In September, 1963 my mother and father married. In late June, 1964 my mother gave birth to a little girl. In the weeks following her birth, my sister was listless, would cry all the time, and began showing signs of being in pain. My mother rushed her to the doctor several times. One of the last times, the doctor told my mother, "Youre just a nervous mother. When she cries, just take a walk".
When my sister was a little over 5 weeks old, my mother rushed her to the doctor. But it wasnt the same doctor. The new doctor examined her and admitted her to the hospital. The new doctor realized something was wrong, but he was unable to find a cause for the symptoms. At six weeks of age, my sister died. An autopsy revealed that her lived had hardened (crystalized), her kidneys were failing, and a water tumor had formed in her chest. This water tumor ruptured and flooded her lungs. The doctors at the time urged my mother to have another child to "lessen the pain".
In May, 1965 my brother was born. He began showing the same symptoms as our sister. By this time, the autopsy results of our sister were in. What had happened was that she had been born without the ability to process lactic acid. That means that milk was lethal. First, the lactic acid had been stored in her liver in crystal form. Her liver began to shut down. This caused other organs to begin to fail, such as her kidneys. This caused fluids to be stored.
This illness, Glycogen Storage Disease, was very, very rare. There had not been a documented case of it in our state for more than 50 years. Now, they had had two in less than a year. The doctors did not give my mother any hope. In fact, they told her, "dont become attached because he is going to die". No child with this particular variety of the illness had lived to see their 2nd birthday. My mother responded by telling them that, "Ive buried one baby, I will not bury another". My mother was now 18 years old. Her first act was to ask God for His help. She began to study the illness. Over the next few years she bought no processed foods. No babyfood in jars. She read every label and if it listed any form of dairy product, she put it back on the shelves. No eggs, no milk, and for a time, not even plain sugar. During the next 18 months after my brother's birth, my mother had two miscarriages. Doctor's believed that the illness was so advanced that even the lactic acid in my mother's blood was enough to kill the unborn children.
During that time, my great-grandmother was ill. She was unable to refuse my brother anything. One day, she gave him a bite of an egg salad sandwich. Just one bite. Thirty minutes later they were in the emergency room. During the next hour, my brother filled 3 diapers with bood.
In early 1967 my mother found out that she was pregnant again. Twice, she almost miscarried. In November, I was born. Problems started almost from the first day of my life. Unlike my sister and brother, I began losing weight immediately. I was hospitalized and after alot of testing, they realized that I was unable to digest food. They had experimented on my brother to see what formulas he could tolerate. After my birth, I was given a meat based formula. It was made of powdered beef hearts. But because I was unable to digest food, the doctors added powdered pancreas. I was able to aborb the nutrients using that. Unfortunately, they had to change my diaper immediately because the "waste" would begin to digest any skin it came into contact with.
During all of this, my mother prayed, and prayed, and prayed. Each day my mother thanked God for another day with us and asked for His guidance. Churches from North Carolina to Florida, from Illinois to Nevada prayed for us. Anywhere my family was located, there were prayer chains. Cousins of cousins added us to the prayer lists of their churches. With God's help my mother was ever vigilent. Sometimes she would stay awake for days. My grandmother would have to force her to sleep and sometimes, to eat. It was during one of those times my brother ate the egg salad.
She had other trials and tribulations during this time, but those are too numerous to go into. Through it all, my mother never waivered, faltered, or ever lost her faith that God would help her children. In October, 1970, my brother and I were finally declared "healthy". Again, my mother thanked God for His love and healing. Many years later, I thanked her for being a wonderful mother. She told me that it was not her actions that saved us, but the hand of God. That I should give thanks to Him. She said that she was only doing what any other mother would have done. My mother is a very honest woman, but I know better. I do remember some of the times in the hospitals. I remember the other children who did not see their parents, even though their parents lived in the area. Not only did God bless me by saving my life many times, but He also blessed me with a wonderful mother.
I second the wow... and am quite taken aback. I hope to be half that faithful, kind and trusting in the Lord when I get married and have children. If your mom was here I'd give her a big hug.
