Being a parent is a very big responsibility. Many say it is a blessing in disguise. I have four children, each in very different stages of development. Due to my chosen profession, I was not able to have my kids close together, because the demands of my medical training was quite high. I have an adult daughter, a college student, a teenager - who recently graduated from secondary school two weeks ago and a primary school child who is about to enter 4th grade. So my parenting skills are challenged on a regular basis, as I constantly shift gears to deal with these very different four human beings; fruits of my womb.
My youngest child left just over one week ago with his grandmother to attend an All Sports day camp for three weeks in Maryland.
Yesterday was his very first day. I could not resist, my husband and I called him on Skype when we returned from the gym and our race-walking practice, I wanted to see his face and gauge his mood , wish him well and remind him how much I loved him. He seemed in great spirits and all excited. Luckily, and unexpectedly, my younger brother got a summer job at the same camp. He was on his way over to pick up my son and take him to camp on his first day, make sure he met his counselors and settled in.
All day, I thought about him intermittently, praying that he was having a good experience. My husband and I spoke about him while we were having lunch at about 1:30, wondering if all was well. Then at 3pm I looked at my watch and missed him most poignantly for that is the time he usually arrives in my office after walking home from school.
I had a very busy day, so much so that I did not even have my computer on, because I had no time to sit at my desk. After work, I went on a house call. When I got home, I planned to shower and change to attend an event, but I decided to call my son on Skype first to see how his day went.
When I signed on I saw five missed calls from my mother, and a long message informing me that there had been an accident at camp at 1:15pm, just before Ferron and I had been thinking and talking about him. Apparently, Kalonji was playing handball with a counselor and they collided and the counselor fell on his left arm, injuring his wrist. My mother wrote that she was taking him to an urgi-center immediately for x-rays to make sure it was not broken.
My heart was beating rapidly and the blood felt like it was draining from my head. I felt lightheaded and sick as I called my mother on Skype. She answered immediately and was giving me a run down on her attempts to reach me earlier that day. I got a bit impatient, because all I really wanted to know was how was my little boy. Finally, she told me that the x-rays suggest some damage near the growth plate of the radial head, it looked slightly misaligned. He was in some pain, but had received some anti-inflammatory medication, and pizza. I only started to feel a little relieved when I saw him for myself on the screen, and heard his voice. His tears fell, as he spoke to me. I could see that he was missing my hugs and reassurance, and frightened by what happened and disappointed about his first day of camp. He did report that he had made a new friend, so that was a sign that he was going to settle in nicely.
Thanks to modern technology, and the assistance of my teenaged daughter, I was able to access the images and look at them myself. I immediately contacted my colleague whose judgement as a radiologist I respect and trust implicitly. My husband and I brought my laptop over to his house. He and I together looked over the images, and on one of the views, he saw a suspicious area. We then spoke to Kalonji and he confirmed that the area where he saw the misalignment is the same area where Kalonji is experiencing pain.
On our way home, I was upset and wondering about the whole situation. I felt bad because I know that when I got up that morning, I mediated and prayed, but I did not spend my usual amount of time praying and visualizing as I normally do. I wondered if that had anything to do with it. I also recalled that when I gave my mother Kalonji's insurance card, she started to ask me things like where exactly she could use the card etc. I remember getting upset with her, and telling her that she would not even need to use the card, it was just in the remote chance. I wondered if her asking for details opened up to the universe the possibility that the card would in fact have to be used. Last year, my daughter and son went up to the same camp and she had the insurance cards on her. She did not tell anyone, I told her to keep them in the passport wallet just in case , and the summer passed uneventfully.
All this second guessing, and what ifs is a normal human reaction to unfortunate events, but can drive a person mad. My loving husband, who is so patient and wise, just encouraged me to think positively and send him Reiki healing energy. Well, unfortunately, he and I have only done our Reiki first degree, so we are not able to send Reiki over distance yet. So I called our mutual friend who knows and loves Kalonji, and after telling her exactly where the injury was, she agreed to send him Reiki several times over the course of the evening.
I slept fitfully last night. I would sleep okay, but when ever I turned I would wake up a bit and remember, and have trouble falling back to sleep. This morning, my mother is going to bring him to an orthopedic hand specialist. I am comforted because he is a specialist in the area that my son is injured so his judgment will be astute. I continue to surround my son with love and light, and happy to know that my friend sent him three sets of Reiki healing energy, the last of which was at 2am this morning.
I recall what Kahlil Gibran says about children:
Your children are not your children.
They are sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself,
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
I will face this day with courage and strength. I know that no matter what the specialist decides , all will be well with my son. Have a wonderful day, and happy parenting.