four!
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
The Day After Surgery
Bryn went into surgery at 10:20 a.m. yesterday morning. She was so calm, it amazed me. She gave me strict instructions that I was not to cry and amazingly God granted me a very peaceful spirit and an incredible friend to sit by my side throughout the day. Three hours later she was out. It went very well, they said, but her pain level was through the roof so they loaded her up with all they could. She is allergic to morphine and with only one kidney they had to be careful which drugs they used, and after a couple of hours it was apparent that her pain was a bit out of control, so they called in pain management.
Just as the drugs finally started helping, they began to affect her respiratory system. The nurses were amazing, jumped on it as soon as she stopped breathing properly which lasted off and on for the next 6 hours. Everytime she would drift off into la-la land, her breathing would slow to a stop. Very frustrating and a little unerving, I have to admit! Everytime her oxygen monitors alarmed the nurses would jump up and call out her name to revive her, rub her chest while saying, "Breathe Bryn! Take a breath, deep breath!", while giving her oxygen. Sometimes it would take quite a while to get her back, but as the day wore on, she became quite good at reviving herself as soon as she heard them yell, "Bryn!" She later told us that she is convinced that for the rest of her life, whenever someone yells her name, she will automatically suck in a giant breath of air.
She was finally moved up to the ward around 8:00 p.m. What a reception! We were put on the same floor as after the accident and were met by nurses who remembered us, were anticipating us, met us in the halls with hugs and flocked to her room to ask about her and the rest of the family. Such a blessing to be surrounded by these people! She spent the evening throwing up and in pain, but amazingly settled down for a restful night. I even got some sleep myself!
Today has been gradually getting better. She was able to keep down some liquids at lunch and then some supper, has been weaned off some of the IV drugs and is able to take some by mouth. They have put her through two physio sessions and it is amazing how much progress has been made in even a day. It is unerving for her to trust the frame. I believe the recall of how her leg felt after the accident with all the pieces moving around for several days has made it a little difficult to believe she does not have to worry about the bones shifting, even though her leg is literally again broken in half. But the surgeon was very happy with how much progress she had made throughout the day. She had even agreed to go beyond what was expected and got herself to the edge of the bed, even though her face was wet with tears. Amazing. She is an inspiration to me.
Tomorrow will be a gruelling day. They intend to get her up and out of bed; try to use her crutches; unwrap the bandages and packing; start cleaning the pinsites and teaching her to do so; and possibly start using wrenches to further widen the gap between the break, which we will have to do four times a day. Yikes!
Bless all who have been praying! We are so grateful. It is sad being here, I find that I am unable to go down the hall to our old rooms, just too difficult, but the flashbacks I was having at home before we left have abated and we are both doing so much better than I had hoped.
I had a call from her school counsellor today who said, "This is the kind of girl you have, Gillian!" Apparently, on her last day of school she had been talking with him and expressed her concern for...me. "I'm worried about my mom, that this will be too hard. She's going to cry," she told him. He asked her if it would help her to know that he would personally call me on day two to check in on me and see how I was doing. She said it would. So he did. I was doing very well. What a girl.
Gillian
Just as the drugs finally started helping, they began to affect her respiratory system. The nurses were amazing, jumped on it as soon as she stopped breathing properly which lasted off and on for the next 6 hours. Everytime she would drift off into la-la land, her breathing would slow to a stop. Very frustrating and a little unerving, I have to admit! Everytime her oxygen monitors alarmed the nurses would jump up and call out her name to revive her, rub her chest while saying, "Breathe Bryn! Take a breath, deep breath!", while giving her oxygen. Sometimes it would take quite a while to get her back, but as the day wore on, she became quite good at reviving herself as soon as she heard them yell, "Bryn!" She later told us that she is convinced that for the rest of her life, whenever someone yells her name, she will automatically suck in a giant breath of air.
She was finally moved up to the ward around 8:00 p.m. What a reception! We were put on the same floor as after the accident and were met by nurses who remembered us, were anticipating us, met us in the halls with hugs and flocked to her room to ask about her and the rest of the family. Such a blessing to be surrounded by these people! She spent the evening throwing up and in pain, but amazingly settled down for a restful night. I even got some sleep myself!
Today has been gradually getting better. She was able to keep down some liquids at lunch and then some supper, has been weaned off some of the IV drugs and is able to take some by mouth. They have put her through two physio sessions and it is amazing how much progress has been made in even a day. It is unerving for her to trust the frame. I believe the recall of how her leg felt after the accident with all the pieces moving around for several days has made it a little difficult to believe she does not have to worry about the bones shifting, even though her leg is literally again broken in half. But the surgeon was very happy with how much progress she had made throughout the day. She had even agreed to go beyond what was expected and got herself to the edge of the bed, even though her face was wet with tears. Amazing. She is an inspiration to me.
Tomorrow will be a gruelling day. They intend to get her up and out of bed; try to use her crutches; unwrap the bandages and packing; start cleaning the pinsites and teaching her to do so; and possibly start using wrenches to further widen the gap between the break, which we will have to do four times a day. Yikes!
Bless all who have been praying! We are so grateful. It is sad being here, I find that I am unable to go down the hall to our old rooms, just too difficult, but the flashbacks I was having at home before we left have abated and we are both doing so much better than I had hoped.
I had a call from her school counsellor today who said, "This is the kind of girl you have, Gillian!" Apparently, on her last day of school she had been talking with him and expressed her concern for...me. "I'm worried about my mom, that this will be too hard. She's going to cry," she told him. He asked her if it would help her to know that he would personally call me on day two to check in on me and see how I was doing. She said it would. So he did. I was doing very well. What a girl.
Gillian
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Prayers for Bryn
As the surgical date approaches, Bryn is becoming quite anxious and is having difficulty sleeping. Prayers for her would be immensely appreciated!
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