Touring Philadelphia

With our flight not scheduled until Saturday, we found ourselves with a full day to explore Philly.

Destination: Philadelphia Museum of Art.

Under normal conditions, there is no way we would turn our son loose in an building filled with rare, priceless fine art, but with Timothy confined to a wheel chair, we stood a fighting chance of getting out without breaking something! Opportunity seized.

Of course, no visit is complete without running the steps. Rocky never did this with someone on his back.





Now I'm not a big fine art fan like my wife, but I must admit, it was an amazing experience to stand in front of a painting from the 1400's and to see individual brush marks on the canvas. The Renoir exhibit was impressive. I was personally drawn to the art from the Reformation. Timothy was all about the swords and armor.



Of course, on the trolley over to Reading Terminal Market, we asked Timothy what his favorite part of going to the museum was. True to unimpressed four-year-old fashion, he simply replied, "Leaving."

Post Surgery Fun

A bowl of ice cream and a visit from a therapy dog at the Ronald McDonald House. What could be more fun?!

Toe Surgery

While yesterday held among the least complicated surgeries for Timothy, it proved to be one of the most difficult days for me. Let me explain . . .

Teressa finally fell asleep at 3:30am and I woke up at 3:30am and couldn't get back to sleep. One would think surgery would become easier for mom and dad, but it doesn't. Emotions churn.

We hailed a cab at 6am and were in pre-op by 7am. All was going smoothly until it was time to sedate. Timothy wasn't having it.

Seven people held him down and he fought them all off. Medicine was placed in his mouth and he spit it out. No go. The doctors told us he is at the age where he knows just enough to know something's coming . . . but not at the age to know what's coming is good for him in the long run.

After a brief huddle, the doctors came up with plan B. Next thing I knew, I was dressed in scrubs and carrying Timothy into the operating room.

The plan was for me to hold Timothy in my lap on the operating table while he would be asked to "blow up the blue balloon" through a mask. The old balloon-gas switcheroo.

The moment we entered the O.R. the entire mood changed. Folks were all business, as they should be. I sat down on the operating table, put Timothy on my lap and held his arms against his chest. On went the mask and he began to breathe. After a few seconds, I could hear and feel him let out a muffled scream, and then my son went totally limp in my arms. The medical staff directed me to gently lay him down on the table.

As I stepped back, I could see Timothy's eyes rolled back into his head. Then, someone took the place meant for a father, and I was gently escorted away.

Although I knew Timothy was in the best human hands possible, I cannot articulate how unnatural it was for me to leave. On the outside I complied . . . on the inside I revolted.

No sooner than I walked through the doors, I crashed emotionally. I could not put two words together without weeping.

I'm thankful for my wife. She was the strong one, as for the next hour, I cried. We sat, I cried. We walked, I cried.

On the way to get things settled in Timothy's room before he arrived, we "randomly" ran into Joe (Timothy's physical therapist who got him walking after his spine surgery). I made my best attempt to keep it together, but Joe could sense I was struggling.

Joe is a brother in the faith and a devoted follower of Christ. We have shared in many conversations about the Gospel, and sensing my need to be reaffirmed in Christ, Joe asked if he could pray with us. Joe led us into a room, and simply prayed over my wife and I -- reminding us of our Father's sovereignty and care. I know beyond any doubt that Joe was God's provision for us in such a weak moment. Thank you Joe -- and thank you Father.

Soon after we went back to the waiting room, we were called to post-op. Timothy was out.

The doctors warned us: the way a patient goes down is the way the patient will come out. They were right. Timothy went down swinging and he came out swinging!

Among his first words were, "Somebody call me a cab. I'm leaving!" That was followed up by, "Stop talking and get me a pair of scissors so I can cut my cast off" and "You better let me go by the count of three -- 1 -2 -3!" Seeing no results, he resorted to holding his breath. Classic.

Once we were able to redirect Timothy's energy toward meeting the qualifications for being discharged (and a touch of morphine), he became more manageable. His objectives were simple: drink, eat, and pee.

Surprisingly, by 4pm on the day of surgery, Timothy had done all he needed to do to get sprung. One more hurdle: physical therapy.

Timothy was given a walker and while giving it a whirl, he banged his foot and blood started dripping out of his cast. Not good.

The surgeon was summoned, and after inspection, all was deemed incidental. After consulting with the surgeon and therapist, we decided the best course of action is a wheelchair for four weeks.

All in all, we were told we would be in the hospital for 3 days, yet we got out in 11 hours. We were told Timothy would walk out when he left, yet he wheeled himself out. That's a wrap.



