Fear of Failure... part 2

After yesterday’s “emotionally intense” post I needed some comfort food. So I made “Verdura con bacalo” (root veggies with cod fish) Puertorican soul food; works every time. LOL There are some things in life that truly change us and it’s up to us to make it for the better. I’m sure that many of you have had your share of life-changing experiences and therefore know exactly what I’m talking about.  We can either grow or withdraw; the choice is ours and ours alone.  When we have the fear of failure, or any fear for that matter, anything that happens you take it as a confirmation to prove that your fear is legitimate. My mind continued to lie, this was my opportunity to prove it; I was a failure as a mom,  just as I always knew I would be.

While my son was in the operating room, my thoughts were running 100 MPH. So many feelings and emotions: fear, guilt, anger, sadness, desperation, helplessness, and overwhelming anxiety.   That was one of the longest nights of my life; my son was in the operating room four hours.  When the surgeon came out to see us, he said that this was the worst case of “Compartment Syndrome” he had ever seen. He said he did all he could but only time will tell what was going to happen. My mind “what, that’s it, time will tell?? I don’t have time; I’m about three minutes away from insanity sir”. LOL He explained that in order to decompress the arm, to reduce the pressure enough to (hopefully) regain circulation flow; he had to open the arm completely from the arm pit to the wrist.  After that, the arm would have to remain open for a few days (risking infection.) Within that time he would try to close the arm to see what happens.

I didn’t know what to think, I remained numb until I saw my baby coming out of the operating room.  I wanted to tell him that I was so sorry, that I failed him terribly, and that there was nothing I could ever do to make it up to him if he lost his arm.  He looked at me and smiled… showed me a small stuffed animal monkey he had woken up with.  The nurses had placed the monkey under his good arm with a wrapped up arm and a sling, just like his; he thought that was funny.

I stayed strong by my boy’s side for 11 days…. I never left his side.  On the fourth day he was scheduled to go back into surgery to have his arm closed.  During surgery the surgeon came out and told us that the procedure was unsuccessful, he could not close it. When he attempted to; his pulse stopped again so he had to reopen it. I wanted to scream! I thank God for family and friends; they truly carried me through this.  The surgeon continued to say that there was a short time before the arm would develop an infection.  He said he would try one last time in three more days. Those three days were torture; there was nothing we could do to help.  I’ve never seen a braver boy; he didn’t cry, complain or whine.  I, on the other hand, did all of the above…. LOL    

Thankfully the second attempt to close his arm was successful. He wasn’t however able to move his fingers or barely his hand. The nerves in his hand and fingers had been severely damaged so the surgeon didn’t guarantee us full recovery.  He recommended physical therapy for six months and for him to begin using his left arm as his dominant arm.  I felt thankful that he didn’t lose his arm but devastated at the road that lied ahead.   The first time my son had to face his friends, I was a mess.  His scar looked gruesome and to kids, could even look scary. I was worried that he would be made fun of and rejected. I consulted a counselor as to what to do; I wanted to know if he should cover up his scar with a bandage or long sleeve shirts so as to avoid refection. She gave me the scariest advice ever, “let him decide, he has to face it on his own” "NOOOOOO I can’t do that, I don’t want to see my baby hurting more".   Reluctantly I did as told, and he decided he didn’t want to cover up.  

My fear came true, as soon as he faced his friends; they all wanted to see his scar. As I stood hiding behind the door listening, I could hear one of his best friends say “gross that looks disgusting”. I won’t lie, I wanted to run out to his rescue and save the day; but I didn’t.  I could hear my son laugh and say “it’s not gross; it’s what the doctor had to do to heal my arm” and he continued to explain the entire procedure to the kids as if it wasn’t a big deal. Off they went to play as normal as ever. Oh my, this was a huge turning point in my life. I stood at that door and cried my eyes out; thinking about the harm I would’ve done if I had made him cover up.  After only three months he had recovered 100 percent of his movement and was playing little league baseball as a pitcher.  Nothing short of a miracle. A few years later he calls me to his bedroom and tells me “mom, you know what I was thinking? I’m glad I have this big scar because if I told people about my accident and not have anything to show them, they wouldn’t believe me. But with this scar I have proof that God healed me and I’m better able to talk to people about Jesus.”

The lesson, fear of failure is worthless; the only time you fail is when you don't do your best.  I, on the other hand decided to do my very best as a mother.  I refuse to listen to the lies that I'm a failure as a mom.  I saw proof of my hard labor. A boy who is grateful for a scar because it will help him bring people to Jesus is more than I would've ever asked for.  If all I accomplish as a mother is instilling an undying devotion and love for God then I've done my job, and I've done it well.