i hope it’s worth it

by thankfeldenkrais

Two days shy of three years and three months old,
With him cradled in my arms,
Holding my breath against the pungent disinfectant,
Nerves shaking me,
Sweat building upon my brow,
We walk towards the gut twisting unknown of Botox injections.

The hospital lights rude in their glare,
Uninviting in their glow,
And I know I don’t want to be here,
But the temptation of a quick-fix all too powerful,
Pulling us with force into a whole new world.

The what-ifs sit far too heavy on my shoulders to shake,
And now so commonplace among the CP world,
Is the muscle relaxant,
I was lost to its lure,
But not immune to its daunt.

And certainly not resistant to the trauma of bringing my baby,
Back to hospital,
Now that he is well enough to be rid of it.

I’m sickened by the fear,
The unknown mounted upon greater unknown,
Compounding all our indecision,
Leaving me trembling in doubt,
In paranoia,
In disbelief,
At how unfair the life was that’s being thrown at Isaac,
The questionable right decision for him,
Leaves a multitude of replies,
None of which able to answer conclusively affirmative.

My lifeline as always,
Comes after great debate with our Feldenkrais practitioner,
Who finds good reason for the intervention –
To allow the antagonist muscles the opportunity to contract.
So dominant are his hamstrings,
That his quadriceps have never had the chance to truly activate.
Same goes for other muscle groups in his arms and legs,
And this might just give us the opportunity to work with Isaac to shift the bias.

But it will never be purely about lengthening his tight muscles.

The education of awareness to his body,
Will fundamentally remain key to the injections success.

And my desperation ever present,
I couldn’t argue with that,
Decision made.

The only thing left to do is hold our breath,
And jump in.

I watch him lose himself in a drug haze,
Bringing up all too raw realities of the past,
Grabbing me violently around the throat,
And so unbearable is the thought of watching needles break through his skin to his muscles,
I place my face against his,
Eye to eye,
Humming him a lullaby,
To sooth his pained face,
Until it’s over,
And scoop him up to safety,
Exhale the breath held in my chest,
And wait for my baby to return to me through the Midazolam fog.

And all I can think is,
I hope it’s worth it.