"God's Favorite" - Jayden Hills

Something is off with Beau. The kids got a respiratory bug a few weeks ago. We got it too. We've all recovered, but Beau hasn't. He's getting weaker. Struggling to stay upright. It's hard to tell if his paralysis in his foot or something more. He insists it's not something more. He is stubborn. I am gentle. I am watching.

He is having night sweats. Is it a fever? He feels warm. Tylenol. He goes back to a fitful sleep. He gets up, a little dazed, but up.

He sends me a Snapchat that doesn't make much sense. I tell him I don't understand. He tells me it was just bad typing.

He says he is going to lay back down.

He sends me a second Snapchat. He is seeing something move that is not moving. I go to him, I explain his eyes are playing tricks on him. He disagrees.

Something is wrong.

I tell him I think he needs a doctor, right now.

He disagrees.

He is frustrated.

He lays down.

I call Cindy.

She agrees.

Something is wrong.

I call Wayne.

God gives you who you need if you lift your head up to look. Wayne had just hit the road back to Georgetown. Barely out of town. I tell him I need him. He is at the house within ten minutes.

I tell him what's going on.

I do not cry.

We need to be gentle but firm. Beau needs a hospital. It will be easier on us all if he goes of his own volition. I am prepared to make the hard choice if he refuses.

Wayne talks to him.

He complies.

We are in the kitchen, getting ready to leave. He is telling me what he wants to take with him. He is reaching for words, but the wrong ones leave his mouth. Not gibberish. Just the wrong words.

Something is very wrong.

We coax him to the car. He rides with Wayne. I call Cindy on my way.

I do not show my fear.

I do not cry.

They prioritize his triage. He is presenting stroke-like symptoms. Triage is done. Confident it's not a stroke. Something else is going on. We are on the priority list for ER admission.

We go back to the waiting room.

He tells me he feels I am overreacting.

I swallow my words.

"Prove me wrong," I say.

I have to go pick up the boys. They are at daycare. They need to go home, be safe, eat. I need to be split in two. Not an option.

I call our cousins, Shane and Cari. I tell them I need them. They do not hesitate.

I cry. For a moment. Then I go back to doing what needs to be done.

I pick the boys up. I hug them tight before we get in the car. I explain Daddy is with a doctor. "You know how Mommy helps you at the doctor? That's what I need to do for Daddy, too." They hem. They haw. They hear my words. They agree to be my big helpers.

We pick up a pizza. We go home. They are shy with Shane and Cari. They warm up quickly. RB takes his plate to eat at the bar. I am dumbfounded. You eat dinner on the couch and you know it, Turkey. We don't need to hide from these people. It's okay.

The boys thaw a bit. I take my leave.

I do not cry.

I drive back to the hospital. I call and update on my way. My mask slips, I shed some tears. I pack them away. Now is not the time.

Beau has been taken back to a room. I find him and Wayne. So begins our six hour stint in the emergency room.

Beau is confused. Unsure of where he is, or why. He is talkative. I entertain him as best I can. I am skilled at going with the flow on a thread I cannot follow.

He does not sleep. Wayne and I take turns taking breaks. There are few and far between.

Beau does not like the wires around him. He picks at them. I scold him. My mom voice helps in some moments, but not in others. I try to be gentle. I try to be firm. I try to be patient. I try to be understanding. I try to focus on my feet on the ground.

We are moving to the ICU.

We walk the familiar halls. I have been here before. Haven't I? I think so. Perhaps they all look the same. I chatter nervously. Wayne does the same. There's a conversation about Blue Bell ice cream as we walk. Wayne loves ice cream. I think about how much ice cream it takes to properly thank a man for helping you save your husband's life.

I do not cry.

They take him into the ICU. Wayne and I go to the family waiting room. It is late, 9:30 at this point. Cindy has just gotten to town. Wayne is going to go be with Cindy. I will stay until I can no longer.

I am allowed into the ICU. It is both loud and eerily quiet. Beeping and whispers. Everyone is asleep but Beau. He is irritated, once again feeling this is blown out of proportion. I bite my tongue. I stay gentle. I stay calm. I pace. A lot. No place to sit in the ICU. I think about looking for a chair. I do not. I fear if I walk out, it will disrupt the fragile balance we have finally found.

