She would tell you that today consisted of forcing down meds, followed by throwing up meds. Over and over.
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She would tell you that today consisted of forcing down meds, followed by throwing up meds. Over and over.
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can they give her anything – zofran maybe? – to help with the vomiting? I’m sure you’ve already tried that.
I once talked to some older kids who had spent huge parts of their childhood at PCMC. Amazingly, they really only remembered the good stuff, the fun stuff and the funny stuff. It’s pretty cool how our brains protect us.
Parents however, remember it all. I’m going to include here something I wrote ages ago, on my blog:
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The other day, my neighbor saw Megan sitting in the grass in our front yard. She was playing w/ some other girls who were also dressed up like fairies or butterflies or princesses. And the neighbor said to me, “You would never know what she’s been through. It’s almost like it never happened. Don’t you wish you could have skipped that part (I’ll come back to that in a minute.)?” We started talking and she said in a hushed voice so that my Meg w/ the bionic ears wouldn’t hear, “I always wondered if you would have regretted fighting so hard. But it doesn’t matter now because obviously it was all worth it.” “What??” I asked. “Well, I have often wondered if you would have wished that you had just brought her home and loved on her instead of putting her through so much if she was going to die so early.”
Can’t you just picture what was going through my head? Sheesh. I’m really very impressed with myself that I didn’t murder her on the spot.
(and back to that bolded section): That part? What part? The part where I had to hand her to strangers *multiple times* and pray that I saw her again while her heart was still beating? The part where I got to hold her the night before her biggest open heart surgery? The part where I felt an amazing spiritual comfort to a degree that I have never felt before? The part where our nurses became our friends? The part where I saw my daughter breathe on her own for the first time in months? The part where she lived? The part where I got to *at the least* be a witness to a child’s suffering? Well, I’m here to tell all of you – to shout it from the rooftops if need be.
I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. There, I said it. I’m glad we chose the surgical options we did. I’m glad we asked them to save her life. Because, in my belief system, all life is valuable. All of it. Even the sick part, even the dying part, even the very disabled part. All of it.
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I don’t know if that will be of any comfort to you at all.