Walking Through the Fog

Imagine an early morning thick with fog. Walking into a dense forest, you can see only a few inches in front of you as you step cautiously forward. Will you trip over a log? Will you fall into a creek or pond? Is a grizzly bear waiting to attack? Is the path smooth and straight, or winding and bumpy with rocks and tree roots? Is there a path at all? Perhaps it ends at a sudden, steep, rocky cliff. Perhaps it leads into deep brush or a thicket full of thorns and thistles.

You want to turn back. But you must keep walking. Don’t look back. Don’t stop and pause. Keep walking. And take your precious child with you. Keep walking. Don’t worry about the perils ahead. Keep that child right by your side. Better yet, push the child out first. Let your child lead.

Uncomfortable? Frightening?

This is the nightmare that many parents live every day as they lead their children through a life with medical challenges and uncertainty. We never know what the next day will bring. Each doctor appointment is another step into the fog. Will this be a routine check-up? Or will there be a new challenge to face?

My daughter’s first years were spent driving over four hours round trip to the children’s hospital at least weekly. Each visit, each test, each procedure, each therapy appointment uncovered something new that needed attention. The long drive was always filled with dread. What horrible news might I learn today? Will we leave here with a sigh of relief or with a full agenda of further tests and surgeries?

When we thought we’d finally uncovered and resolved every medical issue, when we thought the fog had lifted, when we had packed our picnic basket for the flower-filled meadow we were certain lie just ahead, we learned that she would need two complicated surgeries in one year. Down came the fog again. This time, it hid a brick wall that we walked right into full force. Picnic basket crushed. Food splattered everywhere. Leave it behind and keep walking.

I tell my daughter that it is my job to worry. I can worry enough for the whole family so she should lay her burdens on me and then go out and play. But I know she is right there beside me on the foggy path. I cannot release her from the journey. All I can do is hope to stay one step ahead to guard her from the uncertainties and dangers. And try not to think about the day when she will have to walk alone.