A special thank you to the many people who prayed for our son, and for the expertise and grace of the staff at Shriner's. God goodness on display.

Pre-Surgical Playtime

Here in the Ronald McDonald House, we always meet so many special people going, coming, and staying. No better way to meet folks than during playtime . . .

Going
Tonight we met a 3-year-old girl (Heather, pictured with Timothy) who is going back home to Missouri after having brachial plexus surgery.

Coming
Arriving for surgery was a family from Reading, PA, whose daughter (5-months-old) will have heart surgery to repair a few holes and a valve. Pray for Alexia and her parents.

Staying
Met a family who had twins prematurely two months ago and have been here for that duration. One of the babies is out of the hospital, but the other is still gaining strength and will hopefully be discharged soon.

Out Of Line

Ten little toes all lookin' at me,
guess which one gets surgery.

Yep. The third one from the left. Middle toe. Timothy's right foot. The one curled under. All of Timothy's toes are contracted to some degree, but the "middle man" needs to straighten his act. On Thursday, Lord willing, this little toe will get back in line.

While I am not looking forward to seeing Timothy laid out for a few days in the hospital (the process of surgical recovery is hard for our little guy), I am grateful for the many surgical options we have been given over the years.

Do pray for Timothy's surgeon, Dr. Van Bosse, along with Timothy's other doctors who will share with us more about what steps will be needed in the future to address various other orthopedic issues.

Boys Will Be Boys

Three weeks ago, my wife and daughter left for a one-week faith journey to Guatemala. Their departure meant Timothy and I were on our own. I think this fact made Mama more nervous than flying, leaving the US, and possibly contracting Typhoid fever all combined!

As providence would dictate, our air conditioner gave up the ghost and temperatures began to soar. Not to fear. Male ingenuity kicked in as Timothy and I sat in front of our open refrigerator wearing boxers while feeding from the door -- whipped cream, pickles, butter, olives. No challenge was too great for us. Eye of the tiger, baby.

While I clearly received no parting instructions on nutrition, my wife did provide one simple task for me to accomplish while she was out of the country. Potty train Timothy.

Bye bye Toy Story Pampers. Hello Spiderman Underoos.

I seized the first opportunity to usher in this right of passage.

As Timothy and I lounged in the backyard, I said Timothy, "Now son, if you have to use the bathroom, you need to tell me. That way, we can go inside and use the potty."

He said, "OK Daddy."

After a few moments of playing, Timothy turned and said, "Dad, I think I have to use the bathroom." With that, he started to walk toward the house.

Seemed Project Housebreak was an instant success, and in a moment of overconfidence, I decided to call an audible and take things to the next level: Operation Pee Pee Tree.

"Timothy, come back here, buddy," I exclaimed. "Good job heading inside, but let's try something different. Instead of going to the potty in the bathroom, let's see if you can use the potty on that tree over there."

Timothy responded, "OK. I'll try my best, Daddy." What more could a proud father ask for?

Now in my defense, I did have a plan. You see, not only was I going to potty train Timothy, but I was going to impress my wife by teaching our son how to stand while using the bathroom. Made perfect sense at the time.

When Timothy arrived at said tree, he looked back at me as if to say, "What now?"

I said, "OK, bud, now use the bathroom."

He hesitantly dropped his britches and asked, "Like this Daddy?"

"Perfect. You got it bud. Now go ahead and use the potty," I replied.

Yet, out of habit, Timothy began to squat.

"No, No, Timothy," I interjected. "Today, we're going to use the potty like a big boy. You gotta stay standing up and use the potty on the tree."

Although looking rather puzzled, Timothy took a deep breath and said, "OK, Daddy. Here I go."

And in a moment of grand accomplishment, my son stood tall and used the bathroom . . . out his back end.

"Timothy!" I yelled, jumping from my chair. "You're supposed to pee pee on the tree!"

Timothy stated what had become obvious. "But Dad, I don't have to."

Operation Pee Pee Tree had failed. My wife was unimpressed. And now, we're all having to teach Timothy to sit down when he goes to the potty.

Surgery Next Week

A quick update to say we have confirmed surgery for next Thursday.

Problem: One toe curled under.

Solution: Cut tendon. Shorten bone. Fuse joint. Insert Pin. Set Cast. Wait Six Weeks. Cut Off (the cast, not the toe).

Prayer: Obviously for Timothy's procedure and surgical recovery, but also opportunities to encourage and serve those whom we meet in the hospital.