Dru

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It’s been a few days since Dru left. It just doesn’t seem real. I replay the night and the moment so vividly. Kim was laying on our bed looking at Instagram and I was trying to get Beckett asleep. I could hear the shock, fear, and pain as the words came out of Kimmie’s mouth.

“Shawn, Dru died!”

Tears. Shock. Lots and lots of tears. Followed by fear and pain.

Since that moment I have mostly been numb. There is just too much to really feel and comprehend all of my emotions.

I have wanted so badly in her memory to post the perfect picture with the most perfect caption. Many times I have opened up Facebook to write Dru’s parents a note to bring them comfort and to tell them how much we love them. How much we admire them. How knowing them has eternally impacted our lives. Or even to simply say, we are praying for you and hope that you find some sort of peace through this hellish and nightmare of a situation. But every time I have tried coming up with the right thing to say I have actually ended up closing my app/browser with no words on the screen.

What do you say? What could I say that would make any difference? How could I possibly help at all? I think everyone has probably felt the same way at some point with some sort of experience.

imageDru was the first BA baby that we met. I remember, like it was yesterday the morning that we met Andy, Dru’s mom at the hospitality cart down the hall from our rooms at Primary Children’s Hospital. She gave Kim a hug and was so kind to us both. Dru and Andy have been the light and strength to our family. Bill, Dru’s father became my role model. He is my example of how to be a supportive husband, and how to manage your hospital child with your children at home, while managing work all at the same time. 

I only got to see Dru a few times during our hospital stays. However, it didn’t take more than 5 minutes till I fell in love with her fierce and sassy personality. She was referred to by everyone who knew her as Miss Magic. I’ve never had a chance to ask who came up with her nickname but it defines Dru in every sense. The lil lady was magical. She put a smile on everyone’s face. She changed communities of people. She impacted my family and changed me personally. Have I mentioned that she was only a year old?

Dru was one of two liver kids that we were aware of who needed a liver transplant and was a permanent resident at Primary’s while waiting for her gift of life. One received her liver on Sunday. Dru passed away on Monday and today will be laid to rest. I will never forget Dru. When I tie my running shoes I will think of #movingformissmagic. She certainly moved me. I can keep moving for her. When Kim wears her necklace that says “I can do hard things” I will think of Dru and her family and how they have gone through the hardest trial. When I pray at night, I will remember Dru and ask God to send her to watch over Beckett as he fights his liver battle. I can’t think of a more valiant warrior than Dru to protect my son.

Love you Dru. Thank you for being a light in my life during the darkest days I have lived. You made me a believer. I believe in magic.

Click here to read more about Dru and her amazing family. Please pray for them and honor her by becoming an organ donor.

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A Glimpse of Heaven

It’s 2:30 am. I’m tired and Beckett is hungry. Shawn and I work together to get his bottle ready and change his diaper. Neither of us wants to feed him. We want sleep. It’s my turn.

I cradle this baby boy in my arms and feed him the bottle. My eyes are heavy. He finishes and I lift him to my shoulder to burp him.

And then it hits me. That smell. Oh that precious baby smell. I’m wide awake. I’m breathing him in. My heart. My soul. In the dim light, I see his perfect little mouth and feel his little chest rise and fall as he sleeps on me. I rub my cheek against his. It’s so silky and smooth.

And then I’m crying. Oh how blessed I am. God sent me this perfect little bundle of heaven. I see him for who he is. An angel in my life. I see who he will become. I close my eyes and kiss his cheek, again and again and again. I pull him in close, breathe him in. And then I lay him down in his bed to sleep.

Tonight I have glimpsed heaven. Tonight I have felt a part of the love that God has for me. And I am blessed. So very blessed.

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I Can Do Hard Things

When Beckett was diagnosed with Biliary Atresia we were put in touch with Andy, a mom of a little girl who also has BA. This woman has become a very, very dear friend and someone who I completely admire. Through all the crap that they are going through with their daughter she is always positive and willing to lift others up. The other day, I received a gift from her. It was a cute onesie for Beckett and also a necklace that says “I can do hard things.”

IMG_7012I’ve been wearing the necklace for the last week to give me courage as we heard difficult news from doctors and now deal with stressful situations with our little warrior. And that sentence has been in my mind constantly: I can do hard things. I’ve reflected over the past weeks that we have been dealing with everything with Beckett. And I have come to the realization….

