My little son Weston woke us up this morning with a story about a robin bouncing on the grass and pulling up a worm. Dave pulled him up into the bed and asked him questions. -No answer. More questions. No answer. I rolled over and stared at Dave, concerned. Then Dave turned his face away slightly and said clearly, "Weston, can you hear me?" "Weston, can you hear me?" "Weston, can you hear me now?" "Then the robin flew away, " said Weston. My heart sank and I felt panic creep in. I sat up, now fully awake (which is a lot for me.) I looked down into his eyes, and inches away from his face I ask: "Weston, how are your ears feeling today?" "They still hurt." Thankfully he heard that.
"I'm taking him in," Dave says, getting up. I think: it's actually a pretty good time to go to the hospital because there won't be such a back up early in the morning. But it was still strange; they left quietly and I was left with a sleeping Donovan in a very quiet house.
My thoughts went back to the evening before. Weston had spent most of yesterday resting on our bed with warm wheat bags under his ears and regular doses of Tylenol every four hours. Dave had taken both he and Weston in to the clinic to get checked last week and the doctor said there was no sign of infection, so we were trying to wait this one out. Then last night on the couch he kept asking Donovan and I to turn up the movie. We did, but then he said to do it again. "It's plenty loud, Weston." "No, believe me, Mom, it needs to be louder" he had whined. Now it came back to me. --He didn't want to do the "Market Scene" in the Passion Play because of all the shouting. I thought he was just scared, but then it dawned on me that it actually hurt his ears. He had agreed to try it with ear plugs, but on Sunday, there he was backstage with another ear ache and refusing to go into the scene.
Long ago in high school I was playing the role of Kate Keller in the opening scene of "The Miracle Worker". I remember I kept saying to Captain Keller, "She can't hear you! She can't HEAR you!" and one time I just snapped. Instant bawling. I couldn't explain it. I remember my director pulling me aside and asking for any personal chords this scene might be striking or if I needed a break. "No," I said, "I'm fine."
But today those the feelings of panic flooded me when I thought Weston was loosing his hearing, as though this was the personal chord -- in the future. The little guy. He seems especially frail right now that he's ill. I was already chiding myself for not taking the effort to take him in sooner. What if we had waited too long?
In a rare agreement, Donovan walked with me in the cool morning to the prayer labyrinth behind the church and we prayed for Weston before breakfast.
Later Dave called from Drum: they were doing OK, the doctor didn't seem too worried, and they picked up some antibiotics.
When Weston got home he still looked pretty wilted. Donovan asked him how he was doing and Weston stared straight ahead. Pause. "He can't hear you, Donovan; look him in the eye."
By lunch time Weston seemed more himself. He even chuckled a little and I felt like crying with relief. It was such a wonderful sound. He was engaging with most of the conversation around the table! And his laughter was music to my ears.
He fell asleep on his Daddy's lap after a bit of time outside and now he's snoring on the couch. I'm so glad Dave has this day off.
And I'm so glad Weston seems better already thanks to the medication. His fever was up to 102.2 last night, but it reduced some before bed with Tylenol. He did call out twice in the night, but I think now we're doing OK.
Other than his lips are chapped, I think the antibiotics are subsiding his fever. He feels cooler.
Whew. What a scare and what a ride of emotions and scenarios in my mind. What fragile creatures we are, and how bound to our children we parents are. It's a lot. But thankfully it comes naturally. Like all those baby pandas saved from the earthquake, you know how to care for them because the tenderness just comes to the forefront when you see them. Little boys can be like that too.
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