The pharmaceutical cauldron being pumped into Forrest multiple times a day is starting to take its toll. It is doing what it should, and for that, I am grateful. But I barely recognize my little boy.
Overnight he has ballooned with rolly polly chipmunk cheeks and a huge distended belly that peeks out under his now-too-small clothing. His tastebuds have done a 180 shocking even himself when the treats he has always held most dear end up tasteless and discarded. He is emotional without cause and then so frustrated that he can't stop crying. Pain and general discomfort alternate erratically, and my momma's heart is in a million pieces today as he looks at me through the tears in utter angst and confusion not wanting to be touched but needing me close.
His little body, his emotions, his sense of control and understanding of who he is, is all under attack right now. He feels it on all levels. And the worst part? I can do nothing but give him more of all that is making it so. Cancer is a bi***. Pediatric cancer? undefinable. So, not gonna lie. I don't feel strong today. I have felt a supernatural strength holding me up for so much of these last few weeks, but today? I don't know where it is today. So I cling to my little boy and I lean in to the promise in Isaiah 41: "Fear not, for I am with you. Be not dismayed for I am your God. I will strengthen you; I will help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." Lean in with me, will you? ❤️