I CAN do hard things.

I can administer 6 different meds, two times a day to my baby without him spitting it out. Some of the nurses were having a hard time and it was getting everywhere. But I was able to do it. And then he started throwing up the meds. One night, we spent 30 minutes giving him meds. We finished and he threw them all up and the doctors decided that we needed to re-administer them. We took our time so he wouldn’t throw up. After we were done, I looked at the clock. Meds had taken us two hours from start to finish. That was hard. But I did it. And I’ll do it everyday for the rest of his life.

I can watch as the IV team inserts IV after IV after IV. Five in fact, all in the span of five days. One head IV, two in his left foot and two in his right. It was hard to see him like that. It was hard to see the nurses flush his IV and realize it went bad. I cringed every time I heard a nurse say his IV was sluggish. It was so hard to see him bleeding from blown veins. It was hard hearing him cry so much. But I did it. And I was there to comfort him after.

As hard as it was hearing bad news about his liver and belly, I went in prepared to hear bad news about that. I did not expect to hear that I had to stop nursing. That was a hard pill to swallow. Even once we realized it would most likely be temporary, it was still hard. It was and still is hard to pump every three hours just to turn around and feed Beckett a bottle of special formula. It takes a lot of time and that’s hard. But as hard as that is, it’s much harder to know that I can’t hold Beckett when he’s hungry. I tried. He nuzzles and tries to nurse and cries so much. It’s hard to not be able to comfort and feed him. But I can do it. I can make it through.

It’s hard knowing that I have two precious girls who need me at home and a little warrior who is sick and needs me at the hospital. I can’t be in two places at once. It’s hard having my mother heart split in two. It’s hard knowing that others are taking care of them when I so fervently wish that I was the one home with them. But we made it work. We survived. And we are closer than ever. It’s hard to know that in the future we will be apart for much longer periods of time. That thought breaks my heart. But we will do it. I can do it.

It’s hard being at home all by myself trying to juggle everything. Trying to do our everyday things like breakfast, lunch, and dinner; getting the girls ready for the day, naps, laundry, dishes and even preschool. Then adding in pumping and Beckett’s meds. And on top of all that trying to take care of myself and giving the girls enough time with me and giving them my undivided attention. The attention they desperately need. I struggle finding enough time during the day to do EVERYTHING. It’s a battle. A hard one that I seem to be losing. But I can do it. It may take me time and I may need help for awhile but I will figure it out and it will become our new normal.

If I have learned nothing else through the past two difficult weeks, the one thing I have learned is that I CAN DO HARD THINGS. I am strong. I am stronger than I ever knew. And it’s empowering. I got this.

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Understanding the Universe

“In a very short period of time, our understanding of the universe changed forever… The immensity of the universe didn’t suddenly change, but our ability to see and understand this truth changed dramatically. And with that greater light, mankind was introduced to glorious vistas we had never before imagined.” – Dieter F. Uchtdorf

I have thought often the past few weeks on these words. I can relate to them. They tell my story. I see the value and meaning of life differently than I had ever seen or pictured it before. The veil over my face has been lifted to see a greater universe than I knew previously. I strangely feel the dark and sunny places of other individuals emotions and can relate to them. As much as my own experiences will allow me to of course.

Before Beckett’s diagnosis of Biliary Atresia, we had what I considered a great life. Kim and I found the chaotic rhythm for our family of 3 beautiful well mannered kids. Our marriage was thriving as we established weekly dates and activities together. I was starting to find the groove of my career after being promoted to a new position of visibility. Talk of insurance and financial planning was for “other” people. Adalyn and Raemee, our two oldest girls, have never had ear infections. No medical threats would ever happen to us. Life was as close to perfect as it could get.

IMG_3184The text message I received from Kim on that sunny Tuesday was the start of my eye opening experience that is now the life I live. Since that Tuesday, 35 days have past. In those thirty-five days, 17 of them to this day have been spent in the hospital. Puddles of tears have been shed, hard conversations have taken place, and ultimately God has provided me with a humbling blow to my core that has made me grow up in areas I have never wanted to. Nor did I know existed within me or my capacity. I think we have all experienced this to different degrees.

