Jason was able to be present for Eli's birth, but the next day was admitted to the hospital for another surgery after more infection was discovered. My time in the hospital was split between holding Eli in my room while quietly crying and visiting Jason's room on a different floor to throw myself onto his bed while sobbing (it's possible that hormones played a small part in my dramatic response). Even so, the situation seemed terribly unfair. Jason was missing those first precious moments with his son. We were heartbroken when Jason had to remain in the hospital, and was unable to bring Eli home for the first time. When he was finally able to come home, he still needed to spend his time recovering rather than bonding with Eli. My mom stayed to help me with Eli while Jason's mom took over Jason's care. Two years later, Jason was back in the hospital with a life-threatening condition (Fournier gangrene and sepsis). The ICU was not a place for a toddler, so Eli spent most of his time with my sister and her family. Although Eli couldn't fully understand, he knew his dad was very sick, and that all was not right in his little world. I remember one day when my sister brought Eli to me at the hospital. She said simply, "He really needs some time with you." I had been so focused on willing Jason to survive that I hadn't been able to realize how desperately I needed this, too. That afternoon, Eli and I took a nap in the waiting room together. The warm weight of him on my chest soothed me as nothing else could. Jason spent Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's in the hospital. We did everything in our power to create normalcy for Eli. Jason's health remained tenuous over the next several years, with multiple hospital stays followed by recovery at home. In November of 2007, when Jason began experiencing lung, kidney and blood clotting issues that evaded a definite diagnosis, we had no idea the outcome would be so devastating. Eli was at school the day in February when I called an ambulance. Even though we didn't tell him at first how serious the situation was, he was old enough to sense it. At one point, I visited the hospital chapel and decided this would be the quiet place I would take Eli to tell him if Jason passed away. During those first critical days when he was given a dismal chance of survival, I sat beside his bed day and night, while Eli slept at my sister's house. After he suffered his brain injury on the ventilator, I stayed even though he spent the next weeks in a medically-induced coma. I counted the hours until the neurologist would come each morning and bring him out of sedation to see if he would show signs of response. During the subsequent weeks in the ICU, my parents stayed at our house off and on. I left the hospital early each morning so I could take Eli to school, while Dad replaced me in Jason's room. He sat with his coffee and crossword puzzle, so he wouldn't miss the report when the doctors made rounds. When school ended for the summer, Jason was still in the hospital. My mom put her life on hold to stay with us. Dad made the drive back and forth to South Dakota so he could preach and tend to the farm. After Jason was transferred to a dismal long-term care facility an hour away, we drove back and forth to see him. We celebrated Eli's seventh birthday in Jason's room between his dialysis and physical therapy. Gradually, Eli began deciding to stay home with Grandma rather than make that trek back and forth. She did a wonderful job of distracting him and keeping him entertained. Finally, when Jason was transferred to North Kansas City Hospital, we were able to spend the night with him again. That first night in his room felt like a slumber party--we were overjoyed to be able to sleep under the same roof again. Jason proclaimed, "I'm so glad we decided to do this...stay in a hotel!" Even though he was confused about the details, he recognized it as a celebratory occasion. When Jason eventually came home from this third hospital, he needed continual care, so I often had little energy left for a boy who had endured so much. Jason was still in a wheelchair, needed supplemental tube feedings, and was going for dialysis treatments. I tried to keep everything in balance, but this proved impossible. I kept telling myself that children are resilient. Meanwhile, Eli was trying to adjust to the changes in his dad along with the lack of enough attention from his mom. Jason was physically unable to be the kind of dad that Eli remembered. Jason's personality was also drastically altered those first years after his brain injury. While he has made great strides, he isn't the same dad as before. We are still working on rebuilding the close relationship between father and son. I am actively trying to find ways to include Jason again in homework, discipline and activities now that he is more able to participate. One morning last week when I woke Eli for school, he told me he didn't feel well. I knew his allergies had been bothering him, but also felt he was well enough to go to school. After I'd exhausted all my reasons that he needed to go, I became frustrated and left the room. Pretty soon, Jason got out of bed after hearing our discussion. I heard him gently say, "Son, you need to go to school." The next thing I knew, Eli was dressed and putting on his shoes. Jason sat back down on the bed, grinning from ear to ear. It had been so long since I'd seen him looking as proud. What a difference those few words made for both of them.
