I woke up between a rock and a hard place.  And I’m not sure I got out the right way.

Yesterday Gresham, sick on the couch, got in trouble for griping at his little sister.  “I know you fell terrible, Gresham, but you still have to be nice to people no matter what – even when you’re sick,” I said.  He looked off and not at me.  “Look at me, Gresham so I know you’re listening.” He barely moved his head upward and started crying.  “I can’t.  It hurts.”

I asked him to turn his head as far as he could to each side.  He could barely move.  The crick in his neck he complained of that morning was now a total lack of mobility.  It dawned on me that he might have meningitis: a fever that won’t break, listlessness, a stiff sore neck.  I called Redneck Neighbor’s wife, Kim, a nursing student and good friend who wouldn’t laugh at me for being paranoid and left her a message.  A few hours later, after talking a couple of nurse friends of hers, she called back and told me I should get Gresham to a doctor to check it out.  Her friends thought meningitis was likely too.

I called our doctor’s emergency line, left a message and she called back saying Gresham needed to get to Venderbilt’s Childrens Hospital in Nashville.  She thought meningitis was a strong possibility.

But there he sat on the couch with his sisters, eating well for the first time the whole day, not moving all that much but not looking like a kid with a life-threating illness either. I called Becky to see where she was on her return trip.  She was just minutes away so I started finding shoes and packing diapers for the family trip to the emergency room.

A million things ran through my head.  I thought about Brian’s childhood bout with meningitis, how his doctor thought he would die.  I thought about that scary meningitis infected sister locked in the attic in Pet Semitary, disfigured and writhing in pain.  Then Becky walked in with her sister Amy explaining that Brian and Amy would be taking the girls for us while Becky and I took Gresham to the hospital – and I thought about how impossible some day would be without friends and family.  How do people live without people like this? I thought.

Our doctor had called ahead and the nurses and physicians were ready to test Gresham for meningitis, gloves and masks on, looking like the guys that wrapped Elliot’s house in plastic in E.T.  “Can he touch his chin to his chest?” they asked.

He did, but it hurt bad enough to bring tears again.

The masks came off immediately.  “He doesn’t have meningitis,” the doctor said, “but what is going on with you?” Two hours and a CT scan later we knew.  Gresham has a “deep tissue bacterial infection” behind his pharynx in his neck, causing it to swell with fluid, push on everything and make the tiniest movements very painful.  They slowly dripped antibiotics into him through a vein in his hand while he rested in a hospital bed and Becky and I whispered back and forth about this morning. 

imageToday I was supposed to get up at 4:30 AM, catch a flight to South Carolina and play a show.  The promoter wanted me there in part because I was sort of a present for his wife; today was her birthday and she likes my music.  Brian wanted me there because he wanted us to fulfill the contract he signed on my behalf (he booked it) and because he knew the promoter had worked very hard and spent time and money to get a crowd to the show, a crowd that couldn’t be called off on such short notice.  Becky wanted me to rest and said she wouldn’t mind me staying to help with the kids.  I wanted to keep my promise to the promoter, not put Brian in a tight spot, help my wife and stay with Gresham.  And none of us wanted to miss a chance to get kids sponsored through Compassion.

I decided to stay home.

We drove up the driveway at 3 AM, put Gresham to bed and then headed to ours.  Becky woke me up earlier than I wanted her to a few hours later to tell me Brian wanted me to reconsider canceling.  After much discussion with Becky, I kissed Gresham good-bye, told him I’d be back soon, and Brody and I hit the road, driving the seven hours we were supposed to fly originally.  The whole way I worried about Gresham, whether I made the right decision, whether Becky was really wanting me to go or just not wanting to be another person lobbying for her preference.

Tonight I played for 184 people in a small Methodist church in South Carolina.  I missed notes, flubbed lyrics, and smiled less than usual.  And I told Gresham’s story to explain my mellowness, adding that had he been born poor in the third world the story would have ended less happily.  And 20 children were rescued from poverty tonight. 

I don’t know if I made the right decision today – I suspect I didn’t.  I can’t stop picturing my wife leaning over Gresham’s hospital bed, stroking his hair and whispering, “You’ll be alright now.” But I also can’t stop thinking of the mothers in Kenya, Bangladesh, Indonesia and twenty-one other countries watching their kids get their Compassion sponsorship packet picture taken and thinking the same thing: You’ll be alright now.

Twenty more kids will be. And so will Gresham.

Good and best are hard to tell apart, especially on a few hours sleep.  Did I do the best thing?  I don’t know but tomorrow’s a new day.  And I’m heading home.

(By the way, I’m not really asking you anything.  I’m just thinking out loud.)

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