At 5:00 a.m. this morning, I received the following text from Jeb: “Stanley has to be reintubated. His chest congestion is back along with intermittent fever.” I immediately started crying. While this situation wasn’t as dire as the one two weeks ago prior when Stanley’s heart rate dropped dangerously low and the nurses had to do CPR, it felt like a huge step backwards. Intubation meant he couldn’t cry or make any noises, and he’d have to be restrained, so he couldn’t move his arms or suck his fingers, which he wouldn’t be able to do anyway because he’d have a tube in his mouth. So basically all the things that make him happy would be taken away. Plus they would have to put him back on sedation after spending the last week weaning him off, and it would make him sleep all the time when I’d just gotten used to interacting with him again. Yesterday I’d been holding him and singing to him and playing with him, and today he’s under a bunch of tubes and hooked up to three new IVs and completely zonked out. It’s like he was stolen from me at the exact moment that I got him back.

I want so much to be mad at someone and place the blame, but I realize that the doctors and nurses are doing the best they can for him and they can’t control everything. Stanley’s body is fighting something and they’re trying their hardest to find out what it is so they can treat it properly and get him moving in the right direction. The good news is his liver is doing great and he’s responding well to the medications. We need to stay strong and remember that this circumstance is only temporary. Before we know it, we’ll be home and Stanley will be growing like crazy and all the time we spent in the hospital will be a distant memory.

I keep that day in mind as I hold my son’s hand and use every fiber of my being to will him to be healed.