In the end I am grateful for the deeper capacity of gratitude, empathy, perspective, and emotion that I feel for others. It has enabled me to love. To see the universe for what it’s supposed to be. I have a changed soul and I can’t describe it. You can’t put words next to something like what I feel inside now that is so powerful. I can say that it runs deep, it’s consuming, and it requires me to take action.

I’m not grateful for what is happening to Beckett. I would never wish this on my son. Though he be a warrior, it’s not a fight I want him in so that I can learn a soul transforming lesson. However, I am grateful for the level of communication it has provided me. As I looked into Beckett’s eyes last night, I saw him. I saw the fear that exists inside him. That same fear I see on the faces of parents of sick kids in the hospital. The same look I see when I look in the mirror. I felt how tired he was from a week of being poked (5 different IVs and multiple blood draws), sedated (twice), and drained (the excessive fluid from his abdomen). I understood for a brief moment the exhaustion of being administered 6 different medications one after the other, or the toll that deep vomiting multiple times a day can take on a 3 month old body. When he wrapped his little fingers around my thumb, he was asking me to not leave him alone and I heard through his expression him say “I am trying dad!” For a second, time stopped and I was learning from my man cub. He has a mission to complete. A battle to fight. My son has a purpose and he knows it. We all do. Just like I love my son, our Father in Heaven loves us all. I understand now why “in the sixth hour there was darkness over all the land” (Matthew 27:45) and in the ninth hour “the earth did quake, and the rocks rent.” (Matthew 27:51) It wasn’t easy for the Son, and clearly it wasn’t easy for the Father, but they saw and were aware of the glorious vistas of the universe.

Beckett is a warrior. Even though he has already been through so much, his battlefield is going to get harder, scarier, and so much worse. In all of this there is a lot that will be asked of him. He will pay a steep price to gain the life he has waiting for him post liver transplant. I am so proud of him and through him I am finally seeing and understanding what life is really about. #loveyaBeckett

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I Want….

I want to hear my girls crying because they don’t want to share toys. I don’t want to hear Beckett scream because he had to have his 3rd IV in one day.

I want to watch tv with Shawn. I don’t want to watch monitors.

I want to clean up spilled milk and sticky faces. I don’t want to clean up vomit because Beckett fights his meds.

I want to nurse my baby. I want to comfort him when he’s sad. I don’t want to wait for the smelly, thick formula to warm up.

I want to lie down because I’m tired from chasing the girls around or running errands. I don’t want to lie down, exhausted because Beckett is so uncomfortable and can’t sleep.

I want to get a headache because my kids are loud and crazy. I don’t want to deal with a migraine because I’m more stressed than I’ve ever felt before.

I want to make dinner and eat as a family. I don’t want cafeteria or cold fast food.

I want the well check visits where the pediatrician tells me how great my kids are looking and to keep up the good work. I don’t want conversation after conversation about how sick my baby is and wondering what I could have done differently.

I want to take a rushed 5 minute shower so that I can hurry to stop the girls from getting into trouble. I don’t want to use a communal shower.

I want to spend forever trying to put a fussy baby to bed. I don’t want to spend forever trying to put him to bed only to have nurses wake him and poke him every 30 minutes.

I want to hear him coo and giggle. I don’t want to hear him choke and gag.

I want, I want, I want. I want my old life back. I want the piles of laundry, the runny noses, the clutter. I don’t want the liver disease, the doctors and the worry.

I want a healthy baby.

I’m sure the day will come where I feel more positive about things but for now I want to be angry. And I want to cry.

But most of all I just want my healthy Beckett back.

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“I hate the roller coaster…”

IMG_6962 copyWe had started the formula feeding pretty soon after Beckett was drained Wednesday afternoon. The first time we tried feeding him, he only drank 1 oz. He did not like it. The next time he was starving and we made it pretty warm. He drank 4 oz. I was feeling optimistic. Then we decided to go to slow flow nipples so that in a month when we can go back to nursing, he will be more willing to nurse. After we made that change though, he would only drink an ounce at a time. I was not feeling optimistic.

