jueves, 31 de mayo de 2012

Mexico Trip 2012. Day 6: "Happy" Birthday, my loves!

There is always this choice you consciously or unconsciously make about doubting God. I've always wondered if these giants of the Hall of Faith doubted. I guess they did, they were as humans as we are.

Abraham probably doubted he would have a son after 13 years of waiting and nothing, but then Isaac was born. Joseph probably doubted those dreams he had meant something, but he noticed God's favor everywhere he went, and then he saw his brothers bowing down to him. Rahab probably doubted if God would really take care of her family after helping the Israelites, and not only did He do that, but she was actually an ancestor of Jesus. 

The next day I doubted I had heard from God. Libby didn't get any better. But James said that if you lack wisdom you should ask God. And when you hear from Him, you shouldn't doubt. Otherwise you are going to be tossed like a ship in the sea, and that you are unstable in all you do. I had asked God, He said it would be fine, and I had to stick with that.

And God was faithful. He just doesn't work on my schedule :)

I don't know where to continue... Okay, so, I forgot to mention that the night we went to eat tacos (the same night Elizabeth fell) Emerson got sick. We were at my sister's house around 5 pm. waiting for Fili, and Emerson took a nap, a two-hour nap. When he woke up, he was very red and very warm. He was running a fever of 100.4 F, which wasn't super dangerous, but he felt awful. My sister gave him a shot to snap him out of his groove. I think he was feeling congested, plus his stomach had been upset almost all the time we had been in Mexico because of the greasy food. He felt better, and also started taking an antibiotic.

So after we put Libby to sleep in the dirty pajamas, I began reading on my phone what to look for if Libby had had a concussion. They said the child would probably be throwing up, not very alert, like in the zone, or somewhere else. That I had to check for bruises or something weird in her head. But she didn't have any bumps at all. My sister later told me that when I gave Libby to her, she checked her, but found nothing.

Later, I found out, that when a baby hits her head, a bump might not even develop, even if they hit it hard. So who knows? To be honest, I don't even know if my daughter actually hit her head because I was not in the room. My source of information was unreliable. That night my mother said that she had been able to catch her before falling, but the very next day she told me, crying, that she had fallen hard. But I'm getting ahead of myself...

Emerson's most expensive birthday gift, ever.

We woke up Libby to see if she was alert. We played Harry The Bunny on the iPhone. She was awaken or at least she tried to, but it was 12 am, she was tired, and she threw up a little bit of papaya, nothing big, but still...

I told Emerson what I had heard God saying, I was feeling angry, but at the same time, it never crossed my mind to never talk to my mother again. I felt terribly sad for her because I knew how she must have been feeling that night. My mother has her own issues to deal with, and an episode like this would make her world crash down. Emerson and I decided to let Libby sleep, even when they said we shouldn't let her fall asleep right after falling, but how were we to know if she was so tired? Now it was 12 am, and she needed to rest. We would see the next morning.

Her day started at 6 am. She was noticeable tired, but happy, her normal self. I gave her milk and got ready to go to my house, while Emerson took Libby with him to his parents' house. Libby hadn't pooped that morning yet. While I was at my parents' house, Libby had drunk already 8 oz of milk in the hotel. She then drank  6 more ounces (at least) of a smoothie with Emerson. She threw up, again, although that was probably the milk (All this I didn't know at that point yet).

I took the bus towards my parent's house and I prayed that God would give me the strength needed to face my mom. She deals with depression, and I think I have dealt with it, too. I don't really know, but I used to get sad for random stuff, and I was always dealing with negative thoughts, and just feeling discouraged. That  hasn't happened for a long time now, I have to say. But I knew that night she didn't sleep, and it was confirmed by how she looked like that morning. 

I was so happy, so confident, so radiant. I explained to her many times that I wasn't angry at her, that I understood it was an accident, but it was almost like hitting a wall many times. Many times I felt like giving up on her and just explode, and be done with it. Three times I remember asking God to help me. I told Him I couldn't keep on doing that. I told Him I was tired of trying. But those three times He said I was able to keep pressing hard because He was with me. 

