God gives us what we need; not what we want

A mother with her daughter. (Photo illustration/Cathopic/Carolina BR)

My four-year-old has always been a wild card. She was different from the very start. She is shy in a crowd, clinging to me with so much intensity that she has earned the nickname “Little Miss Velcro.” But at home, where she knows she is safe, she is wild and free! She thrives on making us all laugh and has pulled pranks on us all since before she could talk! Her days often consist of climbing in and out of the pantry and speeding by on her scooter with one leg stretched out, just like a little ballerina. 

I can’t think back and cite a moment when I knew something was wrong.

It was winter. We weren’t spending much time outside. I thought maybe she had outgrown the scooter phase. I noticed she still fit her clothes from last winter, odd for a preschooler, but chalked it up to her picky eating and thought she must just be a smaller child than my others. 

Then it was spring. She was tired. Like, she was really, really tired. She had added back in a nap every day, despite getting plenty of sleep at night, and still seemed to lack the energy of a typical four-year-old. I cried about how we had taken on too many activities, how our schedule was too busy for her. It was too much for her to keep up with the big kids’ schedules, and I felt torn as a mother. I longed for simple summer days to come so I could turn my attention and cater to her slower pace.

It was May. She was drinking from my giant off-brand Stanley cup (you know, the Mom cup we all tote around with us). But she was drinking from it day and night, drinking a shocking amount of water. I thought she just liked using “mommy’s cup.” So when she began wetting the bed, I didn’t think much of it. I scoured the internet and bought her the best multivitamin on the market, designed specifically for picky eaters. My concern was growing as she seemed to become more and more tired.

When will summer arrive?

It was Friday before Mother’s Day. She seemed very ill. The whole family had just gotten over a minor illness, and she had always taken a bit longer to recover. We rested that day. 

Now it was Saturday. She was so exhausted that she wouldn’t play. She began breathing heavily. We decided it could no longer wait until Monday to see her pediatrician, but Saturday evening is a notoriously busy time to take a child into urgent care. We would wait until morning. 

Sunday morning. My husband gave her a bath as I put together a bag. She is okay, but she certainly must have asthma and is in need of a breathing treatment, we thought. She buckled in her car seat and off we went. By the time we got to the urgent care, she was as white as a sheet. I carried her in, and she was growing heavy in my arms, not holding her own weight. The urgent care center sent us away because they didn’t take our insurance, of all things. I sat down next to the car, frozen with fear for a brief moment and crying.

Deep breath, get it together. Okay, there’s an emergency room next to this urgent care. 

I walked in and things started moving immediately. “It’s a kid!” said the receptionist of the small-town hospital. We were seen immediately. Chest x-rays and breathing treatments ordered.

But then they canceled the orders. Why did they cancel them? My baby is hardly opening her eyes!

The doctor came into the room and informed me that my child has diabetes. She is in diabetic ketoacidosis, a term that then was foreign but is now well understood. The helicopter from the big city hospital is already on its way. 

I cried as a nurse started her on fluids, the only treatment they could provide as we waited on transportation. Our little country hospital could do nothing else. She was fading away in my arms and minutes felt like hours until finally my heroes arrived to stabilize my now unresponsive child and transport us, NASCAR style, to the hospital. 

It was 4:00 Monday morning when the nurse in the PICU squealed with excitement. She informed me that we were no longer worried about a coma, or a worse outcome. I had asked a handful of times, knowing that they can be gentle but must be honest. No parent wants to hear what the answers had been the previous times I asked. 

Now, two months later, and after hours and hours of education on how to care for my child, she is BACK! Her personality is what it used to be. She is thriving. She’s gained almost ten pounds! She tricks us again and pulls out her one liners at the right moments. 

Throughout all of this, I have done a lot of crying and a lot of praying. I’ve gotten mad. I’ve wondered why God would give this to her. I’ve wondered why she has to have this, live with this condition for the rest of her life. And God has shown me that He will never leave me.

Doors are opening in our family’s lives. We are surrounded by a beautiful community. It’s not what I want, but it’s what God has given me, and given her. I don’t yet know the reasons, but I know that He always gives us things for specific reasons.

That first nurse said, “There’s nothing you could have done to prevent this, God just picks some people to have this and that’s just how it is.”

I believe that to be true. 

Last week, she was quite literally marching through Walmart like she’s Sam Walton, and I thought “she might kill me, but she’s going to be something big one day.”

I don’t know why God gave her this, but I can’t wait to find out.