Giving my child injections would also be at the top of my list of things I never expected.
In the last couple of weeks as we have met with his doctor and navigated the process of beginning this treatment, I have had so many well-meaning people tell me that soon this will become second nature. Soon, none of us will think anything of it. That I and we will be fine.
This is probably true. I expect that it will become routine and commonplace, as much as "Good night" and "I love you" at bedtime. It will become normal to have a sharps container, and little orange capped syringes, their purpose fulfilled, will reside inside.
Right now, none of this is normal. None of this feels commonplace. My every cell is crying out that my beautiful, darling Teddy will have a shot every night before bed. That I or my husband, or maybe a grandma, will give him a shot as easily as we give him a hug.
I am terrified that he will learn the wrong message. That he will find himself broken, or inadequate, or weak. I am so afraid that he will not learn to see his strength and his courage. That he will look at his size as the measure of his value and not his beautiful soul.
This feels broken, and scary, and hard. I don't know how to be strong for him when I feel so inadequate and small and helpless.
I know that this moment of fear will pass. I know that we will rise to the occasion. I know that Teddy is made of wonderful, resilient stuff and he will be fine. I know all of this.
On Friday I will face this thing I never expected. I will not give in to my anxiety and my fear. I will come to terms with our new possessions, and our new routine. I will be grateful for the science that allows us to help our son.
I am grateful for everyone who loves us, who is praying for us, who is genuinely wishing us all the best in this new thing.
I am beyond grateful for all the people in Teddy's life who have always loved him just as he is and have never once made him feel small.
I am simply, grateful.
No comments:
Post a Comment