by Bobbi Lurie
7
My son has toxic epidermal necrolysis and the nurses who come in from the burn unit, 7 of them, the number 7 don't you see the number 7 has meaning for numbers have meaning for everything has meaning and I sat in that sacred space in the ICU where my son's body was healing truly it was and Frankie, his nurse, looked at me while they washed his wounds and she said, “Isn't this the most beautiful example of cooperation you have ever seen?” and I thought of my correspondent who spoke of beauty and I thought I had to tell him that THIS is beauty: the nurses were looking at my son's wounds and just might have been seeing something of beauty or else they might simply be touching him for they must touch him, knowing every touch, each slight touch upon his skin causes excruciating pain for him and yet they courageously do what few ever do: they do the unthinkable: they do the unthankable. They do the thankless. And I cried at the sight of such beauty and I cried as I wrote these words then I stopped writing and I said to the man who had been washing my son's wounds who I noticed looked down at the ground and did not smile or converse with others so I spoke to him and saw there was great sadness in his eyes when his eyes met mine and I said to him, “This is holy work you are doing. this is beautiful work.” He stopped what he was doing and stood very still. The others had already left to see their next patient but he was waiting for me to continue to speak so I continued from the deepest part of what was left of my broken heart, “You know that you are entering a place of great pain when you approach my son. You know you must touch him and he will hurt from your touch, no matter how soft your touch might be. You know that and yet you proceed with such courage. You are willing to hurt him to help him. I know you must go to sleep each night a happy man, a man who knows he does work to heal others so you I feel you must sleep each night in peace.” We looked intensely at one another for a very long moment. Then he left.
Only later did I notice how the burn team really handled my son with great force and not the least bit of tenderness for their goal was to remove the dead skin so that new skin could grow in.
Weeks after that, when was my son was moved out of ICU, I had lost my sense of the religious due to the loss of being surrounded by the dedication of the ICU team of nurses and therapists and doctors who attended to my son with such constant dedication, I realized that leaving the ICU was like leaving a haven of mercy. My son's wounds improved and he was moved to the sixth floor. It was there that I realized this man I spoke to about my son's wounds, found me annoying.
The distance between numbers, the distance between floors…as my son, Noah, faces the harsh afteraffects of this syndrome including the need to remain out of the sun for as much as a year, the fear of blindness on top of him if he does not take care with drops and other preventative measures, the dangers which exist for a lifetime in regards to the tongue and palate and the eating apparatus and as he fights anorexia with the complications of OCD and autism, I pray for the number 7 even though I do not know how to pray.
I) The root of the name of the Number Seven means Perfect, Complete, or Satisfied.
II) Thammim means perfect, and its numeric weight is 70 x 7, which is the number the Lord used to describe the perfection of forgiveness.
III) Thammim first occurs in conjunction with the seventh occurrence of the name Noah
19
favs |
2133 views
33 comments |
702 words
All rights reserved. |
deadly side effect to drug given to young son and instance of early hope due to lack of isolation early on
This story has no tags.
III) Thammim first occurs in conjunction with the seventh occurrence of the name Noah
Bobbi,this is full of love and beauty and bravery. Soul. *
A very strong piece of work, Bobbi. The focus on numbers is a great thread here. I really like this.
Incredible work - Just amazing.
Read this with my heart in my throat. Like Sam, I like how you focus on the numbers, as a focus object almost, and the pain and honesty of this incredible work. *
Who could read this and not be moved? I don't know, nor do I wish to know.
Magnificently expressed. *
The man found you annoying.... Ouch. Everything hurts in this expertly crafted story. *
Beautiful piece, the first para reads like a koan. There is a sacredness in the ICU, the ED, that moment of first healing, born of hope and need. You perfectly portray the reality on the other side.
(Hugs to you and your son, TEN is horrific; we forget how important an organ the skin is until we no longer have it.)
Peace *
powerful and blessed.
Thank you, Ann, Sam, Marcelle, Kathy, JamesLloyd Davis, Jack, Linda and Marcus.
