Walk Through the Fire

For those of you keeping score at home, it has been a little over a month now since I last posted on any blogs (including Caleb's blog). This has not been for lack of any interesting things to talk about, as I'll detail below.

Since this post is relevant for me personally and also about Caleb, I'm double posting it on both blog sites.

As of the date of my last post, my life changed a little bit. Not quite as drastic as the actual birth of my son, but mind-altering nonetheless. That evening of April 1st, Caleb's situation with the constant vomiting finally came to a head (see previous posts for more details). Around 11pm, we contacted the on-call nurse at our pediatrician and asked what could possibly be wrong with our little guy. All of a sudden, we get a diagnosis for something called "pyloric stenosis" which we had never ever heard of in our entire lives. Essentially, it's a condition where the muscle (pylorus) that allows food to flow from the stomach into the intestines becomes overgrown or swollen to the point that nothing - no food, no liquid - can pass through the system. This apparently started off relatively unnoticed when Caleb was born and became more pronounced in the ensuing weeks to the point that he was getting no hydration and no nourishment.

We don't know how much longer he would have actually survived with this condition. Suffice it to say that we left for the emergency room at Children's Healthcare of Atlanta within the hour to begin a crazy 5-day trip at the hospital that included multiple rooms for multiple days, a trip to the ICU and a simple surgery with scary unexpected complications - in fact, the complications were probably more disconcerting than the whole situation at the time, since we were expecting a straightforward procedure.

So when you come through the other side of this thing like we did, you can look back and feel quite blessed that you're all here to tell the story. At the same time, you can look at it all and say, "wow, THAT was close." It's scary to think what could have happened if the condition wasn't finally diagnosed correctly.

I thank God that all we're left with is a little surgical scar and some bad memories. And the results of the surgery are that we have a baby now that eats and eats and is growing bigger (not smaller) with each passing day. He's happy most of the time and just seems to enjoy life all the more because we're all here together.

There's a song that says "you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone." I would agree, but I'd add that sometimes you know exactly what you have once you just come close to losing it. Going through the fire and being able to hold on is an amazing blessing.