Sunday, May 24, 2009

The beginning. Again.

I was reading the blog of another mother with a sick child and feeling incredibly fortunate. I'm glad to be feeling that way because that feeling comes so seldom. Most of the time I feel cranky and helpless and pitiful. And then I read about a child much sicker than mine, and marvel at the grace the mother exhibits. Gratitude is something that I am trying much harder to hold on to.
Lila is asleep for the night. Poor, tired baby fell asleep sitting up at 5:00. She is so exhausted. Fighting to breathe is hard work. She has been up for hours every night coughing, fighting to breathe, and getting breathing treatments. Her little body is just worn out.
It hurts me to see it. I hurt for her and the ways that she is sick and suffering. I hurt for Samantha and the ways that she feels like she is not as important as Lila. It just hurts. I am praying so hard that the doctors are right and Denver will give us answers. And I am praying so hard that we will be able to get there.
I keep thinking about hope. In some ways, I think, despair and acceptance hurt less. A doctor told me, not three weeks ago, that this would just be life for Lila. It was horrible to hear but I felt like I could manage the news. What choice did I have? Now she's worse - and they say if we can get her to the specialists in Denver we might leave this all behind and help her to heal. I am overjoyed and yet I feel like I am walking on the edge of a knife. This hope is so sharp, I'm afraid it will slip and leave me bleeding.
But for now, she is sleeping, and her breathing is labored. Even in her sleep, breathing is work. Rest well, little one.

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