I might be making this a whole spiritual experience, and I think it was. People just don't see that a lot, I guess. I am one of them. I don't tend to realize that everyday we are in a spiritual battle for our hearts, our minds; and although I didn't see any angels nor demons, I know my mom was in a very dark place with all this that had happened. I felt it was my job to try to get her out of there. To show here there was light so to speak. And when I say my job, I don't mean that I was gonna make her do it. I mean that maybe God used this incident and my willingness to reach out to my mom, to help me plant a seed. You know what I mean?

That does not mean at all that God wanted Libby to fall, or that He orchestrated all this, but if you are a believer and really know God's character, you will get what I mean by this. If not, I will be more than glad to explain you later, because I have to keep going with this post.

Oh, by the way, on Thursday we were planning on going to have dinner and celebrate the actual birthday of both of my loves, but that had to be cancelled after I found out Elizabeth had been vomiting when I got to my in-laws. I had planned to go to the restroom and come back with Elizabeth wrapped in a bow like in the picture above. But she was supposed to be wearing a really nice dress :)

After like an hour of talking to Mom, there was this whole moment like, when a wall finally starts to fall down. I picture it like when the Israelites were dancing around Jericho, and on the last sound of the trumpet nothing  really happened, but then in the blink of an eye, BUM!

Birthday girl in recovery after visiting the doctor
Birthday Dad watching his baby 

My mom said something, and I began sobbing, and I mean sobbing. I told her I loved her with all my heart, and that I was sorry for her. That she could be sure that Elizabeth was okay, and that even if she wasn't, God was taking care of her. I told her I had forgiven her already for whatever had happened the night before. But that although I loved my daughter more than anything else in this world, I loved God more. That Libby was a gift from Him, and that I knew, I knew God was going to do whatever it needed to be done with this whole situation. She also began crying. I told her many other things...

I also told her no fucking pill (yes, that's what I told her) was gonna take her pain away. I explain to her how it was that I had the peace I had about my daughter, and about my whole life in general. I told her she needed to get closer to God, for real. I asked her if there had been a moment in her life, ever, when she had asked for God's help, and if she had ever realized she couldn't do it on her own. She said she had done that before. I told her that if that was true, that if she had really come to a place where she had given up on her own efforts and had asked God to come into her life, then she had everything she needed to face life. But that now she needed to do her own thing, to make an effort, to start moving forward... I don't even remember what else I said. But the whole gospel I made clear, I am sure.

I felt relieved, I felt all the stress had gone out. I think she appreciated the fact that I had gone and talked to her. And I needed to leave also to go see how my daughter was doing.

When I left I had to walk to the bus stop, like 4 blocks, about 15 minutes. I felt drained, I felt tired, more like exhausted... I felt completely alone. I just wanted to cry so bad. I was so sad this whole incident had happened the way it did. I felt like calling someone, but whom was I gonna call? My family? Emerson? I thought he was mad at me for not putting Libby in the crib when I should have. Who could possibly understand how I was feeling? It was like if I were carrying all this darkness on my shoulders now. I couldn't  call anyone, I just wanted to sleep, and I had to hold the tears in. 

Jeff said the other day this was totally normal, that I was exhausted after being spiritually battling. Who was I battling? Satan himself? I don't think so. One of his demons? I don't freaking know, but I totally kicked his butt. (Thank, you, Jesus.  Oh! Thank you, Jesus... sing it like in that movie Michael with John Travolta). 

I don't mean to say that I won anything regards my mom, she probably continued feeling guilty, but that has nothing to do with me anymore. I looked beyond my own feelings, and was able to forgive, to let go of resentment and anger, and chose to react positively to an incident that could have torn my family apart, I am guessing. Emerson wasn't mad anymore either.

So when I got to my in-law's apartment, Elizabeth had thrown up twice. And after a while of me being there, she threw up twice again. That was six. Plus she threw up one more time before going to the doctor, that makes seven. There was a pediatrician in front of the apartment, and Libby was scheduled for a visit at 1 pm.

By then, my father-in-law had told us that he had gotten sick the night before, around the same time Emerson did. He also ran a fever, and fell asleep. Great. This began sounded more like a virus or something else rather than a concussion. Libby still hadn't pooped. 

Mi cara de pez (My fish-face)

So, this... doctor, welcomed us to the fucking third world country, as he warmly referred to Mexico. We told him that she had been throwing up, but we also told him the whole story of the fall, and Emerson's fever and Grandpa's fever. He asked how she had fallen, and how far had she fallen. I told him I didn't know, that I had asked my mom and that she didn't know what to say. "Well, with that fucking face you have, you probably scared her! Look at you!"

