Normal-Kind-of-Love

from Rob

Every parent loves their kids. It’s a basic human impulse, one that can only be overcome by another impulse of fallen humanity… selfishness. I love my kids. Most of the time more than words can describe. But as with everything, familiarity evens out the high and low emotions and I grow accustomed to an everyday, ever-present, normal-kind-of-love. (I think that may be the opposite of a groovy-kind-of-love, but I’d have to consult Phil Collins to know for sure) Sometimes living in this routine, everyday, normal-kind-of-love causes you to miss just how deep this love runs. And then along come special moments that remind you.

This week Hudson and I have been in Hong Kong getting some dental work done. About two months ago we came for a routine cleaning and discovered that Hudson had a deep cavity into the root. The dentist said that it is too early to pull the tooth and so began a root canal. Not pleasant, especially for an eight-year-old. Because of swelling in the nerve, accompanied by increasing pain, she was unable to finish at that time. She repacked it temporarily and told us to come back and she would finish it up. Two months later we returned.

Monday we returned to her office to find that Hudson remembered both her and the unpleasantness she brought. He got in the chair and just melted. There was no way she was doing anything in his mouth again. So she recommended that we go to see a pediatric dentist who worked with kids and could sedate him if necessary, which by the way is what he wanted.

So, through another long series of events, early this morning Hudson found himself in the chair of another dentist, but this time he had an anesthesiologist (yeah, had to use spell check on that one) along side. This second doctor told him that he was going to put a tube in his hand to put in medicine to make him go to sleep. Hudson immediately got nervous. He was torn because he knew this was the only way to go to sleep and avoid the real pain the dentist was about to inflict, but yet to willingly allow someone to stick something under the skin on your hand was not his first choice either. He tore his hand away from this new doctor, buried his face in his hands, and tears began to fill his already sweaty little palms. And so my moment began.

I leaned down next to his face and convinced him to turn his hand back over to the nice doctor, and just to look at dad. As I held his gaze and gently stroked his face they were able to slide the IV in easily and quickly. (The little shot of laughing gas they gave him to calm his nerves might have helped too, but I’m writing this and I choose to be the hero.) But that was the easy part.

The doctor said he might twitch around a little as the medicine began to do its work. This doctor spoke English, but as a second language and must have lost something in his own translation, because "a little" was a serious understatement. As the medicine entered Hudson’s body He scrunched his eyes tightly, let out a small moan and started slowly swinging his head around. As I held his head the rest of his limbs followed suit with increasing energy. Soon both doctors, two nurses and myself are restraining swinging arms and legs, protecting expensive dental equipment from a fateful kick, and trying to keep Hudson from launching himself out of the chair. Just about as quickly as it began, he let out a huge yawn and relaxed completely. I stepped back and one nurse began to prepare for the work ahead while another quickly escorted me to the waiting room. The whole thing, from climbing in the chair to asleep took about seven minutes.

In the waiting room I collapsed into a comfortable chair. Until then I hadn’t noticed the metallic taste of adrenaline in my mouth, nor did I notice the beads of sweat popping from my forehead or the fact that my hands were quivering uncontrollably. A wave of exhaustion crashed over me as I buried the back of my head deep in the back of the chair. Then I found myself scrunching my eyes tightly to hold back the rising tide behind my own eyelids. I wouldn’t want the young lady behind the desk to think this huge foreigner was a total basket case.

And so my moment concluded. I love that sleeping kid in there. I love him with an indefinable yet tangible, all-consuming, overwhelming, extraordinary-kind-of-love. The mere thought of anything happening to him makes my knees buckle. And yet, it’s a pretty cool thing that the Father lets us experience this tremendous and humbling love in normal, every-day size bites. Because I’m not too sure I could handle many more moments like this.

By the way, two hours later, after I had regained my composure, Hudson woke up just fine and wondered when they were going to start working on his teeth. In another hour he was back to his fun-loving, care-free, crazy-question-asking, every-day, normal self. Man I love that kid.