“Just wanted to let you know the EEG results are back. Dr. C will be calling to discuss them.”
I check my little equation: Nurse will call = good news, Doctor will call = not so good news.
I wait for the rest of Thursday.
And all of Friday…
And all of Saturday and Sunday…
“Dr. C never called,” I say on Monday morning.
“No? He’s been really busy. I’ll send him a message again to call you.”
I wait for the rest of Monday.
And now, Lord, what wait I for? My hope is in thee… Ps. 39:7
“Dr. C never called,” I say on Tuesday morning.
“No? I’ll have him paged.”
I wait some more.
“Dr. C never called,” I say at the end of Tuesday. “I’m thinking maybe the EEG is clean? Because he hasn’t been in a hurry to call me… I just wanted to know before Thanksgiving…”
“Hold on,” she says. A minute later, she’s back on the line: “Dr. C wants to meet with you tomorrow. Can you come in to Children’s tomorrow at 10?”
“Ummmm, yeah. Yes. Sure.” Thinking, this can’t be good.
By the time we’re ushered into his office the next day, I have already:
~held Rhema for dear life on the elevator in the parking garage (she likes to bolt when the elevator doors open at every floor
~saved her from crazy Boston drivers at a busy intersection
~extracted her from every wheelchair (some occupied, some not)
~lost my parking ticket
~watched her run in circles in the waiting room, sip someone’s soda, jump on chairs, baptize herself in the water fountain, and try to take a drink from the fish tank.
Dr. C (whom we are grateful for) turns to me and casually asks,
“So did anyone ever call you about those EEG results?”
Um…. No, dude.
For a moment, I imagine myself a spurned lover at his feet. I waited by the phone for 5 days and you never called. WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL ME?????
The image is interrupted by Rhema pushing him out of his rotating chair so that she can spin in it. As I pull her out of the chair, she taps on the keyboard on his desk.
I make a joke: “She’s pulling up her results. The suspense is killing us.”
He laughs… kind of.
Then he tells me her EEG showed no seizure activity during sleep. Good news. Wow! The med is working.
Then he goes on explain that the EEG did indeed show sub-clinical seizures during the day and during drowsiness. I knew this might be the case based on her behaviors lately, and her school nurse had called about absence seizures.
Still, as I skim the report, my hands betray me; they’re shaking.
On cue, Rhema flops to the floor and begins to melt down.
We leave with a plan to increase her current med again and a new prescription for another drug to try. Dr. C says he’s sending our “case” over to a new doctor who specializes in sleep disorders and seizures. “Maybe he’ll have some ideas.” This, he says, after working with us for three long years to treat Rhema’s epilepsy.
Why is it that I keep waiting on things and people, doctors and drugs – anyone besides the One who knit her together in my womb, colored her like a mocha frappuccino, spirited her with an iron will, named her and loved before I knew her?
My hands steady and a peace washes over.
My soul, wait thou only upon God; for my expectation is from him. Ps. 62:5