I hate talking to doctors when I’m the patient.
But worse than that, is when my kids are the patients.
Just before Christmas, I spotted the signs and knew something was wrong. Esther-Praise had been well for an entire year, right after the previous year of multiple hospital visits, ultrasounds, and invasive procedures to rule out renal abnormalities.
Now that I suspected she had a recurrent infection, an avalanche of anxiety flooded my chest. I couldn’t breathe.
Traumatic memories of me nursing her in hospital waiting rooms and being wheeled in and out of radiography rooms in her early years of life came to life.
Test after test. More tests. Good results. And then, a questionable test result that sent all of our eyebrows rising.
“Hm, the sensitivity report showed that this wasn’t the best antibiotic to use after all,” I heard the renal specialist over the phone, as I updated her. She was on leave, and we had visited a clinic instead of bringing Esther-Praise to the hospital.
“You can either stop the antibiotics if she’s well or continue with a second course of stronger antibiotics if she still has symptoms.”
Still have symptoms. Urgh.
Her symptoms were borderline.
“I think she’s well,” Cliff said.
“But maybe she’s still unwell,” I said. She was obviously better. But how could I gauge if she needed another course of antibiotics?
All my maternal instincts evaporated. My anxiety overwhelmed me.
“She definitely needs further investigations and an extra ultrasound if she still has symptoms,” came the voice over the phone.
My heart raced and blood throbbed in my forehead.
This was all my fault. Every time EP got ill, I could trace it back to something I did wrong. This was no exception. I blamed myself. What if her ultrasound was abnormal? What I caused permanent damage to her?
I stayed up in prayer, night after night.
Deep down, I knew it would be an awful way to end the year with a terrible diagnosis. I decided to go ahead anyway with the second course of antibiotics.
But it was hell.
Why pharmaceutical companies don’t make better-tasting kids medicine is a mystery to me. But hell hath no fury like a baby’s scorn towards antibiotics with funky aftertastes. After painstakingly procuring that difficult-to-find medication in the other end of the island, it was splattered and sputtered all over the floor.
No amount of juice or ice cream could make Esther-Praise take another sip of it.I began to cry. I am an incompetent doctor and a lousy mother. I called Cliff’s mom. She was in Canada, twelve hours away, but whenever I was at a dead-end, I would ring her.
I loved her simple faith. But most of all, I honored her steady idealism, even through Cliff’s life-threatening cancer when he was only 10 years old. Through it all, she never faltered. She only believed. Even if she did not know Christ back then yet. Six years ago, I had led her to Christ but now, it was she who was preaching to me.
“Do you remember, Wai Jia, how much God loves your little girls? Do you remember what I told you before, that God sent you two little angels, one on each side of you, to bless you? So set your heart at peace, God will help Esther-Praise. Tomorrow will be a better day.”
The next morning, on my usual morning jog at the nature reserve, I began to pray and ask God for grace. It began to drizzle and I picked up my pace.
“God, you’re in control of Esther-Praise’s life. If she still has a lingering infection, help us find a way to help her take the medication. And if she doesn’t take the medication, let her simply be well.”
I felt a tangible burden lift.
And as I looked to the sky to cast my cares, tears dammed behind my eyes as I saw a heavenly arc of color spread across the reservoir like a banner of promise. Months ago, when we went through a terrible season with Esther-Praise’s strong-willed tantrums, an acquaintance who had no idea what we were going through shared a dream she had of our family at our dining table (where all tantrums happen), spinning round in chaos, but under the sure promise of a rainbow.
I felt God tell me to ditch the antibiotics. It was a risk, no doubt, one that I wouldn’t have normally taken or advise others to do, but I felt His clear peace- that she is well, would be- well.
That afternoon, I received two calls- the culture result was normal. Then later, the ultrasound result was normal. On the same day, all of Esther-Praise’s symptoms normalized without further medication. Such are the trials of testing to our faith when we become parents.
We may not know tomorrow. But God does. We may fail as parents, but He does not.
And while we might not be perfect, God’s grace is sufficient to cover our faults.
Such is the certainty of His promise.
