“Mommy, I think God might be coming for me!”

The other night my eldest daughter, Hannah, woke up and stumbled downstairs and sat down in the middle of the kitchen. She had been asleep for about an hour already ~ she was shaking and out of sorts. She complained of a sore throat and had a belly ache. I berated her with questions, trying to figure out what was wrong and what kind of medication would get her on her way back up to bed.

I dampened a washcloth, put it on her head and escorted her upstairs. I tried to tuck her into bed but she was so distraught ~ tossing and turning. Finally I managed to convince her to take some Tylenol. Hannah is a super healthy kid. She doesn't have many experiences with fevers and chills, so when she doesn't feel 100% she completely freaks out. She was delirious with fear as I was trying to explain to her that she probably picked up a virus and her body was killing it with the fever. I tried to quell her fears ~ told her to relax and go to sleep and then she would feel better when she woke up.

The things she said while her little mind was trying to grasp what was happening to her were cracking me up ~

“Mommy, I am not as brave as people think I am!”
“I just don’t know how much longer I can take this. I am just a CHILD, Mommy!”
“Mommy, I think God might be coming for me!”

The next morning, Hannah felt back to1 00% and we had a good laugh as I repeated to her what she had said the night before. I am so thankful that she hasn't learned how to be a good patient ~ to surrender to the pain. I was thinking back to the day after my spinal detethering ~ hooked up to a morphine pump ~ breathing through the incredible pain as I turned over in bed. Without a doubt the most painful experience in my lifetime, so far, but not one day did I shed a tear. I was focused, surrendering to the pain ~ letting it swallow me whole. Deep breath ~ hang in ~ persevere ~ get through it. I know that the sun always rises after a long, dark night of hopelessness. I have to believe it with every cell in my body ~ it's the only thing that keeps me alive. I pray that my children NEVER get comfortable with pain ~ ever.