Comfort in the midst of uncertainty
What my two-year-old son's surgery taught me about hope.
I'm waiting to check my two-year-old son into the hospital. He's having a tiny operation that will hopefully sort out the kidney issue he's had since he was born.
It's now six hours since we first arrived. My son's been asleep for an hour and a half after a distressing moment putting a drip into his foot. His hand didn't have suitable veins.
As they tried to put the needle in, he wriggled, cried, screamed and begged me to make it stop. As we left the nurse's room, he shook with tears before falling fast asleep.
I'm drained too. His tears hurt me deep in my soul. And all I wanted to do was to make it stop. But I know it's for the best.
A routine checkup the day after he was born revealed an unusual build-up of water around his kidney.
It should have been noticed during pregnancy but it wasn't. Despite the significant issue, the doctors took a cautious approach. He had some pills to prevent infection and regular scans to make sure it wasn't getting worse.
Two years later that changed.
It's time for him to have a tiny keyhole surgery that may or may not solve the issue.
He's in surgery now.
It's been a strange time of intense anxiety, stopping him from pulling on his line and with few chances to rest. I'm having my first coffee since I arrived and felt the lack of caffeine, especially first thing in the morning.
It's a small thing compared to what others are going through here — cancer, kidney transplants, and feeding tubes straight to the stomach — but it still feels horrible.
I wish we had more certainties.
- the cause of the problem
- The right treatment
- The lack of risks
It makes all this process feel unclear.
Maybe we'll have to stay longer, maybe this won't do a thing, maybe it will make things worse! I have no guarantees, but I trust that this is what the doctors know to be the best option and we can endure any difficulties.
As a Christian, I take great comfort in what N.T. Wright described to children as the "no more tears place.".
‘He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” (Rev 21:4 NIV)
At times, this hope can feel like such an unrealistic dream: the sort of thing invented to pacify people like me at times like this.
And yet it resonates so deeply. This pain is not the way things were supposed to be. It's more than just a discomfort, it's wrong. And it comes from w world that has been thrown out of order with itself.
But the pain I see all around is a passing shadow. A mist that one day will dissipate and be replaced with joy.
Till then, I'll continue to trust and wait.
