suffering tender_square "your suffering needs to be respected. don't try to ignore the hurt, because it is real. just let the hurt soften you instead of hardening you. let the hurt open you instead of closing you. let the hurt send you looking for those who will accept you instead of hiding from those who reject you." —bryant mcgill 221227 ... ovenbird A medical degree should probably be a requirement for becoming a parent. Especially these days when getting in to see a doctor in a timely fashion is nearly impossible. But I don’t have a medical degree, which means that all I can do in response to my children’s confusing health events is google things and have intrusive_thoughts. As things stand, one of my children is grappling with debilitating anxiety, the other is covered in hives with no apparent cause. The one with hives is complaining that it hurts to take a deep breath and I can’t decide if this warrants a trip to urgent care. Maybe it’s just a virus? Maybe it will resolve on its own? I google antihistamine doses. I try to figure out if I can mix two different kinds. (I can’t) Will a topical steroid help? (Maybe) Will ibuprofen help? (No) Tylenol? (Maybe) Parenting is often an exercise in helplessness. I watch welts rise on my child’s skin, injuries inflicted from the inside, pain arising from an overactive immune system that is running around attacking things like some crazed Don_Quixote. There’s nothing I can do but wait. I have no answers, no cure, no comfort to offer. I am so often at the mercy of invisible tyrants–suffering in a thousand shifting forms, visiting again, uninvited and unwelcome. I set the table. I sit down. I sigh. I pull out a chair and gesture with resignation towards the empty seat. Suffering joins me for lunch. 251105 what's it to you? who go blather from