When you just can’t eat

So it happened.  All this buildup, all this talking, all this trying and Ruby did her level best.  She just lost her appetite 2 days ago and then yesterday at weigh she was down to 19 kgs again.

The tipping point.  The tipping point into another procedure that she was terrified of no matter what anyone said about how “easy” it was.  Fair enough.  I was the one that had to be put out completely during an endoscopy last year due to abject terror and out of control behavior.   So I was NOT the one to talk positively about this because I’m sure my words did not match my feelings and when that happens for me, I feel like that person is speaking a language I can’t comprehend.  Fortunately Laura (I laugh because when it comes to Laura Scott I’m always saying things like “fortunately” and “luckily” and “ooo just in time”) was here and sat through the procedure.  We discussed talking about it before hand and so we did so.  We let Ruby shed a thousand pounds of sorrow followed by rage followed by mute anger and defeat.  Laura helped her through, showed me how to validate this and to let Ruby know that we are trying to help and is often said “the only way out is through”.

You know, I think it’s odd that as parents we are told to not show our sad feelings.  I think that’s counterproductive.  Well that’s complete shite.  I don’t think kids should be afraid of seeing their mother look a bit sad and shed a few tears.  Ruby seems to show more feelings and express more feelings when I occasionally let it slip that I’m sad for her and that I feel terribly powerless through all of this.   Today the nurse said “maybe next time you should leave the room if you can’t hold back your tears.”  And I thought wow, that’s such a carryover from our days of “parents can’t be seen to be human…the only way to maintain authority is to appear stronger.”    I’m not stronger than my kids in fact I think they are the better of me.  Not that this is any sort of bizarre competition.  Needless to say, yesterday was a very very traumatic day for Ruby and by simply being her mom, for me.

So little to control, so little I feel I can affect or contribute to.

The good news is, with the feeding tube, Ruby asked for dinner (the wonderful Shepard’s pie Brian had made and brought as well as the apple crisp) and ate a whole serving of each.  She felt better later that night, less defeated.

We all just want to run out of here.  We all just want to go home.  To our snowy (well maybe less so since the latest chinook) home with our wood stove, our ever expanding dog and cuddly Precious the cat.

Here we are not even halfway.  Not even halfway and my child is at this point.  Day by day, sometimes minute by minute.  Filling the space where fear dwells with love and light and green green trees.

Much love to you all, Image


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