Morning came. He still was only drinking an ounce every few hours and we were just waiting to figure out the game plan and hopefully get home later on. Dr. Book came in pretty much first thing in the morning and we started to discuss things. She felt Beckett’s tummy and wasn’t happy. It was already getting tight again. So she decided that we would proceed to get him drained again but this time we would leave the drain in and watch it. That meant we would be admitted for at least 3-4 days. Another disappointment. She also reemphasized to us that it was critical that he take the formula. If he didn’t then he would be put on a feeding tube. She did say though that if he will take the formula well, that I could have one nursing session a day.

After she finished speaking with us, it dawned on me. Addie’s birthday is on Sunday. We are celebrating on Saturday. And now we will be at the hospital. I broke down. Is this my life now? Will we be constantly missing important life events or rescheduling things? I needed to leave. I needed to breathe. I stepped out to make some phone calls to make arrangements for Addie and Raemee for the next couple days and to figure out what to do about Addie’s birthday. Thankfully, we are so blessed with wonderful friends and family who stepped in to help us take care of everything so we can balance our two lives. We can take care of Beckett and also make Addie’s birthday the day that she deserves.

While I was out, Dr. Book came back and spoke to Shawn. She was very frank with him and told him that she was fairly confident that Beckett would need a feeding tube based on everything so far. She wanted us to be prepared. When I found that out, I was so resolved to keep trying. I wanted to go back to the regular nipples to see if that made a difference. We had to have Beckett fast until he went for his procedure at 1:00pm to get drained again. So I just kept hoping that once we could start the feedings again, that he would do it. That morning was so long waiting for them to come get us. Finally at 1:30, they were ready for us. We headed back to the Jazz room and were told again what to expect. The only difference is this time we would leave the room with a drain out of his belly.

Once Becks was situated, we headed up to the room that we would call home for the next few days. We just hung out until the nurses came to get me to head down to get him. Another long wait even though in reality it was only 30 minutes or so. I walked with the nurses back down and saw my little warrior. He was pretty out of it. The doctors came to talk to me about everything. They said it went well. They drained another 400 mL. That’s 13.5 oz. I couldn’t believe it. They then showed me how to open and close the drain, signs to look for and then repeatedly told me to be super careful that we don’t pull the drain out. Each new conversation I have with doctors makes me more overwhelmed and scared and yet at the same time strangely empowered.

The nurses and I headed back upstairs and got him situated. We did his vitals and weighed him. When he was weighed initially Wednesday morning, he was 13 lbs 6 oz. When we weighed him Thursday after his second drain, he was 11 lbs 8 oz. Just by taking out that fluid he lost almost 2 lbs. But he looked amazing. After vitals were done, Dr. Marty came in. She is a resident with the GI team and she is awesome. She explains things so clearly and answers every question I have. She told me the game plan. We would watch the draining. They would empty his bag every couple hours and measure it. Because he is losing so much fluid, we have to replace it with protein rich fluid called Albumin. We also had to administer IVIG (immune Globulin) to make up for all that he was losing. We would also keep an eye on how much formula he would take. And we got the green light to start feeds again. I had them get us 2 oz. We warmed it up and put a regular nipple on. Beckett sucked it down so fast. We had them get another 2-3 oz. He drank that also. I was slightly optimistic that it was just a nipple issue and not the formula but he was starving so we would have to wait a few feeds to figure out whether or not it truly was that nipple issue.

We continued to feed him throughout the day and he still did great. He would consistently eat about 4 oz. I was pretty happy about how well he was accepting it. He didn’t seem to care about the taste. He cared a lot about the nipple and also the temperature. Later that evening, the GI doctors came around to talk to us. We met Dr. Jackson and Dr. Marty came in with him. He explained to us in great detail exactly how the liver works and just how biliary atresia affects everything. He helped us understand it in a way that was very visual and gave me a different and better view of what was going on inside our little man cub. He also had me feel for Beckett’s liver and spleen. It was fascinating having him tell me exactly what I was feeling for. Beck’s liver is HUGE!! It takes up most of his chest cavity.

We went to bed feeling fairly ok with the events of the day. We felt like we were moving in a good direction. We slept pretty well and woke up around 7 am Friday morning. Beckett did great all night, slept well and ate well. As we were getting ready for the day, the GI doctors cam around again. Dr. Jackson looked at the fluid and felt like it was looking pretty good so he wanted to consult with Dr. Book about how long to keep the drain in. I found out that Beckett had drained 400 more mL overnight. So much fluid!! But the amount coming out was at a much slower rate which was another reason he wanted to talk to Dr. Book.

