The past few days I've felt more positive.
Ive accepted Reuben is Type 1 and doesnt have neonatal diabetes.
Insulin is how we treat him and Im grateful for that. Im grateful that needles and lancets are no longer the size of hunting knives or fishing gear. Im grateful he is alive. Im grateful to wake up beside him and see his gorgeous infectious smile and grateful to get a chance to be his Mummy.
This post started out being about how Id like to homeschool Reuben, but somehow its turned out to be something different - about how grateful I am to be his Mummy and how thankful I am God has given me and Reubs a second chance.
On that Sunday at the end of May 2010, when I got desperate to know what was up with my poor sick son, I recall ringing a public health number.
The nurse was thorough. She had quizzed me
'Has he hit his head or fallen over recently?' 'Has he been vomitting?' 'Has he got a temperature?'.
She is the one who advised me to get him to hospital JUST IN CASE.
I got up from the study thinking, okay lets go shower (because Reuben had been vomitting and screaming, vomitting and screaming). It couldve gone either way at that point. It was a bit like slow motion I was in two minds.
Was I a neurotic mother wanting to take him to hospital when the GP on Tuesday had given us thrush drops, saying there wasnt anything wrong with Reuben... that he could see.
Or should I just let him ride out this 'rough patch' and go get some pedialite from the chemist? It was like the good and evil cartoons sitting up on my shoulders, battling over our destiny. Battling over Reuben's life.
These memories leading up to diagnosis are vivid. They almost haunt me. I remind myself daily, I did what I could, I made the right choice.
I ran the hot water and Reuben and I stood underneath being soothed by the droplets. I held him very close the way a protective mother does and I felt his little frame was very thin and he was just so so tired. Exhuasted. I felt the way he was struggling to breath. This was NOT my little boy. Reuben before getting sick was a live wire. Strong, outgoing, independent, and very active. He had been on track to walk well before his first birthday.
While his little body literally collapsed against me and his head rested on my shoulder I felt him sighing. He felt awful. He was giving up the fight with each exhalation. I knew instinctively that he shouldnt go to sleep.
I prayed quite desperately as we stood in the shower, time stood still as the water bounced off our bodies and ran down the drain.
Lord I have to know what is wrong with him this has been going on so long, he is still sick.
When I finished I heard a clear, calm answer. But it wasnt an answer, it was a question to me.
Do you want your son to die?
I was shocked. Of course I want my son to live, Lord. Of course I want him to live.
So I dried him off and dressed him in some warm pajamas and layed him out on Josephines bed. My mind began screaming at this point. I cant describe the noise, like jetplanes were landing in my brain. Inside my mind was like being in the centre of town, at a bustling intersection, midday traffic chaos, noise and glare but being all alone, tiny in the centre.
I was standing in the hallway panicking. Danger Dad came over to me and peeked in on Reuben, who was laying tummy down on JoJo's bed just sighing because moaning was too hard. The significance of this moment was not lost on DD either.
"Just take him in now Jules, I'll come later with the other kids".
This is no mistake,
this is the child
God has given me