Not Being There.

It was 9:54 last evening when the phone rang.  I saw the unrecognizable name on the caller ID and chose to ignore it disturbed by the fact that someone unknown was calling so late.  Seconds later my cell phone rang.  That familiar feeling of panic set in.  I knew it wasn’t good.

“Kristy, it’s Becky from Camp Needlepoint,” she said in a hurried voice.  Immediately, I chill ran through me from head to toe.  Before she could say another word, I began to tear.  “Yes,” I said quietly fearing the worst.  “He’s okay, but we’re at the ER.  I’m here with the head Endocrinologist that’s staying with us this week.  We need you to talk to admitting so he can be seen.”

“What’s wrong,” I whimper.  “He’s got a really bad stomach ache.  He blood sugar is in range, so we’re hoping it’s nothing serious.” 

She handed the phone to the woman who had to speak with me about admitting Eli.  She had to ensure that I would allow my son to be treated.  After the formalities, she indicated that the Endocrinologist would call me as soon as they got word.

After I hung up the phone, pain ran through my veins.  Paralyzed with fear, the same fear and panic that struck me when he was first diagnosed with Type 1.  At that time, I was stranded on an airplane in Atlanta – not there with him.  This time, he was in Wisconsin and I at home – again not being there.  Not being there for him when he needed me most.  Needing his Mom.

Less than 15 minutes later, the Endo called and mentioned that Eli was being checked by the ER Doctor.  He brought Eli to the ER as his symptoms were not normal.  Eli was holding the side of his abdomen in severe pain.  He just didn’t seem like the kind of kid that would complain.  He wanted to ensure it wasn’t appendicitis.  He would call back when he knew more.

Waiting.  Fearing.  Sobbing for my son.  It was unbearable.  Not being there. 

An hour later, the call of relief came.  No serious issues, just a very bad tummy ache.  They gave him some meds and took him back to camp.  In true Eli style, he demanded to spend the night with his friends in the cabin – not the medical cabin.

So my littlest angel is better today.  A blessing.  A miracle. 

But, my fear of not being there for him burns in my soul.  I’m not sure how to recover.