Strep Stay

Ecolab® makes Endure Foam Hand Soap that strangely brings me peace of mind. I’ve used the soap countless times at the local hospital, and at one in Indianapolis over the last 3 years. Each time I scrub in between my fingers, I look in the mirror and study how much I’ve aged, maybe only since the time of admission. But using the soap reminds me that we’re in a place where people can do much more than I can.

Cyrus caught the bug in February. He caught it, and then it went on to wrestle him to the ground, hold him there for 5 days, and allow us to meet our health insurance deductible by March 1.

He is not a good patient. He has terrible bedside manners and zero tolerance for strangers telling him that if he doesn’t lift his tongue for the thermometer, they’ll have to place it elsewhere. He is more like an old man who stares out the window thinking about all the things he could be getting done at home, and when the medical team comes to see him, he’s resentful towards them, modern medicine, and cherry-flavored ibuprofen.

Day one in the hospital revealed some real pent-up hostility he held towards his mother. Part of the reason we were admitted was dehydration due to his inability to keep anything down. At 11:00 one night, after another long episode of trying to get the bug out, he was flat angry about the taste in his mouth (who can blame him?).

“This is because of you, Mommy!” he yelled in a fit of rage, loud enough to wake the neighbors in room 536.

“What? Buddy? Mommy isn’t making you throw up. Honey, I’m here to take care of you, get you better…” I continued while I tried to wipe his face with a wet washcloth.

“No!” he yelled. “You never pack my lunch on beefy nacho day. Never! And I have to eat the beefy nachos and then I have a yucky taste in my mouth. All Day! Just like this!” tears rolling down his little red face.

I sat there on the bedside stroking his hair, wondering if I should laugh or cry, and deciding to stay quiet. I’m not convinced his lashing out on my lunch packing, or lack thereof, wasn’t part of a twisted fever dream, but I will tell you this: Cyrus has not eaten school lunch on beefy nacho day since.

On our second day in the hospital, the nurse was apparently just as worn out as us. She walked into the room with her cart of meds and tools.

“Ohhhhkay Cletus, I’m just here to check on a few things,” she said.

Cletus?

He looked at her with a furrowed brow so deep, we could have planted the 2024 corn crop in it.

I asked that she repeat the name she used to ensure she wasn’t administering something to 5-year-old Cyrus that should have gone to 85-year-old Cletus. It was a simple misreading of his chart. But he didn’t acknowledge her or her questions the entire routine examination.

Day three in the hospital is when he finally turned a corner and began eating and keeping things down. That afternoon Cyrus asked if we could take a walk outside. We were denied, which was devastating for this farm kid, but they did allow us to walk around the floor. Before departing he was insistent that he change his clothes, out of his hospital gown. He wanted his cowboy boots, jeans and a belt on. After repeatedly telling me that he couldn’t leave the room looking like that, and me repeatedly asking him why, he exclaims, “Mommy! I can’t walk around the hospital like this! People will think I’m a doctor!”

Cyrus Sankey, not to be confused with Dr. Cyrus Sankey

I assured him no one, and I do mean no one, would think he was a doctor.

Cyrus is back home, and as I write this, I'm watching him use a toy excavator to dig holes into the patch of lawn where Daddy has just sewn grass seed. He made it through the early stomach bug of 2024, will he make it through spring? We shall see. 

 

This Is the Day

My favorite child will always be the one who cries out for me in the night, then proceeds to cover me in little bits of supper. Because it is that child, in that moment, that needs me the most.

It was a beautiful day. Birds were singing a morning song, I could hear my husband zipping around the farm feeding cattle and a little girl singing a Frozen tune downstairs. I was stuck upstairs rocking a sick boy, with the blinds shut in a room dark.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” I thought to myself. On a beautiful day when I had so much to do!

