Loving Her(5)

Being a father was the greatest gift that God had ever blessed me with. I’d do anything for my children, and so would Miranda.

Izzy’s vitals dropped on the fourth night.

Her initial tests for Lyme’s came back negative, as the doctor said they would. They ran the tests again along with some others, in hopes to figure out what was doing this to her body.

Every once in a while she’d scream out in pain, like her limbs were being torn apart. When she wasn’t sleeping she whined, and we could tell she was utterly uncomfortable.

All I could do was hold her hand and promise that she’d be okay, even when I didn’t know if it was the truth. I tried not to imagine that her life was in danger, but how could I know what was happening? I wasn’t a doctor.

She was suffering and I hated seeing her like that. No parent wants to see their child in the hospital, and certainly when there was no diagnosis, no plan for treatment to rid her of whatever was happening.

They pumped her full of pain medication on the fifth day and got her comfortable while the testing continued. She’d been pricked and pulled for days and we were losing hope. My aunt called her doctor and asked for him to make a special trip from Kentucky. We were that desperate for answers. The good news was that it hadn’t come to that.

Finally, after almost a week, they discovered she was suffering from Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever after she’d woken up covered in a rash. They couldn’t explain to us why she hadn’t been tested for it yet, and all we were worried about was getting her treatment.

Unfortunately, the longer you wait to treat the disease, the more serious the condition becomes. Izzy was admitted into the intensive care unit on the seventh day. When untreated, the disease affects the cells that line the blood vessels. In serious instances, like Iz’s, damage to other organs can occur, including the liver, spleen and kidney.

The first antibiotic, called doxycycline, caused her to have an allergic reaction, resulting in more time where the disease was untreated. As Iz’s health failed, so did my will to go on. Minutes, hours, even days passed, and I forgot to eat, sleep and sometimes even breathe. I felt like I was sitting around watching my daughter slip away, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Everyone wanted to blame the hospital, and maybe it was their fault, but it wouldn’t matter. All we cared about was getting her better, no matter what it took.

Izzy’s kidney’s started to fail on the twelfth day. Specialist were called and offered a surgical procedure that would help salvage her organs. I didn’t know that agreeing to it was going to cause such a ripple effect in our lives. Nothing was more important than the doctors treating Iz. We weren’t thinking about anything else.

On top of everything, I longed to be close to Miranda. Our alternating shifts were exhausting and I missed her terribly. I hated sleeping without her in the house, or when I had to sleep at the hospital, knowing she was home. We’d never gone for long periods of time without being affectionate, so the time apart had definitely been straining. I was mentally and physically exhausted, refusing to take care of myself until my daughter was safe at home.

It didn’t help that my ex, Heather, was back in town for her mother’s funeral. Miranda took the news horribly, making it a reason to fight with me. I got that she needed to lash out at someone, at something, to hide what we were both fearing.

I tried my best to put her mind at ease. Obviously it had been years since she’d caused problems with us, but the scars on her heart were still there. I almost lost my boys because of her actions.

I hated her and it was never going to change. It didn’t matter to me that she was in town, or if I ran into her. There were plenty of people that I’d pass on the street and never speak to. It was part of life.

Still, it seemed like everything bad always happened at the same time, making my stress so much worse.

Izzy’s treatment was long and extremely slow. She’d do well one day and then fall behind the next. All we could do was take turns watching her suffer. It was awful, knowing that we couldn’t help alleviate any of her pain. Her stomachaches seemed to be the worst. She would hold on and cry out when the pain became excruciating.

For me, watching that day after day crushed me. Several times I had to walk away and either call Miranda or find a place in private so I could get over my emotions without people seeing.

A couple of the nurses saw me crying, not that I cared what they thought. She was my everything; my world revolved around my children, but our bond was like nothing I’d ever experienced. Imagining losing it, or her, was devastating to think about.

I prayed, like the way I had for my wife and twins when they had almost died. I wished it was me lying there instead of her. She didn’t deserve to suffer and be so scared. All I could do was sit there promising she’d get better, when I feared she wouldn’t. Each day that passed, I woke up and made sure she was moving forward and not getting worse again.