lost in the emaciation
As the days post surgery slug by at an excruciating crawl,
Isaac becomes more a shadow of his former self with each passing day.
He refuses to eat from pain,
He is took weak to roll,
Or move independently at all.
He is a wash of grey,
What little muscle he had has withered,
His fine covering of chubby flesh reduced to skin and bone.
I am shocked and broken by the response,
For someone slowly climbing the ladder to self sufficiency,
This set back is monumental.
And to see the cheery sunlight be sucked from his bright face,
And be replaced by angst,
And severe discomfort,
Makes it all so much harder to witness.
He barely makes a sound apart from cries of agony,
His beginners babble and chit chat lost in the emaciation.
We do all we can to syringe chicken broth into his mouth,
Sips of water and hydralite,
But it’s grueling,
And while we know the lack of sustenance is contributing to the wasting,
His refusal is as fierce,
As it is heartbreaking,
And we are helpless against it.
We have to allow him time,
Place the cool washer upon his brow,
Apply cream to his cracking lips,
And hold him close in the ergo carrier,
Like when he was a baby.
For as long as it take,
Until the pain subsides,
A smile is back across his beautiful face,
Before we can assess where he is at physically,
After what has proven to be a much greater ordeal than we bargained for.