Immediately

About three weeks ago, I frantically dialed those three dreaded numbers for the first time. It was a "school day" and I had been reading in Ben's room with all three kids. Nathan was on his third day, fifty-second hour, of throwing up and a trash can waited by Ben's twin bed where our sick little guy tried to rest. The dreaded stomach virus had attacked, and it still haunts me every time someone in my family so much as coughs.

We were reading our Roman mystery aloud and as I said, Nathan lay listless on the bed. I looked at him briefly because he started moving around restlessly. Ben and Lauren were coloring and building with some Legos (a special treat sometimes when we are reading). Then, in the blink of an eye, Nathan's body froze. He had been on all fours like a little puppy, and just like that, he tipped over. He lay still (in an all-fours position) and his eyes got really wide. He was slightly trembling, unconscious and stiff as a board. I ran to him, grabbed him, tried to pry his arms out of their locked position, and then started screaming....He began to spit up a bit...

I ran to the phone and dialed 911. Obviously trained to respond to hysterical women who think that their 2 year olds are having seizures, the lady who answered talked me through Nathan's unidentified "episode". I think that it lasted a mere thrity seconds before he was sound asleep in my arms, his body limp like linguini.

After the ambulance ride, an IV of fluids, and a doctor's visit, we were home in about four hours. A morning I would like to forget. Doctors believe that our little guy had a "vasovagul" episode due to dehydration from the virus, but I'm not sure that we will ever be sure. It is simply an educated guess. He is fine now and doesn't remember it.

So after the reality of something like this is over, and tears and fears have been replaced by a return to diapers, books, and extracurriculars, it is interesting to look at the whole thing again. Not to relive it, of course, but to think about it.

My most acute response and concern lies with Nathan...is he epileptic? Was this really just a viral response? I won't have that answer until it happens again.

But, as for myself, it is interesting to think back on my response to the "emergency". I certainly think that I did the right thing at the time by calling 911. And I think that it was a normal response for a mother of three little ones who had never witnessed anything like that before. But I have been reading the gospel of Mark this month and it has been interesting to revisit "sick people's" responses to their illnesses. Gentile women, Roman soldiers, disciples at many levels, are described as going "immediately" to Jesus with their aches and pains (I counted about 12 immediatelys in the first 6 chapters). Many of the episodes read as though the ailing one (or family member of the sick) makes a B-line directly to him, probably stumbling over the crowds of His followers trailing his robe.

Of course in that day, there was no 911. No Tylenol. No Benadryl. But when I read Mark, broken man and women from all over, with lots of different "theologies" so earnestly fled to this Great Physician, this Son of Man who walked gently with them. Who wept. Who was thirsty too. But whose powerful hand could heal the blind, the mute, and the demon-possessed.

And what amazes me more is that they didn't even know exactly who He was! They couldn't know that the resurrection was coming. They didn't know of that this healing power was a glimpse of a power that was to come.

I envy them. I long for that same faith. For that immediate disaster response when even so much as a headache flusters me. Would I dare, Lord, flee to you with the smallest headache? Do I turn to you first when I think my son is seizing? Do I run like an Olympic champion to you with all of my fears about the future? I know that Paul liked to say that we are running a long, grueling marathon to heaven. We must stay the course with much endurance. This is true. But I sure would like to win a few sprints....if it meant that He was at the finish line.