The Call

If you are familiar at all with the geography of Wyoming, you know that the 100-or-so miles between Casper and Shoshoni is perhaps the most desolate stretch of highway ever constructed. Endless desert plains, dotted with sagebrush and antelope. Nothing more.

You do not, therefore, want to receive this voicemail on your cell phone when you are some 30 miles out of Shoshoni:

"Steve, you need to call me right now. I've tried to call about 15 times, and you're not answering. Jack has a hernia and the doctor says it is life threatening. I'm on my way to Denver and I need you to call me right now," through sobs, the screaming of a baby in the background.

You've got just enough cell service to hear the message, but you're about 10 seconds away from losing the signal. No context. No explanation. Just the fear that you may lose your son. Again.

Last time this happened it was a surprise only in the sense that we didn't even know our twin boys were mono-amniotic/mono-chorionic - a very high-risk twin pregnancy. When we saw them motionless on the ultrasound monitor, neither heart beating, we were stunned silent. But we had known it was high risk.

This time, our boys had arrived healthy. So the prospect of a life-threatening condition six weeks into Jack's life was a shock. Particularly since I received the news with no way to ask any questions or gather any more information.

My wife did get Jack safely to the hospital in Denver. And the most astonishingly selfless group of people I've ever known moved into our house and took care of our five other children until family arrived, and until I was able to return from my business trip to the northwestern-most corner of the state.

In the meantime, we learned that Jack had an infected lymph node, and that although it could have serious implications if left untreated, it was not likely to be serious at all. My wife stayed with him in Denver for two days, and she, Jack, and I all arrived home at about the same time on Friday afternoon.

As I've written before, there is simply no thanking the people who helped us through this. Except to be first in line when the next set of parents needs help. Be assured, we will be standing at the front of that line.

And there is no fear like the cold panic that seizes you when you think your child may die, and you are too far away, and too disconnected even to offer comfort to your family.

We think often of Jeremiah and Jacob. We hang ornaments on the Christmas tree each year to help us remember them. And we thank God that their three brothers and three sisters are here with us, safe, sleeping peacefully in their beds tonight.

I suspect this fear never truly fades.