not set ablaze

I have a reoccurring nightmare that Gideon’s bandage falls of and I can’t fix it. In this dream his brain is exposed and I have forgotten to bring the tender tape to put the bandage back on.

Sunday at church we noticed that some of the gauze was exposed from under the tender tape and I forgot to restock the diaper bag with the extra tape. So David left me to fend the screaming toddler and the colicky baby all by myself to take Gids home and fix his dressing. Fairly innocuous but after months of nightmares I was fending off a full blown panic attack.

Let me back up. Part of our daily routine is changing the dressing that covers the encepolocele, the exposed brain and nervous tissue that protrudes from the back of his head. We lay down a chucks pad to create a clean field on the bed. David opens the sterile saline and carefully pours it into the packages of sterile gauze while I cut the chin strap on his current dressing. I put on sterile gloves, unwrapping them for their sterile dressing, not touching the outside of the gloves or anything else while David removes yesterdays dressing. I remove the sterile gauze making sure not to touch anything but the gauze and his brain. Cover his brain with the gauze and wrap it all in Walgreens tender tape. The best invention ever. We would be housebound if hospice hadn’t made that discovery. All while wearing masks to prevent any germs we might breath on him and headlamps because our bedroom is not well lit.

By far the suckiest part of my day. Its not to great for Gideon either, he HATES it.

So where was I…oh yeah, the reoccurring nightmare. I guess its like any parent anxiety dream, any normal parent anxiety. I am pretty sure every mom under the sun wakes up in the middle of the night and checks to make sure her baby is still breathing. Most mothers have the luxury of being able to chuckle at their paranoia and go back to sleep. But I get a text from the baby sitter that he is fussy, he doesn’t wake me up at six to be fed, something feels a little off today and fear and panic begin to wrap their boney fingers around my insides and squeeze until I can barely breathe.

And a still small voice does not say

“chill out, its just mom paranoia”
“he’s not sick its just his teeth”
“he is just sleeping in today”

I try to tell myself those things and the grip around my gut just gets tighter. Instead the still small voice says

“even if he is sick, even if he is gone tonight, I am still God. I will still hold you, I will still love you.”

And I can breathe.

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.
Isaiah 43:1-3