Johnny's mother writes of the time when he had meningitis at the age of six. (This was his second bout with the disease; the first bout of meningitis left him with vision, hearing, and speech problems and brain damage. He first had meningitis at the age of 1 1/2.)
One of the scariest times a mother can ever face is when their child is sick with a serious illness, and you aren't sure as to whether your child is going to survive (or come out undamaged from the aftereffects of the illness).
As a mother to many special-needs children, I have been down this road more times than I would care to admit; but by the Grace of God, somehow they have come through their trials. Such a time was when my now ten-year-old son, Johnny, had meniingitis at the age of six.
It was around this time four years ago. Several people had come down with meningitis, and it was a scary time for our community because meningitis is very contagious, and it can kill if it isn't treated promptly. One of those people who had come down with meningitis was my little then six-year-old son, Johnathon, who has Duchenne's muscular dystrophy. Anytime anyone gets meningitis is a cause for alarm, but it is especially so when a child has significant special health needs. When a child like Johnny gets sick, it can turn downright DEADLY, and getting the proper help is of utmost importance.
Johnny had had a cold, and he seemed to be getting better, but then, one morning, as I went to check on him, I found him in bed, burning up with a terribly high fever, and he was crying strangely. His cry was abnormal, and he was trembling in a fit of uncontrollable chills (or was it the beginnings of a seizure?). When I went to pick him up into my arms, he stiffened, and then he went completely limp. His head fell back, and his blue eyes rolled back into his head, showing only the whites. His skin was as white as paper, and it was covered with a fine, purply-red rash, which is one of the signs of a particularly severe form of meningitis. (I knew he had meningitis because I knew the symptoms: high, irritable crying, seizures, high fever, sensitivity to light, delirium or confusion, unconsciousness, labored breathing, and a stiffness to the neck and spine. The person also had intense headaches.)It was terrifying to see him looking like this.
Whereupon, I raced to the livingroom, where my husband was (Johnny being still in my arms), and I told him I was rushing Johnny to the emergency room, as he was very sick; and there was no telling what was wrong with him or when I would be back until the doctors took a look at him in the emergency room. I then raced out the front door after I grabbed my keys; threw Johnny into the passenger side, and got into the van, where I hightailed it to Nashville Memorial Hospital, which was the closest hospital to where we lived.
At the hospital, I was dismayed to find the room full of coughing, crying, sick, or injured people. I knew I was in for a long wait, and it bothered me because here I had a child that was possibly dying right before my very eyes; and yet, I had to wait for my turn. There was NO telling HOW long the wait would be. By the time it was my turn to go into the E.R., Johnny could possibly be dead, I kept thinking. I was absolutely terrified.
About ten minutes later, a doctor came up to where I was standing, Johnny still motionless in my arms; and he took one look, and he knew the seriousness of the situation. He said, "Follow me. Treatment Room #4, Table One. You have an obviously very sick little guy there."
The doctor bent over the prostrate little body of my unconscious son, and he went to work, quickly examining him by checking his eyes, lifting one eyelid and then the other, and shining a bright light into them, checking his pulse, breathing, temperature, and blood pressure, checking his reflexes (they were sluggish), and his reaction to pain. He called out his name, but there was no response. Johnny lay there, unmoving, unseeing, unfeeling. He looked like he was dying.
The doctor then called for a neurologist; he suspected that the boy had a brain problem, and he also notified the NICU (Neurological ICU) of a meningitis case coming in, and that he wanted the child to be put into strict Isolation, as the disease he was showing symptoms of was highly contagious. The news certainly didn't sound good, judging from the tense expression on his face.
An hour later, Johnny was tethered to a myriad of tubes, and he was now in a drug-induced coma, to give his little body a chance to recover from the devastating disease he now had. He had the worst possible kind of meningitis: bacterial, which can kill in only a matter of hours. His fine hair was darkened by sweat, and perspiration beaded his naked frame. A respirator tube snaked out of his mouth and to a machine that breathed for him, I.V. lines were delivering medications to his fevered body, and other tubes removed bodily waste from his system. His arms and legs were splayed on the bed, and they were tied down (to keep him from pulling out the tubes). To look at my tiny son lying so helpless and still in the bed was more than what I could take; and the very sight of him caused me to burst into a fresh torrent of tears.
For two whole weeks, Johnny lay there, like this, not knowing what was going on or what was happening to him. It was like he was dying, and all I could do was pray to God to spare our little son; he had already been through one hellish experience with meningitis, and because of it, he was now damaged. I couldn't bear to think of what new neurological damage he would have as a result of this second bout of meningitis. For all I know, he could possibly end up in a nursing care facility, a vegetable, a shell of his former, vibrant little boy self. The very thought of this was more than enough to cause waves of nausea to wash over me.
I tried to be there for my son, but I also had a moral obligation to be home with my husband and other children (another was recovering from an emergency appendectomy; she was still in the hospital herself, and she faced a long recovery ahead of her); I couldn't just abandon THEM. But at the same time, I knew I had to be at the hospital for my son's sake; I was terrified that, if I left, he would somehow "crash" and then die.
But Johnny did NOT die. He survived. Through all our prayers and worry, he somehow survived; and a week later, he was sitting up in bed, asking for a bowl of ice cream to soothe his raw throat (it was sore from the respirator and tubes). He was severely weakened, but he didn't appear to have any new signs of brain damage. He came through his harrowing ordeal only by the Saving Grace of a Loving God. His recovery from bacterial meningitis was nothing short of a Miracle.
Four years later, God is still performing Miracles in little Johnny's life. He is a living testimony to God's Awesome Power admist incredible odds. Johnny is a walking, talking little Miracle Survivor; and it causes me to thank God for his survival.
WOW, karen, powerful write! you are getting better and better all the time...i love meeting the people you create...and am blessed you are my twin! (((HUGS))) and love, karla. :)
Suspenseful and close to home, Rain of Deception 2 will leave you in Tears. Much like Part 1, this will shocking sequel will keep you on the edge of your fingertips.