He then asked me if I understood why we were giving him this special formula. I gave him what I thought was the reason and oops I was wrong. He then went on to clearly explain it to me. I thought the formula was a low fat, which was why he couldn’t have my breastmilk because it’s too fatty. But that’s not the case. It’s all about the type of fat. The type of fat in breastmilk goes through the lymphatic system. This is why he can’t nurse. Because his lymphatic system needs to heal. The kind of fat in this formula actually goes straight into the blood. It never goes through the lymphatic system. I felt so much more knowledgeable about exactly what was going on.

Later on in the morning, Dr. Book came in with her whole liver team. There was her nurse, Holly, the liver coordinator, Brook and the social worker, Barbie. It was awesome having our whole team with us to talk to us. Dr Book looked at Beckett and then started telling me how glad she was that we had the drain in so that he didn’t have to go in and be put under again to get that additional 400 mL out that had accumulated throughout the night. She also looked at the color and was really happy about it. It wasn’t milky anymore which means the fats weren’t in it! So we will need to get it retested at some point to be sure but that is looking good! She even suggested that we might take the drain out and treat the rest of the fluid build up with diuretics, which will help him just pee out the extra fluid. Then she asked about his feeding and was really happy with how he’s doing.

I started feeling like things were going to be ok! Finally a visit with doctors that wasn’t bearing bad news! I was feeling happy about things. I started thinking, “I can do this!” Beckett got hungry and so I pulled him out of bed by myself, wires and all. I fed him. He took in about 3.5 oz and then I burped him. He did great. He started looking sleepy so I put him down for a nap. Then he got this look in his eye and spit up a little. I helped him sit up and that’s when it happened. He started vomiting. Not just spit up. Full on vomiting. I was so scared and Shawn was working so I was alone. I ran out of the room to get a nurse but no one was there. I came back in to help clean him up and he threw up a couple more times. I ran back out and found a nurse to come to help me. His puke was curdled and gross.

So here I sit. Now I feel like I’m back to square one. Is he not tolerating the formula as well as we thought? Or was it a fluke? Will this keep us in the hospital longer? Will he need a feeding tube? I hate the roller coaster. I’m hoping as the afternoon passes that we will get some answers. That I can get some reassurance. It may have been a fleeting thought, but the “I got this” feeling was wonderful. I want it back.

 

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Beckett’s “Simple” Follow Up

(null)The past two days have been hard. Really hard. I’ve been looking forward to and completely dreading Beckett’s follow up appointments. I wanted to know how he was really doing but at the same time I was terrified to know exactly what our future looked like. We had two appointments set up. 10:30 am with the surgeon, Dr. Scaife, and 1:40 pm with our liver doctor, Dr. Book.

Today arrived. I prayed really hard for peace. I just wanted to feel peace no matter what news we received. When I woke up, I was feeling pretty good. Apprehensive but good. We packed an overnight bag just in case, got the girls settled and packed the baby in the car. We drove up to Primary Children’s. As we started driving, it was silent. Too silent. So we turned on Taylor Swift’s new CD and jammed. It helped take my mind off of the day. But the closer we got to the hospital the more ill I felt. I was so nervous.

We headed up to general surgery and checked in. They then took us to get some labs done. Sweet Beckett was quite the charmer as the nurse prepped his foot to get pricked. He bled good for her and then we headed back to general surgery to meet with Dr. Scaife. As we waited in the room for him, we noticed a mural on the wall. There was a saying on it that if we looked closely we could see all the letter A to Z. We spent the next 15 minutes trying to find the letters. They may have designed that for kids but 1, it was hard and 2, it was a great distraction for us as parents.

Dr. Scaife walked in. “How are you guys?” We smiled. “You tell us.” We laid Beckett on the table and lifted up his shirt so Dr. Scaife could look at his belly. He told us that his belly looked distended and he wanted to send us to get an ultrasound to figure out what was going on since it could be several different things. We asked about his incision. He told us that it looked fabulous. No issues there. Perfect! The lab work still hadn’t come in so he told us we would have to wait until we saw Dr. Book. We headed out to the main room to see if we could get in for an ultrasound. I don’t know how we lucked out but we were sent straight down to radiology for the ultrasound!

