Vandom Acts of Randall-ism, Part IV

   Yesterday morning I reminisced about Randall's toddlerhood with his friend Tawni, while Randall underwent surgery to remove a spleen that had been screening his platelets from his blood. Tawni has been friends with Randall for ten years, and so I caught her up on his early antics.

    I raised my boys to be Star Wars nerds just like me ( and Jonathan, who sat next to me at the opening of Star Wars in 1977). As a toddler, Randall used to roll down the hall on a little plastic Plaskool scooter, wearing his daddy's batting helmet and safety glasses, and stop at my bedroom door while I was on the phone/folding laundry, reaching around the ever expanding waistline, while a tiny Craig-to-be kicked me in the ribs.
   " Mommy, I'm Luke," he'd say seriously, in his little gravelly asthmatic toddler voice. Luke Skywalker dons a helmet and goggles in the last scene of Star Wars Episode IV for those of you non-nerds out there.
   " Where ya goin', Luke?" I'd answer.
   " Find Jawas/Tattoine/Darth Vader" -- any of the three.
   " Okay, Luke, stay in the galaxy." He'd roll on past into his room, and I'd stop and think of Jonathan, my long lost childhood pal, for a brief second, as I always did when Star Wars came up. Then it was back to gabbing with my girlfriends and housework and whatever the day held.
 
     In recounting this anecdote to Tawny, I added that that's what I told Rand yesterday, just before they wheeled him out of sight. " Stay in the galaxy, Rand. Love you." Then we waited.

    This morning, which seems like three days ago already, Randall got moved from the ICU where he'd been overnight to a regular room. After he got settled in a chair, I filled a basin with warm water and washed his face and his arms -- and his calves, where pressure cuffs had kept him damp and itchy since yesterday morning in pre-op.
   It's been about 20 years since I washed Randall's face.
   It's just shy of 23 years that my baby was released from the NICU at five days old. (We had a traumatic delivery with Rand, to say the very least).
   Fourteen years have passed since the first diagnosis of the Nefarious Blood Disorder that has kept  him on the sidelines from dating, driving, contact sports and careers that he's been interested (and would be excellent) in the health field or as a firefighter.
 
   It took me 29 hours of labor to have this kid, and  as I write this, it's been 29 hours since I kissed him good-bye and resigned myself to waiting for the outcome of his surgery. With his spleen out of the way, his blood counts are normal, for the very first time, without aid of steroids, infusion therapy, or any other drugs. With God's grace, he is beyond nosebleeds, beyond common colds causing havoc, beyond fear of bruising and bleeding anytime he gets a little bump.

  He's being reborn. Randall has a whole new life ahead of him. This is one of his favorite songs, by the band Skillet, perfect for him and this Easter weekend.

I lie here lifeless In this cocoon 
Shedding my skin cause I'm ready to 
I wanna break out I found a way out 
I don't believe that it's gotta be this way 
The worst is the waiting In this womb I'm suffocating 

[Bridge:]
Tell me when I'm gonna live again 
Tell me when I'm gonna breathe you in 
Tell me when I'm gonna feel inside 
Tell me when I'm gonna feel alive 


Rebirthing! now! 
I wanna live for love, wanna live for you and me 
Breathe for the first time now 
I come alive somehow 
Rebirthing! now! 
I wanna live my life, wanna give you everything 
Breathe for the first time now 
I come alive somehow 


Amen. Amen. Amen and amen.