I just stood there feeling so completely helpless. My eyes began to well up with tears as I looked into the big blue eyes of my son, whose eyes were also now rimmed with teardrops. His face was bright red and contorted into a look that seemed to ask 'why are you doing this to me? What did I do wrong?'. His cries echoed in the large sparsely equipped room. I tried holding his hands that were sticking up out of the large clear plastic contraption that forced his arms over his head, but I wondered if that made it worse or better. What could he be thinking of me at this moment when I should be comforting him. Instead it must seem to him I was just a mere witness to the tortures he was enduring in his sickness. Instead of his hero, swooping in to snuggle with him, to care for him and console his ailments, I was the bringer of more pain. Putting him through countless procedures with big men in lab coats coming in and out to prod and poke him. I was the one holding him down, making it easier for the strange men to accomplish these atrocities. If only he could understand how much suffering it caused me to have to allow these procedures. If only he would realize I want more then anything to just hold him and soothe him to make it all better, by myself. If only he could forgive me for not knowing how to truly help his poor sick little body so that he could avoid all the tears and wailing and confusion our visit to the hospital has caused.
My one relief is in remembering that tomorrow this will all be forgotten; lost to his short memory span; meaningless to him when living in the present where he is happy and healthy once again.