When we got there, our tech, Brad, called us back. Now Brad was the same tech that did his initial ultrasound exactly 4 weeks ago today. It felt nice to have a familiar face. Brad is awesome. He asked us questions, did the ultrasound quickly and laughed at all of Shawn’s jokes. Shawn made some comment in regards to how much money the surgeon makes and it made Brad laugh so hard that it took him a good couple minutes to compose himself to continue. That’s one thing I’m so grateful for. Shawn knows how to keep things lighthearted even in the midst of massive stress. Laughing our way through all this crap makes it a little easier. As Brad was doing the ultrasound, he told us all the black on the screen was fluid. I’m no tech but even I could see that there was way way too much in there. I immediately started kicking myself. We’ve been measuring him everyday and the measurements didn’t change until the past day or two. So what was I doing wrong that he had that much fluid and we couldn’t see. I’m not cut out for this.

After the ultrasound was over, the head radiologist came in and talked to us about the results. He said that in his opinion there was a “large amount of fluid” and he thought that Dr. Book would most likely want it drained. In order to drain it, Beckett would need to fast for 6 hours. Well here it was noon and he hadn’t eaten since 9 am. So I figured our appointment with Dr. Book was in two hours. It wouldn’t hurt to hold him off in case she did want it drained. Then we would already be ahead of the game. We left and went to get some lunch before our next appointment.

After we ate, we just sat for a minute. It was hard to know what to say. We still felt clueless. All we knew was that his belly had tons of fluid, something could be massively wrong and we had no idea how well the surgery was working because the labs weren’t in. We decided to head up to Dr. Books office early just in case they could get us in. While we waited we looked over the valley and tried to sort through the limited information we had. Soon enough it was our turn.

We headed back to the room and before anything was done, they went and grabbed Dr. Book. The radiologist had seen her on her way over and told her about Beckett. At this point, our appointment turned sideways. Instead of talking with her about things, all the sudden she was there telling us that we were headed back down to radiology to get his belly drained, they were going to place an IV and we would need tons more blood work done. Then we would be sent to the RTU (Rapid Treatment Unit) to recover and wait for results. Most likely we would stay overnight.

Before we headed down we asked our liver nurse, Holly, a bunch of questions. She was great as we tried to process what was happening. I asked her about his bilirubin levels. Before his surgery his levels were at 8.4, now three weeks later they were at 7.4. I’m not a doctor but that difference doesn’t seem that great. Dr. Book came back in and got us moving since radiology was waiting for us.

Back down to radiology. We went into a little procedure room and that’s where we met the doctor who would be performing the draining procedure. It’s also where Beckett got his IV. The nurses came in to do the IV and went straight for his head. They didn’t even try in his hands or feet. He screamed bloody murder and I sobbed in the hallway.

IMG_6945[6]After the stupid IV, they took us into this big room, the Jazz room. There are pictures of all the Jazz players, signed sports memorabilia and the ceiling tiles have all the signatures of all the players, past and present. It was pretty awesome. They got Beckett situated and then took us to a waiting room. Through all this I hadn’t been able to feed Beckett. But I had no idea that this was going to happen so even though we were prepared with overnight bags, I did not bring my pump. No big deal I thought, I’ll just use the hospital stuff. Nope. In looking into it, because what we were doing was an outpatient procedure and we would not be admitted even though we were staying overnight, it would cost $100 to use the hospitals stuff. Yeah, not happening. So I dealt with the pain until I could feed Beckett again.

The draining itself was actually super fast. Like 20 minutes and they were back to get us. They said that they drained 460 mL from his belly which equates to about 15.5 oz. and there was more in his tummy. He was awake and they said he did awesome. He never cried, just hung out. He was looking around and was calm until he saw me. Then he started screaming bloody murder. The Dr. said I could feed him since he was doing so great so we walked to the RTU and got into our room and I started to nurse him. Oh how quickly he calmed down. We just let him rest and hang out and had to put a sock over his hand so that he wouldn’t pull the IV out from his head. Then we waited.

