My son's pain returned again this afternoon, as we knew it would. The added challenge this time was that our family was 50 minutes away from our home hospital. His pain increases very quickly, and in the past instances the only solution to his pain has been a morphine drip, which we clearly did not have access to.
When I saw his pain begin the way we'd seen it in the past, I gave him a generous dose of high sodium food. It is a simple and painless trick that had a chance of helping him, if not with the pain, with the recovery after the pain had ceased, and could potentially reduce his risk of being hospitalized again. He was able to eat some before the pain kicked unto high gear, but not as much as I would have liked. We prepared to book it home to the ER, leaving our oldest daughter in the care of her grandparents for the night. But by the time my husband carried our son to his car seat, his pain seemed to be improving, and within ten minutes of the drive it had disappeared entirely. It was such an amazing relief to be able to just bring him home rather than having to make another ER trip followed by yet another hospitalization.
It was also a little validating, as parents and medical caretakers, to feel like our suspicions of low sodium causing this pain might be at least a little correct.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Lesson from a small one
Last week-end my 4 year old son was hospitalized for the 10th time in his life, and the 8th time in the last 9 months. He was in the worst pain I can imagine seeing anyone in. Think of a movie where a character is in agonizing emotional or physical pain: Sophie's Choice, Band of Brothers, Saving Private Ryan, etc. (Apparently agonizing pain is synonymous with WWII in my mind.) This tiny 4 year old kid who has already been through more than any child should ever have to go through, was writhing in pain, screaming when he could but usually not even able to do that, and no one knew why.
As the mother who had carried him from the parking ramp into the emergency room in the only position that didn't make him scream, I had to hold it together for him. I couldn't let myself fall apart. He has given me very specific instructions in the past about not crying in the hospital, or at least not in front of him, so I couldn't go against his request at a time when he needed strength. So I did the only things I could think to do. Pray for him, advocate for him whenever a nurse or doctor did something I knew he wouldn't like or that they couldn't see was causing him further pain, and stroke his hair and talk to him. I didn't even realize what I was saying, just that the maternal instinct kept the words coming in low, soothing tones, at least until he shouted at me in a voice filled with agony, "NO!" Which, in the state he has been in recently, could have been referring to literally anything, from a snack he saw someone eating in the hallway that he wasn't allowed to have, or a compliment someone gave him that he didn't like. But he thankfully followed it with, "Mom, it's NOT okay," at which time I realized that what I had been saying, over and over, was "It's okay, honey, it's okay." He was so correct that my heart hurt and my eyes filled with tears. "You're right, sweetie. It's not okay. It's very not okay. Nothing is okay right now."
In the hours to follow, during which the pain continued but mercifully decreased, I found the forbidden words returning to my tongue repeatedly. I tried to bite them back when I noticed, but they still slipped out occasionally. If I didn't remember to contradict them as they came, my boy reminded me that it isn't okay and I shouldn't say that it is.
Such a small thing to realize, but it has been a revelation to me. Sometimes things are not okay. And it's nothing short of a bald-faced lie to say that they are. I teach my children that lying is unacceptable, and yet it took a 4 year old boy in the throes of misery to call me out on the lies I've been telling him for months. Things are not okay.
It's okay for me to tell God about how not-okay life is right now too. He loves my son too. Why He isn't healing him is literally beyond me, but it pains Him to see my boy writhing in pain even more than it pains me. This situation is not okay with God either. Why He is allowing it is something I do not understand and may never understand, but in the meantime, it's okay for me to admit how awful it is. Staying strong is overrated.
As the mother who had carried him from the parking ramp into the emergency room in the only position that didn't make him scream, I had to hold it together for him. I couldn't let myself fall apart. He has given me very specific instructions in the past about not crying in the hospital, or at least not in front of him, so I couldn't go against his request at a time when he needed strength. So I did the only things I could think to do. Pray for him, advocate for him whenever a nurse or doctor did something I knew he wouldn't like or that they couldn't see was causing him further pain, and stroke his hair and talk to him. I didn't even realize what I was saying, just that the maternal instinct kept the words coming in low, soothing tones, at least until he shouted at me in a voice filled with agony, "NO!" Which, in the state he has been in recently, could have been referring to literally anything, from a snack he saw someone eating in the hallway that he wasn't allowed to have, or a compliment someone gave him that he didn't like. But he thankfully followed it with, "Mom, it's NOT okay," at which time I realized that what I had been saying, over and over, was "It's okay, honey, it's okay." He was so correct that my heart hurt and my eyes filled with tears. "You're right, sweetie. It's not okay. It's very not okay. Nothing is okay right now."
In the hours to follow, during which the pain continued but mercifully decreased, I found the forbidden words returning to my tongue repeatedly. I tried to bite them back when I noticed, but they still slipped out occasionally. If I didn't remember to contradict them as they came, my boy reminded me that it isn't okay and I shouldn't say that it is.
Such a small thing to realize, but it has been a revelation to me. Sometimes things are not okay. And it's nothing short of a bald-faced lie to say that they are. I teach my children that lying is unacceptable, and yet it took a 4 year old boy in the throes of misery to call me out on the lies I've been telling him for months. Things are not okay.
It's okay for me to tell God about how not-okay life is right now too. He loves my son too. Why He isn't healing him is literally beyond me, but it pains Him to see my boy writhing in pain even more than it pains me. This situation is not okay with God either. Why He is allowing it is something I do not understand and may never understand, but in the meantime, it's okay for me to admit how awful it is. Staying strong is overrated.
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