For days…no gosh…almost 2 weeks now we’ve been telling her that she’s here to get better…that these humans are helping her feel better…that these painful procedures and masked strangers are making her better…all the while she’s not getting better. Day one…she couldn’t walk steadily on her own. Day ten…she couldn’t breathe on her own. That doesn’t sound like progress and I can imagine it hasn’t felt that way to her. I have this visual that the next time I stroke her and softly say “you’re doing great, this is going to make you feel better.” she’s going to rip the tube out of her throat and call “BULLSHIT”.
Just when I start to think that way…when I start to let myself imagine her frustration, angst or impatience I realize that it isn’t hers but my own. Not to say that she doesn’t have it but she’s just a better person than I am…than you too. We all kind of suck in comparison. She knows more than we do…the pain that we noticed weeks ago has likely been building in her for months. She is so in tune with her body, so open to enduring the discomfort of treatments and tools because she knows it’s necessary. It’s unreal. She’s like a super human…a tiny super human trapped in a body attacking itself. It’s Riley vs Riley in there and both of those little shits are stubborn. Who wins that war? Never mind…I know the answer. Our Riley does because the fight to stay is always greater than the fight to leave. Our Riley does because the hands that fixed her once are on her again and more determined than ever. Our Riley does because I refuse to have it any other way and who do you think she got her stubbornness from.
Our Riley is resting…has been all day and when she wakes she won’t move mountains she’ll climb them. Over and over.
Rest Riley Rest.