I call my son’s doctor at 7:59, hoping to grab one of the appointments they release upon opening each morning. His ear has been hurting all weekend, and now it’s beginning to redden behind the lobe. My poor little buddy is miserable.

I’m placed on hold, and seven minutes later when the receptionist comes back to me, there are no appointments available until tomorrow. I take the 9 AM, disappointed to have to wait it out another day.

It’s hard when your people are sick. Another of my three sons is having ear pain and seasonal allergies. My husband has been coughing through the night for a month (the doc says his is allergies too). Both of the foster babes we’ve helped care for this week have been punky – teething, snotting, watery eyes – ALL the fluids! And the hip I’ve been doctoring for two years has been especially angry.

We’re kind of a sorry bunch around here, yet I trust it’s all temporary.

On the way to the doctor’s office, my son asks me if he’ll have to get a shot.

I don’t think so, Bud. You will most likely get an antibiotic medicine that you drink.

Will it taste bad?

They try to make it taste fruity – sort of bubble-gummy. But honestly, it’s not the best.

Have you ever had to have an antibiotic?

Quite a few times. Most people do at one time or another.

When?

I’ve had strep throat before. I had pneumonia once. And I’ve had IV antibiotics after my c-sections.

What’s ‘IV’?

A needle in your arm that delivers fluids or medicine straight into your body.

Will I have to have that?

I don’t see that happening today.

At the doctor’s office, we wait in a room with a photograph on the wall of a man I recognize – a family practice physician who has devoted a good deal of his time providing medical care to impoverished people across the globe.

In the photo, this doctor, a gentle-faced middle-aged man in a white labcoat, leans toward two mothers clutching their young children in a makeshift hospital room. One of the children appears unwell, with an oxygen tube at his nose. The mother’s eyes are tired. Fearful. I wonder what is wrong with her precious baby.

Our doctor enters the room for my son’s exam. She looks in his eyes, throat, and ears. My son grimaces in pain.

He has a very painful outer ear infection. We are going to go after this with both an oral antibiotic and a drop that goes directly into the ear canal. If he does not show significant improvement in two days, I want you to go to urgent care and have them put a wick into his ear to help get the medicine through the swollen tissue and into the middle ear.

An hour later, we’re at the pharmacy waiting for the prescription that was supposed to be called in. I do my best to keep my boys out of mischief while we wait. One launches a bounce ball so high it nearly touches the ceiling. Another sails a stuffed monkey through the air. The sick one sits quietly, staring at the steel gray carpet.

Come on, come on, come on. Please let them find the script so we can get home and get this medicine in my son’s body.

They do find it. We do get home quickly. And I do, of course, coax my son to swallow the chalky liquid that will make him well in a few days’ time.

***

It’s evening now. My son rests on the couch. My hands are in the warm dishwater.

I’ve been thinking about those women in the photograph all afternoon, those mothers. Are their babies better now? Are they grown up? Did they have a chance to grow up?

In the last couple days, I’ve felt frustrated about having to wait. I waited on hold when I called the doctor and waited until the next day for an appointment. We waited in the exam room for twenty minutes before the doctor arrived. I waited at the pharmacy while they located the misplaced prescription.

Did I really wait, though? Was that actually waiting?

From the time I called the doctor (with my phone) to the time I drove home (in my car – one of two that we own) with antibiotics (which five pharmacies near me stockpile) 27 hours had passed.

Twenty-seven hours. Barely more than a day, and the infection-fighting medicine is safely stored in my climate-controlled refrigerator, protected from light and heat. Here I stand, washing the dosage cup in clean, machine-heated water from our family’s personal well.

I didn’t track down a healer or carry my suffering baby down a dirt path to the nearest village. I didn’t beg, borrow, or steal to acquire what my child needed.

I have no idea what it is to wait.

I have a medicine cabinet in my own home stocked with pain relievers, cough suppressants, balms and oils for every ailment. There must be a dozen family practice doctors working within 20 miles of my home. If I truly can’t get an appointment, there’s an urgent care clinic/ER a half hour away (and an ambulance I could call to get us there). No one is denied care.

