Ashtyn and I are spending our 25th night in the hospital. She is no longer being kept awake by nausea, vomiting, coughing, mucous, diarrhea, bloody noses, restroom runs every two hours, shortness of breath with fluid in her lungs, or an extremely swollen mouth. She isn’t suffering from a high temperature, high heart rate, or high respiratory rate. For this we are grateful. For this my heart rejoices.
Tonight Ashtyn was being kept awake because of sadness. Sorrow that she can’t go home. Sad for losing her hair. Worn out from the pain. I don’t know what it feels like. I don’t know what it feels like to not be able to leave the hospital. I don’t know what it feels like to lose my hair. I don’t know what it feels like to not be able to eat or drink. I don’t know what it feels like to not be able to get out of bed and walk around on my own. I don’t know what it feels like to be stuck to an IV pole with medications constantly going into my system. I don’t know what it feels like to not be able to shower and go to the restroom in privacy. I don’t know what it feels like to have strangers coming into my room all the time asking, “How are you?” when clearly I am not OK. I don’t know what it feels like to have visitors come, only to have them leave and know that I can’t leave with them. I don’t know what it feels like to have constant pain in my mouth and throat, even though I should be happy they are healing. I don’t know what it feels like to have leg pain and not feel like rejoicing that it’s a sign the bone marrow is starting to make cells. I don’t know what it feels like to not want to think about life outside the hospital and what I am missing out on. I don’t know what it feels like to not allow myself to think of what used to make me happy because those things would only make me sad. I don’t know what it feels like to have no control over anything other than what side of my body I sleep on, what finger the oxygen monitor goes on, and what TV station or music is playing.
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| Ashtyn sleeping with a picture of Jesus |
When I see the physical and emotional pain Ashtyn is going through, I feel sad and have shed tears with and for her. However, if I had the ability to take this cancer away from her, I wouldn’t. You heard me right. I would not take this cancer from her. Why would I rob her of this life changing experience?
Ashtyn chose this before coming to earth. She knew the pain she would experience. She also knew the blessings that would be hers from going through it. Lives would be changed. Her life would be changed. Every moment of her trial will be worth it. She will never want to give back what she gains and what she learns. It will be precious to her. So as a mother, why would I ever take that away from her? I am happy for her that she is the kind of girl that God has trusted to go through this with faith, strength, and dignity. God has every confidence in her that she will get through this trial. I do too.
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