Ocean my son. How we have grieved for your suffering and loss of joy with the onset of your diabetes. I have tried to help in anyway that I can, through comforting you, admonishing providers I thought to be careless, cruel or ill fit; smiling to soothe you and praying for you. However, my efforts have been a complete failure and it is agonizing to watch you kick, scream and cry - rightfully for what has been inflicted upon you. I have never seen someone poked with needles so many times, or screamed until they passed out and I wish I never had. Like all parents who are actually normal, I would trade places with you to spare you - though the suffering most likely would have killed me. I watched your bones be drilled for direct IVs to get you fluids, and I assure you were a friend, ever a close friend of deaths and sat upon her knee, tottering between the doors of worlds. The cruelty of many humans is only surpassed by their stupidity and ultimately, maybe briefly understood when they are in the position I am, and watched helplessly as an uncaring attendant vandalizes and rapes the joy from their loved ones – inflicted much pain, of course claiming it to be necessary and in the name of health.
You now rest safely with your mother. It is 2 AM, and we have been in the hospital cresting our third day. How can you, my son ever know joy again? How can I am unhear your screams? The drilling upon your bones, eradicate the anguish, anger, powerlessness and despair. These have been transformed into shame. Soon, if we are lucky we will take you far from this place and put you back into your home, with your toys, your dog, your cat and the other staples of your life. How I feel I have failed you! To watch you suffer in the name of what? Now you must suffer forever, as we have to administer shots and blood test multiple times a day – to an infant who can barely speak? How can you not hate me, the author of your physical being, for cursing you with the vampirish disorder that will never leave you? Even now, and again I shake as I write with the echoes of your cries, hearing more from the other children in the hall – feeling they are you and that I have to standby and watch them scream to no end. Many have no parents to comfort them – May I always try to give comfort to you, my only son and joy! I am so sorry and love you more than life itself,
Dad
~Scott Sandvig 3.23.16~
