Justin is finally asleep with someone else’s blood being slowly pushed into his little veins.
Jeff has gone home to take care of Nicky and Michael. I am laying on a horrid plastic cushioned couch thing, a poor excuse for a bed. But who really cares.
It is quiet except for the hum of machines monitoring Justin’s blood pressure, etc. I probably have at least ten minutes to myself before the nurse comes in again or Justin wakes up and needs something. I should try to relax or pray or sleep, but I can’t do anything except watch lights flicker on the vital signs monitor thing.
Tomorrow I will walk my child to surgery again. They will induce unconsciousness and insert a large needle into his hip, withdrawing bone marrow again. Then they will call us into a conference room again. I don’t know what they will say but I’ve already been in a conference room today.
And I knew that look. I knew what was coming.
How long can a mother watch their child suffer? How much is too much? What does it take to break a person? I don’t know but maybe I’m getting closer.
I’d love to be able to tell you I’m reading my favorite psalms and feeling the presence of God. But that just wouldn’t be the truth.
I believe God is here and completely in control. I am trusting God. I really am.
But beyond that I feel nothing.
Thank you for reading, praying, staying with us.
One thought on “Thoughts From A Hospital Room”
I was up in the middle of the night praying. Praying for answers, healing, relief. Your words remind me of the anguish of David. He knew God was near but did not always feel God’s presence. And he was a man after God’s own heart. I am encouraged by your faith and trust in the Lord even in the worst of what life has to give. We are praying. We love your family.