side of guilt
While I was feeling the pressure,
Of being responsible for his movement therapy regime,
The medication battle continued.
Stopping and starting,
Adjusting and increasing doses.
And to add to my despair,
Isaac isn’t gaining weight.
Mothers guilt was loaded high,
As I wade through the mud,
Of life with a special needs baby.
And feeding clinics,
Were of little help,
He is seldom interested in food,
Barely feeds by breast.
Leaving me to stomach a side of guilt at feeding times,
In desperate attempt to give him nourishment.
Sickened by medication,
The specialist concludes.
The predicament of seizures versus an appetite.
Left me helpless for the umpteenth time,
For really there was no choice,
He needed medication.
As every weaning attempt brought on seizure activity.
The episodes in themselves are worrying enough,
Distressing in their reality,
The shock to his tiny system,
Of each attack,
However visibly great or small,
Left its mark.
Unraveling his gains in Feldenkrais,
Tensing him up,
It was a recurring punishment,
For which he did no crime.
Heartbreaking to witness,
Such hard work,
Taken away in a flash.
So add another serving of guilt,
For the feeling of dread I muster,
At starting again from scratch.
The mud thicker to navigate,
With every setback.