the look in his eyes as he fell. the crack of his head on the concrete floor. the tears. the panicked screams. nothing I could do. over and over and over.
It is a scary thing; the idea that we have no idea what is going on in our bodies. To know that we could be bleeding, or growing abnormal cells, or harboring infection... and on and on it goes. The unknown. Inside of us. Or worse, inside our children.
I took him to the doctor minutes after the fall. Who knew there was a clinic in the Superstore? Now we do. And are so grateful for that wonderful oddity. That doctor said he was ok. But it took awhile for the symptoms to come on and then we watched the boy in pain and too weak to stand, vomit throughout the course of the day. Over and over and over.
And we knew he wasn't ok.
So we lived out our worst fears and bundled up our boy for his first trip to the ER. And we waited and waited and waited. Me at home with the little one and Rob there in the hospital with the doctors.
For hours. Long into the night we waited. We prayed. Everyone we love prayed. People we don't know prayed. Ephram prayed.
And then he improved.
The vomiting stopped.
The bump went away.
The aching subsided.
They sent him home without the need for a scan. A scan that is dangerous for little bodies like his, but that is necessary when blood is present on the brain, like they thought may be.
And it was a miracle. One our faith needed. One his faith needed.
Now in the wake of this answered prayer we are different. And probably will be permanently.
And that may have been the point all along.
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