There is a Balm in Gilead to heal a wounded soul.

We have escaped. Over the last year, I had daydreamed about going away for a few weeks back up to 'home' in New Hampshire. Originally, I had thought summer time would be good for that. e had other plans, though. Things went on, other things developed, and I had actually decided it would be better NOT to take the trip--but then was persuaded otherwise. Aside from the things that make it hard to be away, it is lovely to be here. I had to exert a considerable effort to arrange e's medical schedule such that pressing things got done before we left, a vacation-sized space was left in the middle, and then the rest of the things are scheduled nicely for when we get back. The result was a frenzied 5 weeks, two weeks of peace, and then another frenzied 8+ weeks after we get back. I am grateful for the break, though. We had a last-minute trip to CHOP the day before we left to upgrade to a slightly larger G Tube, but we successfully made a break for it after that. Poor baby e still struggles with his retching. I talked with the surgical nurse practitioner today about it and I'm not sure there are very many more options that can be pursued remotely. I will try fiddling a little bit with his feeds and I may have to start eliminating things from my diet as well. We shall see. In addition to being unpleasant, this retching business poses two other concerns--first, if he does actually bring anything up during these events, he runs the risk of aspirating. Second, the vigor of the retching can sometimes damage the Nissen, which could make it so he would need it surgically repaired. We would like to avoid both of those things. The poor sweet baby still doesn't complain, though, even when his little body is wracked with a fit of retches--his face gets all red and he gets all clammy. It is very sad, but he just looks around and waits for it to stop. When it is over it is as though nothing happened. Such a sweet little person.

Aside from that, we are all enjoying our break. Husband is still stuck in the Philly area for work--poor guy had to use most of his vacation time for surgeries and other hospital things this year. Not much fun. He does get to come up for a weekend at the end, though, and will bring us back down to our paved paradise at that time. Presently, 4/5 of our family are enjoying being in the clean and the quiet. The air is neither polluted by hoards of people, cars, and businesses nor clouded with incessant noise. The dirt is just dirt. Clean and nice. Not tainted with people filth. Just dirt. I and E are having a BLAST running, digging, running, exploring, running, climbing, and running. I really forgot how wonderful it is to live in a place like this. There is something of a balm in Gilead here for me. I can expand. I can breathe. I have discovered that, after this frightful year of ours, I am in dire need of convalescing--just as one who has had a long illness. My soul is chapped and raw. The fresh air, living earth, rustling trees, and slanting autumn sunshine are very soothing to it.

More to come RE our autumnal New England romp, but for now just one funny story:

E's most favorite thing to do here is to dig. He digs with his hands (evidenced by his dark brown fingernails), with trucks, with rocks, with shovels, with his whole body. He spent 4 hours one day just digging. It has been really dry this year, so the dirt is rather dusty. This means that fine dirt particulates end up in hair, ears, eyes, noses, mouths, and streaked all over faces. Grammy one day commented on his smudged visage. E replied matter-of-factly, "sometimes you have to get dirty to get the job done." We're still trying to figure out where he got that one. Perhaps from Grampa or from Thomas the Tank Engine?