The Sore Truth

There are so many things that are unfair in this life. This evening we discovered what (at this point) we’re assuming is a pressure sore on Hayden’s back. He’s never had any pressure sores any where so this is a brand new experience for us. Something that’s not a new experience, though, is my brain going straight to the worst case scenario. It’s unfair that my brain has a learned habit of immediately running through “what if” scenarios. My son is nine. How is this fair?

In this particular situation, I have no idea how this process will go, as this is our first true pressure sore. Which that alone, I should consider a blessing because so many in our “circle” constantly deal with skin breakdown issues. Hayden doesn’t mind the sore at all. He can’t feel his back. Which there again, I can see through the lens of being a blessing. The same way it’s a blessing he can’t feel his feet and is able to get lab draws and IVs placed there and it is pain free to him. I guess it’s all in how you look at the world. At this moment, he’s clueless about his back. I had to show him the photos I kept taking to even explain what it was I was talking about. He was too busy running a feisty FaceBook Live event to even be bothered by slowing down to worry with his back.

And that right there is what is so frustrating. His mind and his spirit are just fine and fired up, but his poor body just struggles in so, so many areas. Nutrition. Bowel/bladder. Scoliosis. Dislocated hips. Paralyzed. Apnea. Etc. All of these physical ailments that aren’t WHO he is, they’re just things our bodies need to function. WHO he is is a happy, hilarious, joyful, loving, quirky nine year old. And most days, I am so wrapped up in his personality and his laughter that I can take for granted and overlook all of those other areas that we deal with. Most people see him and their initial reaction is to ask if he’ll ever walk. Walking is the least of my worries for him. But I get it. I was there, too, when I first found out about his spina bifida. The thought of my child not walking just destroyed me. But now, that’s not even on my radar. Because, as I mentioned earlier, the focus changed and now my radar is filled with pulse oximeters, stethoscopes, ventilators, and beginning tonight, marking the size of pressure sores and hoping to God they don’t become infected or break down even more.

Some days it truly feels like we’re just holding Humpty Dumpty together with a roll of duct tape and a prayer. But isn’t that the same for all of us? We’re all broken, hot messes. Except most of us aren’t broken on the outside. The gift of Hayden is, though his brokenness is in his body, his spirit is whole and he’s taught me infinite lessons of love. No matter how this thing shakes out this side of heaven, I know that one day, his redeemed body is going to be nearly as beautiful as the One who heals it.

4 thoughts on “The Sore Truth

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