Sometimes, I gripe or complain about what I perceive to be “problems,” like the inconvenience of sickness within our family.

And sometimes I’m reality-checked so hard it hurts.

I think of the conversation in the car with my son – the antibiotics that have saved my life and will save his. I think of the c-sections that allowed these three children and their mother to be alive in this world. I hear my OB doc’s words after delivering my first child, a twelve pound baby: A hundred years ago you would have both been in trouble.

A hundred years ago. Yes. Or maybe today.

A hundred years ago, or a thousand miles away. Down a dusty road or muddy path. Beneath a thatched roof hut or a sweltering tent or a jungle canopy.

Somewhere, a mother is laboring with a baby too large to be born.

Somewhere, a mother rocks her sick baby and wishes for the medicine that sits in my fridge and my cabinet.

Somewhere, everywhere, a mother waits.

 

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available now!

Order Now

Check out our new Keepsake Companion Journal that pairs with our So God Made a Mother book!

Order Now
So God Made a Mother's Story Keepsake Journal

Stacy Harrison

Stacy Harrison lives in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan with her husband, three sons and a Goldendoodle who wasn’t supposed to shed. When she’s isn’t moonlighting as a wrestling referee (Living Room Floor Federation), Stacy enjoys writing non-fiction, primarily to-do lists and grocery lists. Visit Stacy’s blog, https://revisionsofgrandeur.com/

To The Mother Who Is Overwhelmed

In: Inspiration, Motherhood
Tired woman with coffee sitting at table

I have this one head. It is a normal sized head. It didn’t get bigger because I had children. Just like I didn’t grow an extra arm with the birth of each child. I mean, while that would be nice, it’s just not the case. We keep our one self. And the children we add on each add on to our weight in this life. And the head didn’t grow more heads because we become a wife to someone. Or a boss to someone. We carry the weight of motherhood. The decisions we must make each day—fight the shorts battle...

Keep Reading

To the Mother of My Son’s Future Wife

In: Grown Children, Inspiration, Kids, Marriage, Motherhood, Relationships
marriage, wife, husband, grown children, www.herviewfromhome.com

To the mother of my son’s future wife, I’m in the midst of dirty diapers and temper tantrums, but I do have days where I think about the future and what it will look like for my son. I wonder who he will be, what he will do and probably most of all, who he will love. I wonder about the type of woman he will bring home to meet us one day. I have my own thoughts on the type of person I wish my son would fall in love with, but we all know that the heart wants...

Keep Reading

Trading Fleeting Moments of Fame for Unshakeable Faith

In: Faith, Inspiration, Relationships
Trading Fleeting Moments of Fame for Unshakeable Faith www.herviewfromhome.com

The string quartet began playing Pachelbel, as my dad and I took our first steps down the aisle. I began to lose my composure as we proceeded to the altar. Hundreds of guests had their eyes on me as tears streamed down my face. Struggling to look my future in the eyes, I looked to the ground for reprieve. God, everything around me looks perfect, so why doesn’t this feel right? I’m not sure how I got here. The flame once dancing inside of me, has extinguished. Lord, I need you. Dad squeezed my hand gently, “Are you OK sweetie?”...

Keep Reading

Children Don’t Get Easier, We Just Get Stronger

In: Inspiration, Mental Health, Motherhood
Children Don't Get Easier, We Just Get Stronger www.herviewfromhome.com

“This too shall pass.” As mothers, we cling to these words as we desperately hope to make it past whichever parenting stage currently holds us in its clutches. In the thick of newborn motherhood, through night wakings, constant nursing and finding our place in an unfamiliar world, we long for a future filled with more sleep and less crying. We can’t imagine any child or time being more difficult than right now. Then, a toddler bursts forth, a tornado of energy destroying everything in his wake. We hold our breath as he tests every possible limit and every inch of...

