Just Trust
Andrew has an apnoea monitor. It’s June 2018. The apnoea monitor attached to a long thin blue plastic lead with a flat round sensor pad that is applied with special tape about an inch to the left (or right) of his belly button. This sensor lead picks up every breath Andrew takes which sends a flickering light and a message of hope to my mother-heart that I can sleep at night without fretting. Unfortunately, the sensor leads have a limited life span. They have a nasty habit of malfunctioning during the night, often sending a blood-curdling screeching alarm that warns the neighbours down the end of the street that something may be amiss. Some sensor leads last a good 7-10 days, others are wretchedly capricious and malfunction after just a day or two.
A few weeks back, my precious supply of sensor leads was getting alarmingly low, so I phoned up the local hospital to restock. I was a little concerned when I didn't hear the familiar voice of my favourite midwife who generously loads me up with everything I need and more. The midwife who answered coldly stated that the hospital had recently changed their policy and would no longer be supplying sensor leads. She then followed up with some uncomfortably probing questions, how old was Andrew, and have I had a paediatric appointment recently. The paediatrician would need the monitor returned at Andrew's next appointment. My stomach turned into knots. The prospect of not having access to sensor leads, or worse, having to return the apnoea monitor started to conjure up wild panic within and gave a peek to the end of my sleep-assured sanity.
My favourite midwife wouldn't be back for three days, so I couldn't deflect and call back during the next shift to fix this horrible mess. I needed more sensor leads urgently. I braced myself to preach of my rights to an apnoea monitor and sensor leads on tap but something inside gently nudged me away from my soapbox and just trust God had this one. And actually I didn't mind sourcing sensor leads myself, how much could they cost? A couple of dollars a piece?
After some web-searching, email-writing and phone calls, I finally found the supplier of the sensor leads. Yes, they could source them for me, no problem. Only they cost $25 / piece. And there was a minimum order of 50 pieces. I think the poor lady on the end of the phone wasn't prepared for my surprise.
I reluctantly called the hospital back hoping they might relent and give me some more sensor leads. I had just used my last one and was desperate. Unfortunately, the call lead to a paediatric appointment being booked and the looming prospect of having to return the apnoea monitor. To my relief, the not-so-favourite midwife accepted that spending $1250 on sensor leads wasn't quite realistic and promised to follow this up. She also agreed to give me a couple of sensor leads to keep us going and a friend of a friend graciously picked them up for me.
I was a little tempted at this stage to fall into a heap of anxiety and turmoil at what this might mean for our future with no apnoea monitor. Would I stay awake each night afraid Andrew might stop breathing in his sleep and would I deteriorate into a sleep-deprived zombie? Or would I go to sleep anyway and wake up one morning to find the worst had happened? But something tugged again in my heart, that hint that something bigger was going on and I could just trust.
The next day the slightly-more-likeable midwife called back to say the respiratory department at the Queensland Children's Hospital would supply me with the sensor leads. And they would be free. And they had already sent me a bunch by express post. Not only that, my now new favourite midwife told me the paediatric appointment that had been booked wouldn't be for another couple of months. I wouldn't even have to return the apnoea monitor until Andrew was 6 months old. The news couldn't have been better.
The following Monday I got an unexpected call from the hospital. They were moving Andrew's paediatric appointment to the coming Thursday. My stomach turned into knots once again and in a split second I had prepared a nasty speech why that just wouldn't work for us. But the speech didn't see the light of day as something once again tugged inside me to let it go and just trust. Yes, we would come on Thursday.
On Tuesday, Andrew suddenly started having feeding issues. And for some reason, instead of waiting a few days to see if the issue would self-correct, I felt an urgency to make a doctors appointment - no panic, just a calm sense that I needed to do this. Surprisingly, the doctor was available that afternoon. The doctor asked a few questions. Andrew was breast-feed with formula top-ups - soy formula, as I suspected he had a milk-protein allergy. The doctor assessed my description of Andrew's symptoms and agreed it sounded like a textbook milk-protein allergy. Unfortunately soy formula wasn't great nutrition for a growing baby. He talked about a special formula that Andrew would need, only this special formula was only available on prescription which could only be prescribed by a paediatrician. A paediatrician. Who Andrew sees a handful of times per year, who he wasn't meant to see for another couple of months but for whatever reason the appointment had been brought forward to that Thursday.
Two days later, the paediatrician wrote up a prescription for some super-duper extensively-hydrolysed protein infant formula for Andrew. She made a point of showing me that this half-sized tin of formula cost the government $110, but it would be available on the Pharmaceutical Benefits Scheme for "only" $30. The catch was I had to buy eight tins at a time. I quickly calculated the total cost. $240. My heart sank as I thought about this extra expense, but that gentle tug at my heart again reminded me that I didn't need to worry. It wasn't my job to worry, it was ok to trust.
I went to the pharmacy for the formula and had a sudden notion that I should show Andrew's Health Care Card to the pharmacist - perhaps this could make a difference somehow? The guy behind the counter muttered that it may help, but I didn't get a clear answer. He loaded me up with 8 tiny tins of super-duper ultra-expensive ultra-extensively-hydrolysed protein infant formula and I went to the cash register to pay, showing Andrew's Health Care Card, just in case. The lady behind the counter glanced at Andrew's card and pressed a few buttons. "That will be $5". I blinked a couple of times and checked I heard correctly. Yes, $5 was correct. The formula was on prescription and Health Care Card holders are eligible for $5 prescriptions. I'm crying inside, feeling covered and cared for, reminding myself never again to complain about our medical system or anything else in this life to come.
And the paediatrician never mentioned the apnoea monitor.
Andrew's apnoea monitor was willingly and happily returned a couple of months later under advice and assurance from his respiratory specialists that it was no longer necessary or effective due to Andrew's size, age, sleep movement patterns and continued oxygen therapy.
Proverbs 3:5-6 "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight."