On the medical front things are much more complicated. Meaghan, despite eating a cheeseburger, has pretty much stopped eating. We can get a bite in here, a sip there, but her oral eating is not going well. Twice Meg's ng tube has come out, once because she pulled it out and last night she vomited it out. Ed and I must decide now if the benefits of a G tube (one that goes straight into her stomach) outweigh the risks.
Additionally, Meg has a yeast and urinary tract infection. These past few days you can just see the fatigue and depression and weariness in her face. She's not smiling much these past few days. She seems to be holding her urine, too. I'm sure at some point we're going to have to do a bladder scan to see what is going on. I'm worried about her kidneys.
I've fallen apart this week. I'm devastated and heartbroken and bone-weary. I want to take on her suffering. I can't stop crying. I broke down in front of Maddy and Ethan last night. For ten minutes, I couldn't pull myself off the bedroom floor. I just sobbed. I didn't want them to find me, but they did. Madison draped herself over me and Ethan stroked my hair. I tried to pull myself together, but I couldn't. I couldn't.
I don't feel equipped to handle the decisions that we are required to make. I don't want to be strong. I don't want to do this any more. And I'm not sorry that I'm sharing this. Watching your child suffer from a life-threatening illness is an intensely personal journey and whatever I'm feeling at the moment is my truth and it's valid.
And my faith in God during all of this? I would be lying if I didn't admit to questioning the reason behind all of this. I question why the Lord is letting His child suffer. I can't see the bigger picture in all of this. I see my beautiful daughter suffering. I can't control a single thing about this other than my reaction. Right now, my reaction is grief. I am absolutely justified in screaming out to God in my grief. In these moments, I can't list all my blessings. I am grieving my daughter's losses. My emotions are raw, visceral.
The beautiful thing about faith is I don't need to see the bigger picture. We are suffering, but we are not alone. I know he hears me and all of our prayers. I know he will answer our prayers according to His will. My faith allows me to grieve and question intensely, because His truth is immutable.