If you had told me last Sunday that this week would be incredibly stressful, I would have laughed.  How is that different from my new normal, I’d think.  But, stressful doesn’t even begin to cover it.  Truly, Murphy has moved into the guest room upstairs and put his Law into the drawers and closet.

I fought it all weekend.  Trying to put off another emergency room visit.  Keep her hydrated.   Her fever had shot up again, and she looked awful.  It really isn’t fair when someone so tiny gets so sick.  Her eyelid was puffy, her nose so stuffed that I was aspirating it every fifteen minutes. Her cough was awful.  I noticed it, too.  She would cry, but no tears would come.  She had no drool.  What’s left of her soft spot had started sinking in again.  My heart was heavy.  Monday morning, I took her in.  Pnuemonia.  Croup.  Upper Respiratory Infection.  Seriously?!

“We could admit her.  Hydrate her.   It’s up to you.”

Up to me?!  I prayed.  Hard.  I have already done two hospital admissions with this tiny one, one very recently.  I didn’t want to navigate that again.  Especially with my help-mate half a world away.

“What’s best for the baby?”

I took her home, and we sat.  I fed her and fed her.  Administered antibiotics. Prayed some more.  Hospital admission was possible Tuesday.  And Wednesday.  I fought so hard.  Fought her, as she screamed and refused to take more milk.  Fought to keep her fever down.

And then the curve ball.

A major sewage vent pipe in the house had separated.  The house had smelled since we moved in.
We had reported it numerous times.  They kept ignoring us.  So we had to call in the Cavalry, so to speak.  They found a huge pipe busted, and we had to vacate the home Wednesday.  They sent us to a flex home…where the air conditioning was broken.  My sweet girls were sweating, and my tiny baby with pneumonia was flushed.  I finally stood up.  I had to leave.  We went back to our home out of desperation.  I continued to push fluids as she reverted in her recovery.

Thursday, we nearly had to vacate again, but were spared at the last second.  That afternoon, my sweet Mary’s temperature soared out of nowhere.  I administered Tylenol and then Motrin with no success.  She spent most of the afternoon in bed.  That night, she woke up screaming multiple times each hour.  Again the next afternoon, her fever was high.  I was very concerned.

Saturday afternoon, she went to the bathroom.  Her urine was completely red.  My heart was fearful.  Blessedly, someone came to watch the girls, and off we went to the emergency room.  My sweet girl had a UTI that had progressed upwards to her kidneys.  As they poked her multiple times to administer antibiotics, she screamed for me to help.  Instead, I had to hold her down.  My heart ached for her.

She’s still very sick, but slowly on the road to recovery.  She’s still resting a lot, and is not her normal active and laughing self.

So, we’ve slowed down again.  We are hunkering down.

We will be okay.  I know we will.  Our plumbing is repaired.  We are healing.  My poor sweet girls are improving.

I never thought I’d be so joyful to see tears streaming down my baby girl’s face, to see my two year old rejoice that going potty doesn’t hurt.

We made it through.  With prayer.  With help.  With support.  God always provides when we need it.

And now, I need to go evict Murphy and his Law from the guest room.

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