• Samantha Isaacs

A Real Moment

Updated: Jul 20, 2019

I’m going to have a real moment with y’all. Because you guys won’t take this personally. Since August 14th we have seen a…. Pediatrician, referred to audiology who tells us our son is deaf in one ear, then referred to ENT, referred to a genetic counselor because no one else has hearing loss. Then she says his head is too small, muscles to tight, lots of worries. Orders an mri, chromosome testing, ultrasound. Now we find a rare brain disorder & a gene duplication plus a dangerous infection. He may or may not have seizures, he may not learn to talk or walk…or even crawl. Now we go to an Ophthamologist to check for infection. We see cardiology to rule out a fatal heart defect. We go to urology & set up surgery. He goes to a therapy consult, now braces on his hands & 3 different therapists. Got a call today because they want him to go to Neurology and Pediatric Infectious Disease to discuss a “treatment” that is akin to chemo. I’ve had my blood tested, so has Ronnie. I’ve taken many days off work. My heart has been so broken. My spirit is so heavy most days. Ask me to cry, I can on cue. I’m hoping that I can go to bed & wake up from this terrible dream. I look at my son & think he may never throw a football, color, sing, talk. He may never play tag with his sisters or climb a tree. I know that they are only maybe’s but they are my maybe reality.

I posted this in a private group of my friends last month. A few of them are pregnant, one has son just a few weeks older than Hank, one has just recently delivered, we’re a group blessed with babies!

This was my moment. This was my feeling. I had taken all that information from our doctor and locked it down. I explained it to family. Then to friends.

I went to work the next day and pretended I was fine.
I wasn’t okay. I was heart broken. Devastated. Scared. Petrified. I was so angry, at myself and at God.

What was I supposed to do? How was I going to handle this? COULD I handle it… For about a week, I would just hold him and cry. When he nursed, when he slept, when he laughed, when he cried…every single moment sent me spiraling into tears.

So that’s what depression and anxiety feel like, I thought.

I was sinking. Quickly. I was drowning in my own darkness because I didn’t know who to talk to or what I would say if I found them.

I found myself at the alter Sunday morning after the service. I don't remember what was preached on. I don't know what day it was. All I know is that my feet moved my body to the front. Brother David Allen put his arm around my shoulder and I muttered something about Hank being diagnosed. He leaned back, looked me dead in the eyes and said "We'll love him anyway."

My choice was made right there. I laid down the burden that I was carrying. It wasn't mine. What had been done had been finished. What would come was not in my control.

At the foot of the cross, I laid it out. I needed peace and there I found it.

(Excerpt of a post, original on WWW.HenryTheHeroBlog.Wordpress.Com)

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