The Lord Is my Strength

With a child sick and in pain, Tami Urcia was too worried to pray. The prayers of others carried her, and her son, through that trial.

“Acute appendicitis” are two words that any mother would never hope to hear. My 6-year-old boy hadn’t eaten or drunk much of anything in over three days, his normally playful demeanor had turned sluggish and his childish antics had gone mute.

“I thought it was just a stomach bug,” I heard myself saying to the ER doctor, “but then he kept complaining of abdominal pain and just wasn’t getting any better.” A simple ultrasound revealed a quick diagnosis and I was told his white blood cells were very high, meaning it could be in danger of rupture.

The small hometown hospital we were at did not offer specialized services for children so I put in a request to be transferred to the local children’s hospital about 45 minutes away. They agreed and as we waited, they began an IV with much-needed fluids and some antibiotics.

The hours ticked by and the transfer still wasn’t happening. “The ambulance was on its way and then received an emergency call. There are no ambulances available right now,” the nurse informed me. I was worried sick and I knew that in cases like these, time was of the essence, so I asked if I could take him myself.

With transfer packet in hand, a hugging pillow and a disposable vomit bag for my son, we carefully climbed into the minivan. It was already past his bedtime by this point, so thankfully he slept the whole way there, offering me a welcome reprieve from his pained moaning.

Upon arrival at the children’s hospital, we were granted direct admittance to a ninth-floor room. But much to my surprise, they were only going to “make him comfortable for the night.” WHAT?! He should have been brought straight into the operating room ASAP!

At 2 AM, my little boy was up on his hands and knees in his bed, screaming and moaning in pain. My heart sank. They had waited too long.

At 7:30 AM they wheeled him into surgery and confirmed what I already knew. His appendix had burst. Now he had infectious particles swimming all over his belly. They got out what they could, but how can you see every millimeter inside a tiny body with a laparoscopic scope?

The next two months we were in and out of the hospital dealing with recurring infection. My kindergartener endured countless IVs and blood draws, an abdominal drain hanging out of his side, foul-tasting medicine, myriad doctors and nurses that his timid being didn’t know or trust, and more than a handful of CT scans.

All of this was so overwhelming on its own, but to top it off, I was in my third trimester expecting our fifth child, sleeping on hard hospital beds and trying to still be present to my other three sons at home. I was also brooding over the loss of Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, our ninth anniversary, our summer vacation (and most of our summer altogether), and three quarters of his soccer season, all of which were very important to me at the time, but in hindsight sound absolutely ridiculous.

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I am going to be brutally honest and say that I was so wrought with worry that prayer eluded me during this time. After posting on social media about his condition, another mother assured me that it was ok, that THEIR prayers were carrying me through this time. That meant so much to me. To know that I had an army of prayer warriors helping me through this battle.

Nevertheless, I finally reached a complete breakdown. I cried hysterically and all I could do was ask why. I was weary to the bone. As I mopped up my tears, I recalled Laura Story’s song “Blessings.” I opened my computer and played it over and over again, letting the lyrics and the melody wash over me.

Then I prayed for the first time in weeks. “Lord, this is too much for me to bear. It’s not enough to ask you to grant me strength, I need you to BE my strength. Lord, YOU be my strength. I hand it over to You.”

I would like to say that a magical peace washed over me at that moment, but it didn’t. I did, however, feel the grace of God helping me. And throughout the rest of my son’s ordeal, when I felt overwhelmed, I would just repeat, “Lord, BE my strength,” and it granted me that inkling of stamina that I needed to continue on.

After six weeks and five hospital stays, we could see that the recurring infections were not slowing down. They brought in the Infectious Disease department and consulted with a team of doctors. I was told by one surgeon that a second operation was out of the question because his insides were too inflamed, but a different surgeon was finally willing to take the risk. My son had a piece of feces that had exploded out of his appendix stuck between his bladder and his large intestine, and my husband and I just knew that he wouldn’t get better until that was removed.

As he was taken into the O.R. for a second time, I breathed a sigh of relief. My family and friends were covering him in prayer and I just knew this had to be the beginning of the end of this trial. After all, I was having a baby in a month and couldn’t deal with a newborn and a hospitalized child at the same time!

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Surgery was a success and he was on the road to recovery. However, he was in a LOT of pain and had a catheter in. He was so exasperated by this time that he wanted to be in control of something, and that one thing just happened to be refusing to take his medicine.

We tried absolutely everything. Liquid, crushed, pills, hiding it in food, and the boy would not swallow anything. He either gagged, threw up or flat out refused to open his mouth. We had no choice but to insert a nasogastric (NG) tube to administer antibiotics. After two weeks, his numbers were finally back to normal; they pulled the tube and he was deemed well.

Click to tweet:
He is a living testament to a gumption he never knew he had and to a merciful God who answers prayers. #catholicmom

I am happy to report that my son has been perfectly healthy for a whole year now and we celebrated his 7th birthday in January. I know that I am one of the “lucky” ones (i.e. blessed), and that I could have just as easily been mourning him on that day.

But instead he is a living testament to a gumption he never knew he had and to a merciful God who answers prayers. I cannot help but praise Him with a Psalm:

Give thanks to the LORD for he is good, his mercy endures forever! (Psalm 107:1)

I may never know why my little boy had to endure this trial, but I do know that it strengthened my faith and helped me to be so much more grateful for each moment with my loved ones.

The Lord’s acts of mercy are not exhausted, his compassion is not spent; They are renewed each morning—great is your faithfulness! (Lamentations 3:22-23)

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