After a couple hours, Dr. Book came in to talk to us about everything. She said that the fluid they took out of Beckett was milky. They tested it and determined that during his surgery his lymphatic system was damaged. There is fat from his food leaking through the lymphatic vessels. Then she proceeded to tell me that in order to fix the problem, I can’t nurse him anymore because breast milk is super fatty. He needs to be on a special formula. And if he won’t take the formula then they will put him on a feeding tube until his lymphatic system is healed. I am devastated. She said that its temporary, maybe 3-4 weeks but that’s a hard pill to swallow. That your milk is actually causing the damage to your baby. That the comfort and bonding that your baby enjoys can’t happen anymore. Pumping and saving my milk to hopefully nurse him in a month is the only solution. That was hard to hear.

She then felt his belly and said his spleen was enlarged. This could be from the pressure of his liver and the fluid. Not a great sign. I asked her where they want the bilirubin levels to be and she said under a 4. We’re at a 7.4. So that’s not super optimistic. She said she was going to keep an extra close eye on him. She then told us we would be staying overnight to get the rest of the fluid drained and to make sure he was taking the formula. And that we would be back next week for follow ups. She encouraged us, told us we would get things under control and that he would be ok, whatever course that may be.

IMG_6950I love Dr. Book. She never skirts around the issues but she is a glass half full person. She already cares about us and will do everything in her power to help Becks. I hate this situation. I’m not handling it well. But she gives me courage. I know Becks is being taken care of. And for that I am and forever will be eternally grateful.

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Opportunities to Do Good

Shortly after discovering Beckett’s diagnosis of BA (Biliary Atresia) Kim was introduced to Michelle Rowan by a neighbor of ours. Our neighbor had a feeling that Michelle could help us since Annie, Michelle’s daughter, received a liver transplant a few years back. Michelle welcomed us with open arms and provided us with introductions to our new liver family. These amazing liver people are so accepting and understanding of the situation we found ourselves in. We were the lone deer in the headlights and these people slowed down from their busy emotional lives and helped us find our way to a safe place.

Without fail, every time I watch the video of Annie and the experience of the Rowan family my emotions get stirred. First, I can’t imagine being in their shoes knowing that my child only has 48 hours to live without a transplant. Second, our neighborhood and friends have rallied around our family in very similar ways that Annie’s did at the time of her diagnosis and transplant. We have been drowning in the kind acts of others. The toys have been played with, the meals and goodies have been tasty, the conversations/letters and messages have brought tears to our eyes, and the many prayers in our behalf have been felt. As strange as it sounds, my faith in humanity has been restored. There are so many good people living among us. I feel the love of my brothers and sisters and am beginning to understand what it means to be a child of God and a part of a heavenly family living on the earth.

I now have a weight on my shoulders. A weight that I don’t know how to repay. There have been so many people that we know and don’t know who have helped our family. How could I ever repay all these people? How could I ever truly express all of the gratitude that I have for them? The worst part is, I know I have more to ask of these individuals. It’s painful. I’m not accustomed to asking for help. It’s humbling to realize that I can’t do this by myself.

What I have learned through all this is that because of others I will look for opportunities to do good, to show people I care, and to jump in on big or small acts of kindness. There is a fire burning inside to pay it forward. It’s because of others that I now know more than ever that one prayer, one thoughtful message, one hug, or one single smile can make all the difference. I hope that one day I can be the difference that others have been for Kim and I.

Please share with us an act of service that others have provided for you that you are grateful for. We would love to hear your stories.

Written by: Shawn

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11 Days of Dishonesty

It’s dark. It’s late. I’m tired. I can’t fall asleep because I can finally feel. In this moment my net is wide open and vulnerability is scoring. It’s been 11 days since I subconsciously put the wall up. 11 days since a tear was shed. It’s been 11 days since I have felt honest with myself and my emotions.

It’s a necessary evil to make the decision not to feel. It seems to make talking to others about Beckett’s liver disease more comfortable. It makes it easier to play the situation off as a natural part of life. It also shows I am strong and faithful. Or does it? Does it really do all of those things when deep down inside I am scared shitless? When every single time I change my sons diaper and see his giant scar across his ever expanding abdomen. Or when he smiles at me and I look him in the eyes to smile back and all I can think of is, “agh, his eyes still look yellow.” What about when others kindly ask, “how is Beckett doing?” and I have to sheepishly admit that I have no idea. As his father, I have no idea how Beckett is doing. What I can tell you is that he is still yellow and he blows out of 3 outfits everyday because we are forced to use a bigger size of diaper than a kid with his weight would traditionally use because his stomach is huge.

