I Hate Botox Day

I hate botox day.  Ellie had 18 shots today.  They chose six sites: groin, hamstrings, calves.  Six sites, three injections per site, 18 total injections.  And they hurt like a sonuvagun.  We've always been honest with her, the doctor and I, since she was two and a half and started these - no one says, "Little stick," or "little sting," or "this won't hurt," or "just a shot," we just tell her when it's almost over and count them down, usually when only three are left.

She's so brave.  I hold her top half while the doctor sticks the bottom half.  She just lays her head on my arm and cries.  She doesn't fight or stuggle, and the doctor says she's the best and bravest he's got.  We always do something fun afterwards, something Ellie enjoys.

Usually we go to the zoo and visit the polar bears - her favorites - or the museum.  I talk to her about what we're going to do while she cries.  Today's appointment was too late to go to the usual, so we went to visit the parakeets, which means we went to her favorite little pet store.  So there I was, talking about how the parakeets would chirp when they saw her, and what pretty colors they were, and how we could buy them some treats to make the visit extra special, while she cried and endured 18 shots.  Afterwards, she stops crying as soon as we put her pants back on.  Then she knows it's really over.  I don't cry during the procedure.  I do that later, when the kids are asleep - like now.

It's not fair.  Mommies are supposed to protect their babies, not hold them while someone else hurts them!  It's so hard.  We do this every 3-4 months.  It really tears me up inside, shreds my heart and soul.

Why?  Why my precious little girl?  Why does she have to go through this?  Why did she have to get hurt?  Why would God do that to a precious, innocent little newborn baby? Why us?  WHY?  Why, d----it!  I want an answer!  I want someone to blame!  I want a target!  I want someone to fix it!  I want to go back in time and save her, to make it never be, to make her whole and healthy and safe.

On August 1, 2002, I had a perfect, precious, healthy little baby girl in my tummy.  She was so active, always stretching and pushing inside me, rolling over, perfect (I know, because Marty felt the same way, active, perfect, Neurotypical).  On August 2, 2002, I had a precious, beautiful baby girl who was born still, because of a doctor who meant well but was too inexperienced, and that doctor revived her while he cried and prayed over her.  On August 2, 2002, two spots, the size of dimes, in my precious baby's brain died, but she lived.  On August 2, 2002, my active, perfect, precious, healthy little baby girl was now an infant with a traumatic, and permanent, brain injury.  Why?  Why will she have to suffer for the rest of her life?  Why Ellie?  Why us?

All the time I hear and read about other people's children who have traumatic brain injuries, but their little brains "re-wire" themselves, they heal, the brain forges new neural pathways.  Why can't Ellie's?  Why can't the doctors explain how that happens?  Why can't they tell me how to encourage her brain to heal?  A special diet, a special exercise, heck - a special surgery.  Why can't they make it better?!  Just in case, JUST in case someone comes up with a way using stem cells, we had Marty's umbilical cord blood stored.  We have Socially Acceptable Stem Cells, just in case.

It isn't fair!  Why does my girl have to suffer?  D----it!  D--n it all!  I hate botox day!  I hate CP!  I hate Autism!  I HATE ALL OF IT!

Having to see her go through this, the pain, the lack of understanding why, the wondering what goes through her head about it, it rips me to pieces inside.  Does she think she's being punished for something?  Does she think Mommy is betraying her?  Does she understand why we do this?  I always tell her it will help her walk and climb so much easier for a long time, months - but I never know how much gets into her little head and sticks.

I wish I could go through it for her.  I wish there was some way I could endure the pain for her, and her reap all the benefits.  If God looked down today and said, "I will heal her if you will take on all her pain, her CP, her Autism," I would shout, "Yes!" and throw open my arms to receive it.  I would take it, and joyfully, to see her whole and healthy.

Why can't it work that way?  Why can't we have magic and miracles?  Or heck, why can't we have the science?

It makes me want to hurt myself, to share in her pain.  I want to cut my skin and watch the blood well out, so I can feel it.  I feel like my soul is full of impotent rage, and pain, and venom, and maybe cutting my skin is the only way to leech it out, to give it an outlet before I explode.  I want to cut and cut and cut, until it's all out of me, all the hurt and rage and poison inside, so I can share in what she went through.  But I can't.  I'm too "healthy" for that, which is a way of saying I'm too old to indulge myself in a burst of Emo.

I hate it.  I hate it all.  I hate it.  Forget being brave.  Forget being the perfect Mommy.  Forget "being thankful for what you have."  Forget all of it.  THIS STINKS!  This stinks like rotten broccoli!  MY CHILD SHOULD NOT BE HURT!!!  Not my sweet baby.  Not my precious little girl.  NOT HER!!!

D--N IT ALL!  D--N IT ALL TO H--L!  I HATE IT!!!