The good news–the fantastic, delightful, unsurprisingly intoxicating news–is that Jordan is healing well. Her doctor was very pleased with her progress. The X-Rays looked good, the stitches are out, and she’s in blazingly purple casts. And … she can walk around now.
It was a very good day, except, as is often the case with Jordan, it was a day full of its own challenges.
First, Jeanette sent me pictures of Jordan’s feet. I requested that she do this, naively thinking it would help me be there with them. It did. And it was sobering. The tracing number of incisions and the gruesome spectacle of the Frankenstein stitches emptied my lungs, and nearly my gut. True to form, Jordan didn’t mind the scars so much, but she was incensed that the doctors drew on her leg with a marker (the surgeon’s pen markings were still visible after nearly four weeks). Despite our discomfort at seeing the extent of the work done on Jordan’s feet and legs, it didn’t match the discomfort Jordan had to endure as they fitted her for her new casts. Her feet were very stiff, and the nurses had to really work and stretch her feet to get them into the right position for the next three weeks of casted mobility. I asked Jeanette if Jordan was in a lot of pain. She said that Jordan was quiet and cooperative throughout, except at one point she asked, “how much longer will this take?”
True to form, Jordan handled it all with remarkable poise. She was excited to get wrapped in purple and to be able to stand on her own. She said it felt funny when she placed her weight on her feet, but it hasn’t stopped her from trying to walk around our home. She’s loving the independence.
I love my daughter. I love her strength. I love her personality. I love the beauty she produces in the ugliest of situations. What I don’t love is the unlucky straw she too frequently draws. Seeing the pictures of her poor feet cast a palor on most of my day. It was only matched by the voicemail I picked up from Jeanette. On the drive home, Jordan had a mild seizure. It was nothing to worry about, brief and only strong enough to check her out for a minute and slur her speech, but it was a seizure and those are always scary. I commiserated with Jeanette, who exclaimed, “Really? Today? Can’t we just get one thing a day?” Jordan has very little memory of it, and she isn’t complaining of a headache. Her feet hurt more today and she’s loving the codeine-laced Tylenol again, but she’s otherwise unsinkable. She doled out a lot of grief to her brother when he beat her at Wii. To listen to her litany of complaints, you’d have no idea what she’s been through today. And I suppose that’s what makes this day a win, rather than a fail.