We are three months out. Just three months and the botox has stopped working.
You may have experienced this to some degree. The highs and the lows. The “fix” you have been waiting for. Subconsciously knowing the ball would drop at some point. I was so positive and absolute about this just being the cure, even though logically everybody knows botox is never a permanent fixture.
G’s belly has been riding the struggle bus for over three years now. It levels me to see him begin to hurt again. I want to scream, cry, and just withdraw within myself. This is out of my pay grade and it makes me mad! The only fix to his issue is surgical intervention. Again. Even if we went the botox route like before. “Even if” has been rigorously explored as well, trust me.
Where’s the easy button?
There is never an easy anything in the life of a special needs parent. We fight constantly for services, therapists, supplies, and so on. We fight knowing that tomorrow, the gloves go right back on. Most days, we annihilate whatever comes in our direction, simultaneously making dinner and doing laundry. Then there are the days that the gloves just aren’t enough. Our arms grow heavy. The hits that are lined up really do real damage, and they seem to have an unhealthy endurance. The battle is emotional, not just external.
Some battles extend beyond our reach, and those are the ones that are most difficult to manage. The concept of acceptance and understanding of an unfair diagnosis. Not easy. The reality that mortality is always whispering “when & what if” in our ears. Not easy. Those days I feel the defeating blows. Those days are frankly, just hard. Not easy.
When your love outweighs all the rest, it seems like that should be enough.
When your efforts outshine every other thing in your life, that should be enough.
I write this in knowing I am not alone. Many have described far harder journeys. We hold each other up by means of prayers and encouraging posts or thoughts. We know that the ring will present with a new contender after the current battle is won. Some rounds seem longer than others. Different impacts, different directions.
However, the aches that our hearts feel are minuscule compared to the triumphs and joys we are privy to witness in the lives of our children. So we always get back up. The “Rocky’s” of special needs parenting. Accepting no defeat, even if growing weary, beat down or blurry eyed from tears.
Botox won’t be the cure today.
He needs me, despite myself.
So, gloves up…