I wasn’t made for this.
I am not strong enough.
Lord, where are you taking me?
Why does this joyful time, filled with our last baby’s firsts, have to be this way?
Why did the doctors look at me that way? They know what’s coming, and deep down inside, so do I. The inevitable word that is about to come out of their mouths.
Almost as if it were a car accident.
Believe me, I know about that. To be the reason behind a grown man hanging onto a thread. Completely unintentional. I just needed a pack of smokes. Not to almost take another human being’s life.
This time it didn’t happen as quickly as an accident. It happened slowly. It started with unwell looks and fussiness that could only be taken away from the love of very few people. Mom and Dad. The tiredness in his eyes. The spark gone. Completely gone.
We knew something wasn’t right.
After three days of constant fever, we took him to a rural hospital for advice. I didn’t want to go and clog up the emergency department. Our healthcare system is a disaster for being a first-world country. I left that hospital with the answer to my question of “What’s wrong with my child?” being “You should have come earlier when the blood lab was running. Why didn’t you get here earlier?”
Yes, lady. I hear your voice in my head every day. It haunts my thoughts.
Why didn’t I get there earlier?
I had another child to attend to. I had a husband to consider and two stepsons to think about picking up. I didn’t have time to be the mom clogging up the ER with some stupid mom fear.
But it wasn’t fear, was it?
I knew something was wrong. I felt it. I knew.
Day seven straight of a high fever. He’s throwing up now. Nothing will stay in the tiny, little body of a small, 10-month-old.
The rural hospital will not do this time.
What do I do with my husband, another child, and two stepsons at home? My baby needs help. But I’m SCARED!
Scared to know the results. Whether I’m just flat out wasting precious time other little humans could be using with the doctor.
Little LC turned a year old in October. I gave birth to him at the city hospital due to my own medical need for greater care when it came to carrying a child. How are we here celebrating in the same place a year later. That’s not right.
Holy mother of the good Lord, I lift my hands. I give you all I am.
Just don’t let my baby die.
My heart is filled with so much hurt every given day. Every given moment.
To sit back and watch your baby fight for his life. There is nothing for me to do but hold him. To be his everything when I have nothing to give.
This is a cancer mom.
To look back at Facebook memories of a year ago when everything was normal. It hurts. The tears that are shed every day. The worry of wondering what today will bring. Will he eat today? How sick will he get today? I am mad at the world. MAD!
Lord, please give me the strength I so desperately need.
Why the C-word?