Joy & Pain

As a mother, I never thought I would experience something that brought me as much joy as the first time I got to hold our boys. Today, I realized that when one of those boys is given a second chance at life, and he opens his eyes and whispers "Hi", overwhelming joy is the feeling you're hit with.

I'm going to be brutally honest in this post, because I feel you're all here for the truth. Today was an absolute blessing, and also the beginning of the real struggle. Now that Tristan is awake, he has been hit with the full force of his pain. And, even with the pain and anti-nausea meds still flowing, managing his pain and nausea wasn't successful.

Tristan has a concussion from the impact which, paired with the orbital fracture, is causing eye pain and sensitivity to light and noise; both of which are provided in spades in any hospital. It turns out he also has five broken ribs - not two - so every time he dry heaves it increases his pain exponentially. He complained about the stomach pain which is both from losing half his liver and from them having to cut through the abdominal muscles from his sternum to his pelvis. His leg is also in severe pain from the intramedullary rod and screws that are now holding his femur together. When the nurse or I would ask which part of his body hurt the worst his response was "all of it".

Joy and pain, wins and losses, highs and lows. The beauty is that Tristan is still here and able to feel that pain. The tragedy is that his pain is so immense he asked me numerous times to kill him and put an end to it. The gift is that his short term memory is non-existent so hopefully he won't remember the worst of it.

We went through the same conversation repeatedly for five hours every time he dozed off and woke back up (I had to wait in line for an hour to get into the hospital):

Me: Hi Honey

Tristan: Hi. What's going on?

Me: You're in the hospital because you were in a terrible wreck on your motorcycle.

Tristan: I was??

Me: Yes, you don't remember?

Tristan: I don't remember anything. The pain is so effing bad.

Me: I know hon, but the doctors are giving you everything they can to help you. It will get better.

Tristan: Just kill me and end it.

I've never experienced the type of pain I did when my child asked me to end a life that had just been given back to him because of how much pain he's in. And God knows I'd take that pain from him if I could.

We pray that tomorrow will be better. He's been extubated, is able to swallow pain medication, and will be moved from the ICU to Acute Care tomorrow. I'll be in line at 11:30 tomorrow so I can have the full six hours with him, and I'll tell him the story of where he is and why as many times as I need to.