You’ve been through more medical emergencies in your three years than I have been in all my rotations around the sun.
I see your worried face as I explain the test that we need to do to check your body is working like it should. You ask me questions. I tell you honestly. You’re afraid but when the time comes you are so unbelievably resilient.
You know all about the pictures, the scans, the needles, the stuff that goes in your mouth and the other end.
And yet there you stand. Smiling next to your robot friend who is keeping you from being dehydrated after weeks of vomiting with no clear answer as to why.
Making the most of it is something most adults couldn’t begin to do, and the most isn’t even the beginning. You turn the discomfort and immobility into an opportunity to learn, grow and play.
They say mothers bring their children into the world. To teach them. Show them how to be human. But I’m afraid in this case you’ve shown me. You gave me life.
I’m so humbled that the person who has shown me some understanding in the complexity of life is you.
Love you deeply and purely