Beau is agitated. He is trying to leave. I want to scream. I am trying to save your life. Sit. The. Fuck. Down. What leaves my mouth instead is a plea. I do not break glass unless it is an emergency. Please trust me. Please know I am doing this to help you. 20 years. I have always done what I can to help you. Please lay down. Please lean back. Try to relax. Lay your arm flat, please. You are safe here. You are in no danger. He relents, on and off.

He tries to get out of bed. Again and again.

I ask the nurse if we can do something to help him rest. He needs sleep. His exhaustion and depletion is palpable. She calls the doctor. He says he will call in the order. Every moment between then and the administration of the medicine is an hour itself. I pace. I breathe. I calm him. I calm myself. I will not be rude to the nurses. I will not be impatient. I respect this. I need them. I need their help. I will not rush them. They are doing what they can when they can. We're not the only people here. It was probably ten minutes, but it felt like ten hours.

The order is called in. The nurse gives him this medicine. He is still restless. I am anxious, asking her when it will take effect, like she has some kind of magic ability to know exactly when this medicine will affect Beau's specific body. She says soon. She is gentle. She is kind. She gives me hope rest is next.

At one point, we are helping him settle. We are wrapping his arm to prevent him from bending it and cutting off his IV. She asks if I've ever been a nurse. I laugh. I am a mom to two small kids. It's the only applicable skill I know to use right now.

He is dozing. I need to get some air. I go to the parking lot. I try to call Cindy. She doesn't answer. She hasn't read any of my texts. Odd.

I call Wayne. He is gentle. He says Cindy is with RB. I fear it's because he's up late. I somehow make that my own failure. I start to cry. Wayne tells me to breathe. He will check in with Cindy and call me back. We hang up.

I curl into a ball and sob. I hyperventilate in the parking lot. I ask God just what the fuck is going on. What does he expect of me. How much can one person take.

Wayne calls me back. RB has been vomiting. The stomach bug that refuses to release us.

I choke on my tears. He tells me it's okay. RB is okay. Beau is okay. The nurses he is with, it's where he needs to be. This is new to me. This is not new to them.

I breathe.

He tells me I can come home, that I need to take care of myself too. That Beau is safe where he is. Cindy has RB. I need to remember Grace exists too.

I relent.

We hang up.

I dry my tears on my way upstairs.

Beau is finally asleep. I tell the nurse I need to leave. She tells me it's okay, to take care of myself, that they have Beau.

I cry on the way to the car.

I drive carefully on my way home.

Cindy watches my location.

Wayne is ready to come get me.

I get home safely.

I crumble into Cindy on the couch.

The tears fall and I cannot stop them.

I cry all I can.

Wayne asks if I've eaten.

I realize I haven't eaten today.

He made ribs. He gives me three.

I devour them.

I am exhausted.

I want to go sleep with RB. I want to be there for him. Cindy is gentle. Cindy is firm. She has RB. I need to go to bed.

I take a shower. I do not cry.

I lay down with Finley. I send my final updates for the day.

Sleep takes me around two.

I wake up around eight.

I have been crying in my sleep.

Huh.

I dry my face. I get dressed.

I get Pedialyte for RB.

I get in the car.

I drive back to the hospital.

Beau is resting. Labs are moving in the right direction. The confusion persists. The doctor says he is leaving the ICU. He is moving to a different floor.

I write this from a chair next to his bed.

The beeps around me become background noise.

I keep putting one foot in front of the other.

I remember I have gotten through everything I have thought I never could.

I read a text from our cousin, Stephanie. "Praying now for Beau, the team of Dr's and nurses, and Grace, who has never met a battle she couldn't stand up against...the Lord is your strength Grace. "

My friend Amanda sends me Proverbs 31:25. "She is clothed with strength and dignity, she laughs without fear of the future."

I allow myself to cry.

I dry my face.

They are right.

I have this. Even when I think I don't, I do.

I've not failed at this before.

And I won't today.

Even in the hardest of moments, I am one of God's favorites.