Friday, November 16, 2007
I Need Your Prayers For My Great-Grandson
Love from teen-age children seems to have disappeared from the American way of life. So we look for love from little children.
Reece Kerby of Honor is my great-grandson. He is 18 months old, and before he was a year old he had won some of those contest that determine if the child is photogenic enough to go to Chicago for further modeling. Some of these things are con jobs that sucker the parents into investing a ton of money in child modeling classes.
That said, the little guy adores his great-grandpa. He follows me around, walks out to the mailbox and carries in the mail, picks flowers and gives them to his great-grandma, and I tell him fishing and hunting stories that he seems to understand.
Now he is ill. Seriously ill, and we’re hoping for a cure. It may not be that simple.
Reece grew ill yesterday, and was taken to the hospital in Traverse City. That led to an exhaustive battery of tests. Once the answers came back, the news wasn’t good. In fact, it was shocking news about a child so young.
He has congestive heart failure, heart murmurs, and an enlarged heart, liver and spleen. The doctors made those determinations today, and decided to airlift Reece to Grand Rapids. No beds were available. Then the Traverse City doctors decided to airlift him to the University of Michigan hospital in Ann Arbor, and then that was called off for lack of a bed. How much room does it take to house a small sick child?
He has now been airlifted to Grand Rapids for another battery of tests tonight and tomorrow, and he may yet wind up in Ann Arbor. Great-grandma Kay, my wife, is with her daughter, the grandmother and the mother, her grand-daughter.
The little tyke is frightened to death as nurses come to take blood and urine samples, his temperature, and monitor his heart beat and pulse. He is hooked up to all types of monitors, and is much too young to understand that all of this is needed to help determine the extent of his illnesses. The Up North doctors said that a heart transplant may be required if this turns into a worst-case scenario.
A heart transplant on an 18-month-old boy? Everyone is keeping the faith that all will turn out well, and that medications and time will help cure these problems. The mother, a single parent, allows Reece’s father to have the boy two days a week. No one knows yet, or has not said, what caused his problem.
Is it a birth defect, the result of a virus (which some doctors feel) or is it something that just happened to a nice little boy that deserves something much better than what has got.
It’s easy to say that other children of a similar or older age may have other life-threatening diseases that may be much worse, but it’s difficult to grasp the depth of concern that his family is going through. We are agonizing over how and why did this have to happen to our little boy?
Sometimes, for no apparent reason, things happen unexpectedly. Now we must deal with it as best we can, and I ask each of you for your prayers for a cute little boy that deserves something better from life than what has been dealt to him.
And as I sit by the phone, waiting for good or bad news, a line from Gordon Lightfoot’s “Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald” drifts through my mind. Paraphrased, it goes something like this: Where does the love of God go when the waiting turns the minutes to hours?
I’ll end it here before I begin weeping all over this page. Grant a little boy one of your prayers ,,, and thank you.