If you were standing next to Mary when this pathetic photo was taken, you'd have felt heat rising like steam from out of her skin. It's been a nauseating week, full of sleepless nights, doctor visits, lukewarm baths and medication. This afternoon her raging fever spiked to 105.9 degrees; in all my days of mothering I'd seen nothing like it. There's a battle taking place between her multiplying white blood cells and an enemy I can't see, or dispel with my anxiousness. So I try to quiet the voices that would have me believe this is in my hands or the nurse's hands or in the hands of the pharmacist adding cherry flavor to the antiobiotics she will suck from a dropper every twenty-fours hours, between doses of Tylenol. I will watch and pray and refuse to gauge the legitimacy of my faith by the fear that increases and decreases with Mary's fluctuating temperature. "Into Thy hands, O Lord Jesus Christ, I commend her spirit and her body. Bless us, save us, and grant us eternal life. Amen"
1 week ago