About six months ago, Bennett caught the flu. He never got better.
It's very hard to blog when you are sad. It's very hard to live when you are sad. Our miracle is still so new, I'm almost scared to write about it...for fear that it's not real, and we'll find ourselves back in that pain-filled place of the past six months.
But I find myself constantly trying to describe my trauma to an empty room. Forming words and sentences that no one hears, just to soothe myself and try to cope with the emotional aftermath. I keep a personal journal, but I think it might help me clear my head and heart a little to write about it here, too.
First, let me tell you what kind of a kid Bennett is. Some kids have a talent for singing, or painting...Bennett has a talent for kindness. He is one of the most thoughtful, patient, selfless people I've ever known. He just came that way.
He also has always had very sensitive digestion. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know what. I had the nagging feeling for years that something bad was going to happen someday, and it scared me.
Last year, the cold and flu season hit our family hard. My kids were sick almost constantly, and I thought that was normal. Then the last week of April, Bennett caught another stomach flu. He still felt pretty rotten after the week was up, but he was keeping food down, so I sent him back to school.
The next few weeks his stomach pain went up and down. Sometimes I had to pick him up from school, but I had no idea what was really going on. I'd give him Pepto tablets, or pain killer, but nothing helped. Then he caught the flu again, and it all went out the window. The pain was so constant I had to pull him out of public school. It was almost summer, so I thought we could just take it easy for a few weeks, and life would go back to normal.
Life did not go back to normal. How do I describe what it's like to watch your child live with constant pain? Imagine your child has his hand shut in the door--you drop everything, break dishes, step on people's feet, scrambling to release that hand. You're desperate to solve the problem, then absorbed with comforting, shushing, distracting, rocking, wiping tears. We've all done it, right? That is the feeling. Desperation. All the time. Grief. All the time. Bad things happen to everyone. But witnessing
pain is unique. Every tragedy is unique.
One of the hardest parts was not knowing. Not knowing what happened, what it was, when or even if it would ever end? That ripped at my heart along with the witnessing of pain. My heart was raw, all the time. I could barely trust myself to talk to anyone, even though I craved conversation desperately. I turned to my journal a lot. Journals don't mind if you cry.
We had Bennett tested for everything. Ulcerative colitis, crohn's disease, celiac disease, allergies, even the C word...which I still can't even say. I can't begin to describe the fear.
All the results came back normal. Nothing was wrong. Which was a huge relief, but confusing. I recorded in my journal sometimes the hours he was in pain, and the hours he felt close to normal. Many days began in pain, continued in pain until well after lunch time, followed by an hour or so of normality when I'd take him on a walk, followed by severe pain until he drifted to sleep. During the worst weeks, Jarom had to lay down in bed with him every night until he fell asleep. Some months were better than others, but the pain was with him every single day for hours.
Finally, after about three months of this, my visiting teacher gave us the beginning of our miracle. A book called
Gut and Psychology Syndrome, by Dr. Natasha Campbell-McBride. Or for short, GAPS. I had heard of the GAPS diet, and it terrified me. But when you feel that desperate feeling I described earlier, you do what you have to do, period.
I was in for quite the education. Ask me about digestion, I KNOW. The idea of the GAPS diet is to heal an inflamed gut. People usually stay on the diet for 1-3 years while their symptoms
slowly subside. You remove all dangerous and difficult to digest food. Dangerous would be sugar and man-made fats like margarine...lots of things on this list. Difficult to digest would be grains and starches. Not necessarily bad, but for someone with a painfully inflamed gut, those are very difficult to digest. Grains and starches can eventually be reintroduced, but only properly prepared. Did you know sourdough is the way to go? True. Don't get me started.
After removing the dangerous/difficult foods, you add in the helpful food: probiotics. Think raw milk yogurt, homemade raw cheeses, kefir, fermented vegetables...all the foods that have traditionally populated the human gut with friendly bacteria.
This is an incredibly difficult diet to pull off. We had to buy a lot of new equipment, find a source for raw milk, pasture fed meat and eggs, and learn
a lifetime of new skills. You wouldn't believe how much time and effort goes into this. My brain may never recover.
After about six weeks on this strict diet, Bennett started to improve. The pain started to be outweighed by normal. It was about half and half. And so I did something very dumb. I assumed our trial was over, and took him off the diet. I still don't understand how I could have done that, but I can't think about that. He fell right back into that deep pit of pain I had pulled him out of. Just like before, he was in pain again almost constantly. Looking back, I can see how this setback truly cemented the determination to follow through and just trust. I will never make that mistake again.
He was in deep pain again for another six weeks or so. This was very hard for me to watch, knowing that I had actually caused it by my impatience. But at the same time, I had hope that I could get him back to the point where he had been...healing.
The miracle of healing took about three months on the diet. The pain was gradually replaced by normal. He still has one or two stomach aches every day, but it usually only lasts a half hour, and it's not intense. I started him out with half days back to public school, but quickly saw that he could handle a full day. He was terrified and tearful to leave the comfort of home after such a traumatic experience, but he's adjusting wonderfully now. He's been back in public school now for almost a month.
I can't describe how good it feels to see his blond head bobbing around in that crowd of friends again. I've always wanted to try homeschooling, but after this experience, I am beyond grateful for public school. When your child is forced to cling to you for every comfort, question, need, and reassurance, he begins to lose his independence. Bennett's personality was altered by this experience, and he needs to relearn that. We've slowly seen our happy old Benny come back to us. He comes running off the bus with the other kids, cheeks all flushed and laughing like everyone else. Will my tears ever stop? Now they're happy tears!
I plan on continuing him on this diet for at least a year. And even after that, our family meals have been forever upgraded. I rarely let my other kids eat non-fermented grain products. We start the day with wonderful sourdough pancakes topped with warm, sugar-free applesauce, with scrambled eggs and raw milk on the side. Lunch is usually a toasted sourdough sandwich with one of our endless leftover soups/stews/chilis. Dinner is usually soup/stew/chili, and I try constantly to get probiotic food down their tummies if I can. Pickles, yogurt, fermented carrots, whatever. Sugar is the devil, but it still sneaks in sometimes (but never for Benny). The whole shebang is quite the uphill process, but I am one traumatized mama. An experience like this does things to you. I cannot in good conscience slack off.
And also...
There are actually
two miracles going on right now. I decided to squeeze in one last baby Lamb this year. We are expecting baby number six this April! That explains some of the tears that have flooded my life this past six months. Being pregnant while enduring a trial is not recommended. Enough said. But honestly, I was granted my easiest first trimester ever this time. I'm about 20 weeks along, and I forget I'm pregnant all the time. Then I look in the mirror and I see my expanding middle, and I remember. And it's another boy. boy-boy-girl-girl-boy-boy. It's a pink and blue sandwich, and everyone has a buddy. If I was five years younger (and crazy), I'd try for another pair of girls. But I'm 35, and trying to avoid crazy. So this baby boy is our caboose.
Miracles are good.