To Linda Simoni-Wastila--
It ended up that the organ most affected by TEN is the eyes. That is the really horrific part. The possibility of blindness is always present. My son has lost his full use of his left eye through a secondary infection. He is constantly squinting. He should be taking drops all the time but he is only 17 and also on the autism spectrum and so this is a constant fear and battle. The truly terrible parts of TEN don't show up until later. I barely think of the skin now. Nothing can compare to the preciousness of the eyes. It was hard for me to post this knowing what has followed. I have not yet written about the aspect of the eyes. It was my breaking point. Many know the intensity of heroic medicine but it is the lingering ailments which tear us apart.
Amazing, powerful, heartbreaking, and exceptionally brave. I am stunned and just sitting here looking at this again and again. I can only say that this story feels necessary and the artfulness you possess is luminous.
Dear Meg,
Thank you so much for your generous comments!
Bobbi
Bobbi, I have waited to hear from you. This is very painful to read but nothing nothing compared with your ordeal and that of Noah. Always heart, prayers, love.
Thank you, Susan.
..I pray for the number 7 even though I do not know how to pray...this is a brave and sad piece that finds its own singing voice eventually--enough to let us in the pain that remains unspoken because there are no words powerful enough to say this kind of love out loud.Bobbi--so glad to hear your voice and gift again.
Thank you, Darryl.
This is incredibly, painfully beautiful. I am awed. *
Heartrending. No words are adequate to respond to this. Thank you for sharing this, Bobbi.
Dear Kim,
Thank you for your very kind words.
Bobbi
Dear Bill,
Thank you for your very kind words. They are much appreciated.
Bobbi
Such a hard, terribly hard, piece of writing. The tumble along fragments and words that wrap around one another and proceed without wanting to proceed are just the right approach to capture the terror and the pain a parent must feel during a moment like this. I am sorry to read this and that you have to write it. I am in awe of the deep love infusing it.
Dear JP,
Thank you for your very well thought out and generous response to my work.
with gratitude,
Bobbi
Dear Bobbi,
though I find myself completely in the subject, the style doesn't convince me completely. At times, I get dragged away by the text, which is excellent, but sometimes not. Experimental yes, and it's true I normally prefer what's formulated in the 'classic' way. But would you consider a mixture? The episodes where it needs to go fast: experimental. And those that deserve to be accentuated, that need to be underlined, the classic way? It might sound hard, but I really think it would give the story just that extra twist ... (don't forget: I read it once: for more constructive criticism I'll gladly return.
*
Dear Lena,
I really appreciate your thoughtful criticism.
Could you let me know which areas you consider experimental and which classic? And could you point out these places?
with great appreciation for your attention,
bobbi
"“Isn't this the most beautiful example of cooperation you have ever seen?” " Once in a while I read a sentence that is so completely unexpected that it makes me tremble, for real. Happened to me several times while reading this.
Dear Carol,
Thank you.
Bobbi
From the very first sentence breathes with desperation. Stunning.
Dear Beate,
thank you especially for that word "desperation"--that you caught that--i appreciate.
thank you--
bobbi
Very affective, making it difficult to read. I can only imagine how difficult it was for you to write.
ICU team members are selected and trained to repeatedly perform under critical conditions as you describe: "they must touch him, knowing every touch, each slight touch upon his skin causes excruciating pain for him and yet they courageously do what few ever do: they do the unthinkable: they do the unthankable. They do the thankless." Yet your task as mother is even more demanding of courage and emotional self-control.
I'm partial to seven. And also three.
Was blown away by this, the strength of you, the mother, and the of the observations and the willingness to be in the moment.
Loved the stream of consciousness and the break in the stream towards the end. Had to fave this.
I love 7 and find it hard to form a coherent comment through the enormous sadness it engenders.
the utmost real *
It is so hard to write about pain and yet you did so powerfully and movingly. A fave*.
power, love, beauty. such writing.*****