It’s been nine days, and I’ve sat down to write this blog multiple times, struggling to find the words to put on the page. Writing makes me feel better. It’s a way for me to get all of the messy thoughts out of my head. But this time I don’t have the right thing to say. What can you say when you experience your child going into anaphylactic shock at school, needing to be rushed to the ER in an ambulance?
It was 1:27 PM, and in that 50-second phone call, I learned from my son’s school nurse that he had accidentally eaten tree nuts, couldn’t breathe, was given his epi-pen, and the ambulance was on its way. With no hesitation, I told her I’d be right there and bolted out of work.
It took me 13 minutes to get from where I was doing my training to my son’s school, which feels like an eternity when you have no idea what your baby—no matter how old—is going through. I kept telling myself he’d be alright, but when I was still three minutes away from the school, the nurse called to check my ETA. The ambulance needed to go. I promised I’d be right there but would just go straight to the hospital if they weren’t able to wait. An endless 180 seconds later, I whipped into the parking lot and ran to the ambulance just as they were closing the door to leave. I hopped in and off we went.
I’d like to say I could breathe a sigh of relief because I knew he was in good hands, but until you see your child back to normal, you’re really just holding your breath. And to be honest, does one ever get “back to normal” after a near-death experience? We’re still navigating that one…
We arrived at the hospital with a team of amazing doctors and nurses waiting for him. They immediately got him the care he needed, and within an hour, my son had fallen asleep as all of the medicines in his body did their work to undo the damage of his vicious allergy. As TG and I sat by his bedside, my phone began to buzz with multiple texts. His friends were arriving home from school, and after telling their parents what had happened, they wanted to check in on his status.
In a moment of pure terror, all of the sudden there was unexpected heartfelt support from my 10-year-old son’s friends. They were worried for him, but they also experienced an absolutely horrifying event for their age. Seeing a friend unable to breathe and be rushed off in an ambulance cannot be easy for their little minds. I knew when I became a mom that my life would be changed forever, but I am constantly reminded about the amazingness of motherhood in atypical ways.
Moms have a constant love that is so strong it almost hurts. A love that palpitates in her soul when she beams with pride as she watches her kids succeed. A love that causes her eyes to well up with tears when she thinks back on how tiny her kids were when they were toddling around the house, but now she’s looking at their adult-sized shoes. A love that stops her heart when she receives news that something terrible has happened. A love that somehow keeps her strong as she’s falling apart and crying on the inside. A love that swells her heart when she realizes the support she has from her village and how that love is reciprocated through loving her children’s friends and their families.
While TG and I watched over Coop while he slept off the trauma from the day, I responded to his friends’ parents, letting them know he’s doing better and thanking them for checking in. But I realized their texts meant so much more than a simple check-in. Our kids’ friends are the ones who root on our children. They are the ones who make them laugh. They are the ones who become their little army of besties. They are the ones who make our children’s school day great. They are the ones who giggle with them on the swings. Who stand by them when they’re hurt. Who worry their little hearts out when their friend is not well. And this is a love that I did not prepare for when I had kids.
I am so thankful for these children who have become like family to my own babies. And some of their parents have become my own best friends. I always wanted to be the house that felt like a home to anyone who cares for our children. The house where everyone feels comfortable. The house where they feel loved and safe. Little did I know, when I allowed these kids to enter our house, I also allowed them to enter my heart. And with that, they have become the kids who we root on. They are the ones who make us laugh. They are the ones we’ll stand by when they’re hurt. And they are the ones we will worry about when they are not well. And that is a love that I did not prepare for when I had kids, but it is a love for which I am so thankful to add to our lives.
Nine days later I’m writing this as I sit in a martial arts competition to watch that same son who couldn’t breathe just over a week ago. He’s here to fight, just as he did last Thursday, and yet again, my heart is just filled with a love that has changed my life forever. An added bonus is both of my kids continue to make me stronger each day, even if they have no idea they’re my inspiration.