I was really scared, and I was missing my Dr. Pope, already. I'm telling you, you never know you are living in Oz until you leave, ha ha ha!!!  Oh, and I forgot to say I had thrown up, too, when I came back from my mother's apartment, but that was probably Baby, or all the adrenaline of the moment. 

He checked Elizabeth's throat. Said it was swollen, plus asked if she had pooped. Libby had been drinking lots of banana's smoothies, plus the same foods she eats in here, but her poop was different. I don't know. He said she probably presented something called retention vomit. Since she hadn't been able to poop, she was throwing up all the bad foods she had been eating. Bad compared to what she eats in here...

He said he was more inclined to think it was an intestine infection, because she looked fine, nothing in her head, apparently, but that if the vomit continued we should go take some X-rays or similar. For now, he had given her two shots, an antibiotic for the possible infection and something for the inflammation, either throat or intestine. 

Then he said, "You'll be fine, sweety, you just need to shit your diaper." And at the sound of "Fuck it!" he inserted a suppository in my daughter's precious anus. Oh, by the way, he also said she was running a fever. The thermometer, he had also inserted in her little anus.

What happened next was an awful amount of poop that went all the way up Elizabeth's back. Grandpa gave her a shower. She cried, of course. She doesn't like showers except with Mommy. She is going through this separation anxiety, and being in Mexico, was no help at all.  

By now, I was just going through the motions. I just wanted this to end. I wanted her to poop, so we could stat giving her Gatorade, and get her re hydrated. I was also feeling more and more confident the fall had nothing to do with the vomit, not after the fever. But physically, I was totally exhausted. I took advantage of Pamela and my in-laws, they took care of Libby the rest of the evening. I was in the couch with a terrible headache, feeling my body almost breaking, you know, when your bones hurt, as if I was gonna get sick next. But that never happened. I just needed to rest that night.

Emerson told me the other day that I am the pillar of this house, I liked hearing that. I asked him what he really meant because I've heard that many, many times, but I never really understood what it meant.

He said I am like a pillar, just like a pillar. If a pillar of a building breaks or falls, everything else collapses. I liked that even more. I felt praised, loved and appreciated. And also proud, because I know he is right. I can humbly say that if Mommy gets sick, this house would go to ruins in less than an hour. Everybody got sick, my dad also had diarrhea one of those nights. My father-in-law continued with vomit on Friday night before Libby and Emerson's party. I think my sister-in-law was beginning to feel sick when we left Mexico. But I, the pregnant lady, with low immune system, never fell prey of the thingy going around there.

Not very fond of the gift
First poop after suppository. 

In recovery. Opening birthday gifts

Playing with stuffed friends

We came back with the doctor that evening after she had pooped, and this time I was reprimanded for having given my daughter half a litter of Gatorade. He called her Panzona (big fat girl) supposedly for all the liquid I had given her. What? She was thirsty! She hadn't vomited at all, and she was eating only purees. The doctor inserted another suppository to take everything out, and she cried again. She was exhausted, too. We were told to come back the next day ( on Friday afternoon).

She fell asleep in my arms on the way to the hotel. Emerson sang Happy Birthday while I was changing her diaper and putting her her pajamas. He said in tears it had been his worst birthday ever. I agreed. 

She slept from 9 pm to 7:30 am. The very next morning she pooped again, and we gave her a shower. Then she threw up again, while I was fixing my hair. But don't fret just yet.

This time she threw up because with all these suppositories she was pooping a lot. The poop came out of the diaper and into the pack 'n play where she was playing. She might have thought poop looked funny and tasted good, and she decided to eat it :))

She had another shower, and we headed towards my in-law's to get stuff ready for the party the next day. The doctor inserted yet another suppository, but my girl had discovered by then she could push them out, and she did in less than five minutes, with a little bit of poop. He talked about giving her more shots, and vaccines on Saturday evening, but we passed on that. 

She has her one-year appointment tomorrow with her Dr. Pope. We'll see what he says about all this.


She only had a scratch in her nose. It is gone by now. 

I wonder if my children will value the time I took to write all this. Hopefully one day they'll tell me they loved reading about their lives through my eyes :))

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