A Sweet Night at the Ball Field
On this day in 2017, Before the Shaking Began, I had been with my Lady, and I knew her family was coming into town. I wanted to give them time together, so I took all my kids to one of my son’s baseball games. It was a warm evening, the kind where summer storms tease the horizon but never quite make it to the field. The game was something everyone could enjoy, and I looked forward to the joy of watching my kids just be kids.
H hadn’t been to a baseball game since the previous summer. Now that he was a little older—he had turned three that February—I knew he’d enjoy it even more.
And oh, he did.
He absolutely charmed everyone around us. Then, he shamelessly ate their popcorn and nachos with zero hesitation. He cheered loudly, with unfiltered excitement. He was the comic relief for everyone near us, and he loved every single minute of it.
“A cheerful heart is good medicine…”
— Proverbs 17:22a (NIV)
For that moment, everything was sweet and simple. That evening is forever etched in my memory as one of the last “normal” moments we had for a long time.
The Next Day: A Shift in the Air
The conversation from earlier that day—the kind you tuck away in the back of your mind—didn’t resurface until June 7. That was the day the world stopped turning for our family.
H was highly emotional that morning. He was doing things he shouldn’t have been doing, getting in trouble more than usual. His older brothers—sweet and patient—took him into their room to play Legos while I caught up on paperwork and phone calls.
I could hear H yelling at the boys, and I could also hear them giving in. Over and over again. I heard my oldest say, “Stop shaking. You’re not in trouble. Here, take the Lego… stop shaking.”
Stop shaking.
When H got excited or upset, he would sometimes shake his arms and legs. I assumed this was more of the same. I figured his brothers were tired of managing him and needed a break, so I called him back into the dining room.
He screamed the whole walk down the hallway. Honestly, he wanted to stay with the big boys. He cried, shook, and screamed some more. I put him in time out on the step. He continued crying—louder now—and shaking from head to toe.
I told him he needed to stop and that once he did, he could get up. Eventually, he stopped. He got up and went to play with his toys.
The Nap That Changed Everything
Lunchtime came and went. H went down for his usual nap. He had been napping since he moved in with us at 21 months old. That day was no different—he slept until about 4 p.m. My oldest son went to get him up, as he often did. He usually carried H downstairs and set him in my lap.
That moment was no different, either. H snuggled into me, and we talked about his dreams—he had dreamed about his pillow. I hugged him tight and said, “Okay, time to potty, buddy. Can you hand me your underwear?”
It was only about ten steps away.
I stood him up…
He wobbled and he stumbled.
And then… he fell.
He cried out, terrified. My heart dropped.
One of the boys quietly mentioned that the same thing had happened the day before—after a nap—but it quickly resolved, and no one thought to tell me. I brushed off the panic and told myself maybe his legs were just asleep. I snuggled him and rubbed his legs.
After a few minutes, I stood him up again.
He fell over. There was no moment where he could stand up. He couldn’t balance or walk.
“When I am afraid, I put my trust in You.”
— Psalm 56:3 (ESV)
The First ER Visit – Misdiagnosis #1
I gathered our things and called Big Daddy: “You need to meet us at the ER. Something’s wrong. H can’t walk.” I also called my oldest sister—H’s grandmother—and asked her to meet us there.
On the 30-minute drive, H kept repeating: “My legs won’t stop shaking.”
It scared him.
It scared me.
At the hospital, they did a CT scan. It came back normal. They drew blood—without gloves, mind you—and began tossing around terrifying words like Muscular Dystrophy and Cerebral Palsy. Then they pivoted, decided maybe it was Strep, even though he tested negative. They gave us Amoxicillin and sent us home.
We left that hospital with a terrifying truth:
Our baby couldn’t walk.
Friends Who Move Mountains
On the drive home, I started making calls. I called a friend whose daughter had a rare illness and ended up paralyzed when she was little. She is a pit bull—and I love that about her. She pulled strings and got us in touch with a brilliant neurologist. I also called another friend who works in the neurology world. They both said the same thing:
“Get that baby to Vandy. Don’t wait. Don’t let the grass grow under your feet.”
And that’s exactly what we did.
To be continued…
“The Lord Himself goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you.”
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