We are so close to one year. In the early hours of tomorrow morning, Friday, January 13th, it will be one year of Archer rising from his body and cradling me in his arms. Seated in the bedside chair, I was waking throughout the night, knowing that would be the last night I could watch my son sleep. The last time he will struggle to breathe, the last time I run my fingers through his hair and snuggle his hand to my face. God called Brandt and me to be the parents of Archer; despite the sorrow, I would never sacrifice a day, and I have few regrets, but I honestly would give anything to hear his footsteps coming down the stairs at 5 am to see if I’m awake reading or doing homework. I used to get irritated, knowing I’d be distracted because, after all, that is why I was up at 5 am, in peace and quiet. I’ll never take tiny footsteps for granted again.
When I shared the news of how Archer was cared for during his hospitalization, someone reached out to me and pleaded for me to reach out to her attorney. I was blindsided and nearly adamant that I would not reach out to another attorney yet. Maybe later, but not now. I didn’t want to be forced to open the envelope from our previous attorney and read through all the documents, opening my mind to disappointment. I avoided that envelope like the plague; it sat on our refrigerator for four months. Don’t get excited; this blog post has no big news of medical malpractice. I want you to comprehend how hard it can be to say yes when your mind is telling you no. Reluctantly, I reached out to that attorney, and he wanted to see all the documents from our previous lawyer. I opened the envelope, opened the gates of turmoil to relieve all the stress and excitement that circled that potential medical malpractice. Excitement entailed the ability to share Archer’s name worldwide, change care for children with pulmonary hypertension, and influence so many people in my faith because that’s the only reason I am where I am, my faith. I want our family’s sorrow to be another family’s hope. That thought dawned on me this morning, praying and seeking a door that might not open to us. This prayer allowed me to remember my why, why I tried so hard to pursue justice, why my hopes are so strong because I want to impact others and turn this grief into hope for others.
The attorney and I briefly chatted, and he said he would like to look at Archer’s case; I sent him everything I had. While scrolling through all the documents, I noted that our previous lawyer left out Sevoflurane, an anesthetic Archer received. Therefore, the medical expert who reviewed and denied Archer’s case didn’t know about this missing medication. I have no idea if this will be significant, but it is significant to me because I proofread that document before it was sent to the expert, and I notified them that Sevoflurane was missing. Frustrating, to say the least.
Brandt and I decided to open our home to foster care in our dire need to help others and bleeding hearts for children. We are officially licensed now and are incredibly excited to start helping children in need. That fulfills my family, and I am so blessed to know that. We thrive on the needs of others, putting our own needs and fear aside, and becoming vulnerable to challenges. That isn’t easy to comprehend. We are choosing, as a family, to become vulnerable to challenges, taking on obstacles that will undoubtedly make us cry and mourn all over again. Believe it or not, we aren’t scared; we are excited! I can’t honestly say I’m nervous; I’m purely ecstatically excited!
Pray for us tomorrow to keep our feet moving when we want to sink to the ground. Lord, hold us up, just like you promised; let us lean on you for the strength we need. Hold our hands when we stray from your path to guide us and keep us focused. Catch all our tears and plant beautiful gardens that Archer can tend to; he loves to play in the dirt Father; he loves to be dirty; let us be a part of his heavenly enjoyment. Help our family turn tragedies into hope for others who need our help, and let us impact the most difficult people to reach. Open their minds when they read my post, Lord. We love you, Amen.
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