Ask me about one of my other kids, I will tell you exactly how they are doing because they are healthy and they are living their lives the way they should be. Or are they? Is it normal for your four year old (Adalyn) to ask you every morning if Beckett is going to see the doctor that day? Which we have learned is her way of asking if Grandma is coming over so Mom and Dad can go stay at the hospital for days. She also thinks that it’s now perfectly normal for people to show up at dinner time with bowls of food for us to eat. Is it normal for your two year old (Raemee) to walk through every room in the house screaming your name and crying because she didn’t see you walk downstairs to change the wash? No, it’s not. Why? Because the first two years of her life she didn’t care what part of the house you were in because she wanted you out of her business. Nowadays all she seems to care about is my approval of her.

So here I am finally being honest for the first time in 11 days. I’m scared. I’m terrified that I may lose my son someday because he won’t get the liver that he needs. I’m nervous that a transplant will have complications and he rejects the new liver or that his body makes him pay the price for having a transplant. The unknown date of this future event seems to haunt me. I’m not just scared for Beckett. I’m worried about Kim and the burden that she has to carry as the mother of our home. I’m sensitive to her emotions and feeling but don’t know how to help her. I’m worried about Adalyn and Raemee and the lives they will have to live now that their brother has freakin’ Biliary Atresia. The mysterious disease with an unknown cause that can only be cured by receiving someone else’s liver. You want honesty, ok. It hurts. It sucks… And I feel like as the provider of my home I am failing to provide my family with what they need. I can’t just go to the shopping mall and pick up a liver for my son. I can’t stay home from the hospital with the girls and leave Kimmie by herself in that depressing building of pediatric medical miracles. Which means I can’t stay home to provide my girlies with the parental love and comfort that they have grown accustom to their whole lives and deserve.

So now what? I guess I hit the lights and rebuild the wall in my sleep. When I wake up in the morning I guess I will be feeling, OK.

Written by: Shawn

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Morning…

IMG_6799I wake up. I hear Beckett stirring next to me and pray for five more minutes of sleep. I realize that’s not going to happen so I climb out of bed and use the bathroom. I hear him start to fuss. “Hurry up, Kim” I say to myself. I grab a syringe and quietly head downstairs to the fridge trying not to disturb the girls. Opening the fridge, I pull out the medicine bottle, double check the directions and fill up the syringe. 1.25 mL.

Carrying the medicine, I head back upstairs. I pull a baby wipe out from its container and split it in half. I put the syringe on half of the wipe on our bed.”Morning bubba!” I then pull a smiling Beckett out of his bed and change his diaper, carefully inspecting the color of his poop. Phew. It’s a dark enough color. I put the new diaper on. Time to measure his belly. I grab the measuring tape and put it under his back. “Please, please let it be the same.” I wrap it around his belly and bring it together right by his belly button. 42 cm. Perfect.

Then I move him to the middle of our bed and go into our bathroom to get the rest of his medicine. 2.5 mL of his pink antibiotic. I grab the dreaded vitamin. I open it up and immediately the smell hits me. Why? Why does it smell so bad? Scrunching my nose, I take the two medicines back into our room and lay them next to the refrigerated one.

I pull Beckett to the edge of the bed. He smiles at me blissfully unaware of what he’s about to go through. “Hey bud, you ready?” I grab the nasty orange vitamin. I pinch his cheeks and put the syringe in the pocket of his cheek. He starts to swallow and lick the syringe. I put more in his mouth pinching his cheeks so he can’t push it out with his tongue. Orange starts to drip down his cheek and I panic, grabbing the other half of the wipe before it stains his clothes or our bed. One down. Two more to go. I reach for the pink medicine. Oh how he hates the pink one. Still smiling and talking to him, I put it in his cheek. He gulps. And gasps. I hear the air bubbles go into his belly. He coughs. I sit him up and help him burp. “You ok?” He smiles. I lay him back down and we keep going. “Good job!!” We finally finish. I reach for the last medicine. He does great. I wipe his mouth and pick him up. He burps and I wipe the orangish pinkish spit from his lips. “All done Becks!” I kiss his sweet cheeks and start getting him ready for the day.

12 hours til we do it all again…..

Written by: Kimber

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Filed under Beckett's Battle