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Originally Posted by milliecorrales Early this moring, my eldest daughter who is living with me,(supposedly temporary for three months, it has been 19) wakes me up at 3:00 am ....... As I was getting ready to take him to emergency, my daughter tells me that when she got home early this morning that he and Garrett had gotten ahold of her ibuprofen (Sp) and tore open the bottle, but she did not feel that they had ingested any......... Please pray for my boy. This is breaking my heart, and I cannot even look at my own daughter. |
Milliecorrales, First please know that you and your furbaby are in my prayers and thoughts. I'm sorry for your pain, and all you can do right now is to believe in miracles and hope and know that your love for him will be a lot in what helps to pull him through this. He knows how much he is loved and he will fight to stay with you through this.
But I want to tell you something about the last sentence in your post. My second son is now 26 years old. A half of his lifetime ago, at age 13 my oldest son obtained a gun, a 44magnum loaded with hollow points from friends who had stolen it out of an unlocked truck.
Being kids, and teenagers at that, while I was at work they were playing with this gun, unknown to me that it even existed and my oldest son pointed it at my second son, his brother and told him, "if he moved again he'd pop a cap in his azz." My second son moved and my oldest son shot him. This all happened from what I understand in a matter of seconds. The bullet hit my son in the upper left shoulder in the back, went up through his neck missing his spine by 1/8 of an inch entered his head, blowing out the whole back of his head and neck and then exited his right ear. He lost half the blood in his body within minutes of the shooting and crawled to the front porch when he came to, trying to get help. My oldest son sat on the couch with the gun still in his hand in a state of shock. You see, they emptied the cylinder, but the gun was notorious for holding a bullet in the chamber. He honestly thought the gun was unloaded when he pulled the trigger.
When I got the call on the job, (welder in an oil refinery) I raced to the hospital, and got there just before they took my son into the first surgery. They let me in to see him, but since he didn't know how badly he was hurt they said I couldn't show any emotion since he could crash at any minute. I went into the room, and my heart broke. I didn't recognize my son, his face was swollen to twice the size, blood was dripping off the bed and from the packing that his head was laying on, but he was conscious and he was crying and begging me not to let him die. Well I started crying, and of course he crashed almost immediately and rushed him into the first of many surgeries that would put him back together again. When they took him into surgery my oldest son was standing there by the elevators in the hospital, with is arms folded across his chest in open definance because he knew me well enough to know I was going to lash out at him, and scream at him that it was all his fault, and I couldn't even stand the sight of him while my other son was possibly dying.
But for the first time in my life I knew what love was, and I put my arms around my oldest son and I whispered in his ear whether Stephen lived or died I still loved him, and my oldest son broke down and cried like a baby. I think God touched my heart and gave me the chance to save 2 of my sons that night. One from a bullet and the other from the anger and self beating that was raging inside of him. I finally knew what love was. And it took that night and those events to teach it to me. But what I learned was love is unconditional and ever forgiving. My son lived and has no physical impairment whatsoever from this shooting, nada, nothing only a scar and a horrendous scar to be truthful about it. My oldest son since lives with the guilt and memory of pulling that trigger. He will probably live with that the rest of his life. Sometimes, still to this day they talk about it between themselves. I don't interfer, this is something that they share as siblings, and it is personal and between only them.
Remember, she is your baby too, just a little bigger, and certainly a lot more careless than your furbaby is. I hope that you can appreciate that I told you this story, and it is a story I seldom tell since the memories of it are still as new to me as if it happened only yesterday, so that you will understand that she is as important, even in your anger, or fear for your furchild as he is right now. Hugs to you in your saddness.