Keep Reading

This North Dakota Homecoming Queen is Capturing Hearts Everywhere

In: Inspiration, Kids, School, Teen
This North Dakota Homecoming Queen is Capturing Hearts Everywhere www.herviewfromhome.com

When Paula and Kevin Burckard’s third child was born, she arrived with a little something extra the North Dakota couple never saw coming.  Newborn Grace had Down syndrome, and the diagnosis initially left the young parents devastated. “When Grace was born, I thought all my dreams for my daughter had basically been dashed,” Paula said.  But it didn’t take long for those fears to subside.  As Grace grew, not only did she meet and surpass milestones, her infectious joy, inspirational grit, and deep love of all things Michael Jackson transformed the family—and countless hearts. The Burckhards went on to adopt...

Keep Reading

Dear Kids, When I Forget What It’s Like To Be Little

In: Child, Inspiration, Kids, Motherhood
Hey Mom, Don't Forget—You Were a Kid Once, Too www.herviewfromhome.com

The kids were squealing in the backseat. For the five minutes prior they were begging me to spill the beans on where we were going as I had only told them to get their shoes, get in the car and buckle up. It’s one of the ways I’ve learned to make a simple trip out of the house one that is a mysterious adventure to them. As we took left and right turns away from our house, they were trying to guess where we were going . . . and when we finally pulled up to a brand new playground...

Keep Reading

My Children Deserve To See the Whole Me, Not Just the Mom Me

In: Inspiration, Journal, Motherhood
My Children Deserve To See the Whole Me, Not Just the Mom Me www.herviewfromhome.com

Before I was a mother, I was a human being. A human being with life experiences, passions, fears, talents, hobbies, goals, friends and aspirations that I cherished and tried to honor. Even though I went through a variety of seasons of life . . . from school-age days, to working adult, to wife . . . those things always stayed with me. I stayed open to evolving, but never let go of who I inherently was. Then came motherhood. And suddenly I found myself abandoning my commitment to remain true to me, and leaving any semblance of myself in the...

Keep Reading

My Mother-in-Law’s Legacy: Simplicity

In: Inspiration, Journal
My Mother-in-Law's Legacy: Simplicity www.herviewfromhome.com

The memories of my mother-in-law spilled to the forefront of my mind, just as the contents of his jacket pocket fell onto our dresser. It was Proverbs 31, written on hotel stationery, in my neatest block print. Holding the small papers in my hand brought me right back to her graveside, on a hot summer morning, seven years ago. “Her children arise and call her blessed.” (verse 28) As my second daughter gave a mighty kick from the womb, visible to every mourner present that day, I couldn’t help but to allow my mind to wander. Were my values apparent...

Keep Reading

A Car Accident Left My Teenager Paralyzed—and Incredibly Fierce

In: Inspiration, Journal
A Car Accident Left My Teenager Paralyzed—and Incredibly Fierce www.herviewfromhome.com

I drove back from my son’s college concert near midnight. Exhausted, I glanced at my 14-year-old daughter, Beth, asleep in the passenger seat. We were only 10 minutes from home. I thought I could make it until I heard a road sign flatten on concrete. As the car flipped three times across a bare Ohio field, we left behind an ordinary life. I escaped with cuts, bruises, and blood-matted hair. Beth was another story. The car was cut open and a helicopter rushed her to Toledo. A doctor told my husband John that she was paralyzed. When John broke the news...

Keep Reading

Dear Mama, You’re Allowed To Not Be There

In: Inspiration, Motherhood
Dear Mama, You're Allowed To Not Be There www.herviewfromhome.com

Friday afternoon was not much crazier than most afternoons. My husband was mowing the lawn, my daughter was hangry and my youngest son was due to be in a talent show in twenty minutes. I stood in the kitchen—where it seemed like I’d been for an hour—trying to motivate my family to eat dinner and get ready to go. “Get dressed, Jude. Make sure you eat something.” “Dean, do you want a slice of pizza before we leave?” I screamed over the lawn mower. “Maeve, are you going to the optional soccer practice or the talent show? You need to...

Keep Reading