One more thing for the list

I have this mental list. It is a list of things that we were told K would very likely never be able to do. Of course the doctors who told us these things let us know they could never distinguish the specifics of what the actual out come would be for our K - that they were only making a prediction based on the medical evidence that was found.

When K entered this world his body was not ready for life outside of the womb. He was only 5 weeks past 'half baked'. The major hemorrhaging in his brain seemed like a sign that his body was rebelling. He still needed the safety and nurturing from my body.

And God said, "Just watch what I am going to do with this one!"

I remember standing in a very small dark room when K was about one month old. The NICU doctor on duty that day was one who we were getting to know as the more negative of the six doctors who looked after K during his initial 3 month hospital stay. He clipped the films from K's brain scan up onto the light board and began explaining the damage they could see there. Part of me wanted to scream at him to stop. K was alive and I just wanted to celebrate that - not look into the future and speculate. Another part of me wanted to beg him to continue. What will my baby be like? Will he ever speak? Will he know me? His mama - the one who longed to hold him, who had memorized his little movements inside that isolette which separated us, and wondered what his voice would sound like without all of those tubes which hindered it from being heard.

I asked for specifics and no one could tell me. They could hypothesize though.

In amongst the medical jargon that I tried to keep up with I caught bits and pieces of information that were very clear:

"The grade 4 hemorrhage was here, in the left side of his brain. He bled into the tissue. It has formed clots and blocked the drainage of the cerebral spinal fluid. He needs brain surgery to place a shunt.

This is the part of his brain that interprets speech. It's basically gone. He can't regrow that tissue. It doesn't look good. For K, speaking would be a miracle. Sometimes the brain can mirror on the good side what it would've done on the damaged side, but that is unlikely with him. Although not as severe, the other side has damages too.

And on and on it went. I began to imagine my life with a child who would never know me or speak to me. I broke down sobbing in the waiting room on the way out. It didn't last long. I had to briefly grieve lost hopes and expectations that every new parent has. And then I thought of my dear nephew who had also suffered some major damage to his brain when he was a tiny baby. On most occasions he was, and continues to be, one of the happiest children I have ever had the privilege of meeting. He was six at the time, with a much younger and baby like mentality. When you look into his eyes there are times you see not only age appropriate wisdom, but something far more. I smiled when I thought of him. And then a new feeling began pouring into my heart. I could not believe what a privilege I was being given. Oh, I knew it would be hard. I knew there would be days when I would still ask why, but I began to feel very honored to be K's mommy.

Fast forward to last Friday. K got off the bus with an excited grin. I opened his back pack and inside was a book with a note attached. The note read, "Please have K read this to you and return it on Monday". I was puzzled. I was aware that he knew his alphabet and each sound the letters made, but reading a book to me?

Dear K,

So you can read. My heart felt like it was going to burst with pride when we sat down together and read "Hot Dog" and then "Cuddly Kittens". Some words flew off your tongue with ease. Some took 5 minutes to sound out and figure out. But baby - you can read! I didn't know.

Now you are wanting to read every thing in the house. The cereal box, your books, the newspaper ("Mommy, who's O-b-ahh-ma?"), EVERYTHING! In true K style, there are some quite difficult words which you read proficiently only to stumble over a simple two letter word. That's my boy. The power is in confusing the adults isn't it? I got your number!

Now you've survived that first year, you've spoken (and have barely paused to take a breath since you began!), you've ridden a bike, you've taken steps on your own, and you have begun to read. God has held you in the palm of his hand. You are being used to bring glory to Him. Someday you will see what a rare and amazing privilege this is.

Waiting to see what you will do next, and yet so in awe at all you've already completed. If this were all we would ever watch you do, I would never be able to thank God enough. Something tells me it isn't.