I had a long list clouding my mind. Sweep all floors, then mop. Vacuum the carpet. Slice the watermelon. Wash the rugs. Sweep grass clippings off the patio and sidewalk. Pick up 250 toy cows and horses from the living room - and every other room in the house. Clean the toilet. Put away all the laundry I had washed yesterday. Water the garden and flowers. Get things ready for our first Sunday back into the church. Check on a few loose ends regarding approaching work events: signing contracts, reserving chairs, updating an excel sheet with new plant progression numbers and writing a script for an upcoming agronomy video. 

Rocking a sick toddler - for who knows how long - was never on the list. I felt myself getting anxious about the mounting pressure to get it all done. 

But then I looked down at Cyrus and studied how long his eyelashes were. Where did he inherit those? And I noticed how his blonde hair still stands straight up after a warm bath. And I realized that I needed to trim his tiny fingernails – a job that puts us both on edge. Then I watched his tiny chest go up and down slowly; he was finally calming after a rough morning. His breathing got slower and his eyes began to close. I do not recall the last time I studied him and rocked this extremely active almost two-year-old to sleep. 

So, I rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. 

And as I did, I sang, 

This is the day, this is the day
That the Lord has made, that the Lord has made
I will rejoice, I will rejoice
And be glad in it, and be glad in it

This is the day that the Lord has made
I will rejoice and be glad in it
This is the day, this is the day
That the Lord has made

It’s incredible what a simple vacation Bible school song can do to a 35-year-old heart. 

Suddenly, my entire outlook on this morning changed significantly. I couldn’t think of one thing on my to-do list that mattered more than the moment I was in. What a small window of time I had, not to mop or sweep, but to cradle this growing child in my arms!

I wasn’t put on this earth to slice watermelon for our afternoon snack or pick up rodeo remnants from the living room floor, though doing both serves our family. 

I was put on this earth to care for, love and raise human beings so they grow into good people. How selfish of me to think otherwise. 

Sick kids on sunny days sure have a way of humbling mothers. 

Well and back to himself

First Camp Out

Caroline and I had our first camp out last week. I guess I had just imagined it to be more...fun.

The camp out wasn't planned, rather a last-minute change of Thursday evening plans. We were watching the evening news when she made the decision to make a night of it. 

I certainly wasn't prepared, but like the girl scout I never was (Laura was a girl scout, Luke was a cub scout, I was the third child), I learned to adapt to the situation. Real quick like.

Rather than a waterproof tent, we situated ourselves behind the shelter of a shower curtain. Clean up was easier that way. 

There were no ghost stories to give us the shivers, but I repeated these words in an effort to comfort an 18-month old: "You're ok, mommy is here, we'll get through this." That last part was more for my peace of mind.

There were no s'mores, rather Caroline showed me over and over - and over - again what she'd had for lunch that day. I didn't have much of an appetite after that. 

Rather than a sky full of beautiful stars, when we looked up we saw little flecks of paint peeling off the ceiling above the shower. I'd not noticed them so much before, but when you have an all-night camp out in the shower, you have time to observe more than you do in the 5:00 wake-up hour.

There were no hooting owls or coyotes howling in the far off distance to really make us perk up, but rather every time Caroline's little body made a sound I prepared myself for the worst and was usually met with it. 

Unlike most camp outs, when the littlest camper began crying for their parents, I couldn't just make a phone call and send her home; she was already there. 

I did, however, send a brief text to Cody that said, "This is really bad. Wish you were here." 
A minute later, Cody called from some far away place and asked a stupid simple question: 
What can I do to help? 

I answered that question the exact same way I answered it nearly two years ago when he asked the same while I was in labor. It wasn't pretty, kind or worth sharing with all of you.

Our first camp out was in fact the worst camp out, ever. 

But it is over now, and we're operating on all cylinders at the Sankey homestead. It took a whole lot of Lysol and two full loads of laundry to get our home back from something that was supposed to take place in the back yard. I've tried to eliminate the confines of the sick house and gotten Caroline outside more in the last week than in the whole month of January. 

I think next time Caroline mentions a camp out, I'm just going to send her to Grandma and Grandpa Bowman's. It’s a scientific fact that everything is more fun at a grandparent’s house.