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Pacemaker in a four year old?

Posted on January 22nd, 2016

Pacemaker in a four year old? Are you kidding me?

He’s seen surgery more times than any type of “yeah that’s fair” protocol would let fall through the approval process in God’s corner office of “Justness Affairs”. I swear more times than I care to admit but shit, really? WTF! He’s never had a single breath free from internal opposition! But I digress…

Pacemaker in a four year old? Are you kidding me?

Some over confident SOB walks free from responsibility to my tiny human son harmed multiple times over because that S…O…asshole chose not to disclose one sentence worth of info? Thus, weeks later, the moment my son’s cellular concepts began to dance, any chance of a typical choreography was already lost. Instead, Circumstance struck up a tune, pranced around and sang about about folic acid having turned rancid destroying all plans that, could have been. But again I digress…

Pacemaker in a four year old? Are you kidding me?

“Oh but you’re so blessed.”  Don’t even! I know I’m “blessed” but not by some messed up version, bereft of real life claws in flesh enmeshed with disease none of your prosperity based bullshit could ever survive. This right here, my pretend friend, is nothing you could even dream to withstand! Your pussified, faith on my side, God’s got this, magic show, quote and go, thin veneer of a bulwark would melt in one point five seconds if real life shit waves surged against your white washed walls. I don’t mean any disrespect, but please hold your sanctified, feel good bromides deep inside while you stand there uncomfortably trying to figure out how to quickly wipe this reality aside so you and I can feel better. There is no “feel better” here, but a daily deep dig seeking glitter among the gloom. But yes I digress…

Pacemaker in a four year old? Are you kidding me?

Text comes through, “Had to give diastat for seizure activity”. My tears flow deep inside, falling upon this system recently installed, now steering floods into healthy locales that lift me into proper places prepared to battle these invisible things that wage war against my seed. I bleed in need of something that can keep this mess of deliveries we receive day after day at bay. But no way will I ever quit. I grab weapons of my warfare and gird up again minute by minute in order to support these three beautiful beings I am lucky enough to call my children. Bomb blasts shock my senses, pacemakers wait, shunts drain, fires blaze, g-tubes feed, ventilators breath, suction catheters clean, seven million syringes seep sallow fluids and my little man sits up again playing while saying, “Daddy, I love you.” Whew…Stop…Truth… May I digress less and invest every expense into L. O. V. E. for my three, me, and the world we seed day after day.

Pacemaker in a four year old. Deep sigh.

I truly cherish the anger inside me. It screams, weeps, and strives to support this magnificent connection keeping us alive, eternally. “Son, I love you too.”


As a parent of a little fighter I have to strive every day to keep myself from digressing into wasteful, “woe is me” mindsets. Although my angry digressions are probably justified they do not feed the energies that bring life and love to myself, my children, or the people around me. So, I work to remain focused on that which is most important…LOVE.

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