My lanky sixteen-year-old son towered over the bed in the darkness. “It hurts,” he said, his hands pressed over his lower abdomen.

It sounded all too familiar, but I didn’t tell him that. Instead, I encouraged him to go back to bed and try to sleep.

In a few hours time we would catch a flight to Orlando. It had been a last minute decision to take a family vacation over the New Year. My son hadn’t been himself since his appendectomy. “Two or three days in the sun will do him good,” I said to my husband

Yet, as I tried to get back to sleep, worry filled my mind. His symptoms sounded exactly like those before his appendectomy. I couldn’t understand it. The surgery had been successful. He’d been on antibiotics, and been given the all clear by the doctor.

As we drove to the airport in the early morning, Max complained of feeling nauseous. The pain persisted.

My friend, Niki Hardy, is graciously hosting me at her blog today.  Join me over there to read the rest of my story!


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