Day 28 Night Shift
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Jazmyne's Promise
Day 28 Night Shift
Last night was the hardest night I have ever walked through.
Most nights come with challenges. We expect hard. We brace for uncomfortable. But this night… this one will be embedded into my brain forever.
It wasn’t just exhaustion.
It wasn’t just inconvenience.
It was watching my child trapped in a cycle of pain that we could not fully stop.
Many tears were shed.
Many moments of frustration.
Many whispered, repeated, faithful prayers.
For six straight hours, Jazmyne’s body shivered and screamed in pain. The level of discomfort she endured is something I have never witnessed before. Watching your child beg for relief and not being able to give it is its own kind of heartbreak.
Her pain is coming from the rash …blisters that have now opened into wounds trying to heal. Add to that the vaginal and anal discomfort pain every time she feels the urge to urinate, and the relentless, full-body itching.
The night looked like this:
We finally get her settled in bed.
Then an urgent need to get up to use the bathroom.
Quickly unplug monitors.
Roll the IV pole.
Hold her upright so she doesn’t collapse.
Make it to the toilet.
She grips my hand in agony as she pushes out a single drop of urine. Then comes the cries…the vaginal and anal burning that follows. She described it as “red ants biting me inside” If you’ve ever been bitten by a red ant, you understand the sting she’s trying to explain
Meanwhile, the monitor begins to beep loudly ..something only the nurse are allowed to silence.
Fifteen to twenty minutes just to get through one bathroom trip.
Then we gently clean Jazmyne peri area , which only aggravates the already broken skin.
Back to bed.
Then the battle with itching and burning all over again.
We tried ointments.
We tried wet towels.
We tried ice packs.
We tried pressure.
We brainstormed every medication not yet used.
Nothing touched the pain.
Once we finally pushed a morphine bolus combined with oxycodone, the edge of the pain softened just enough for Jazmyne to close her eyes.
You could see her body finally unclench.
Her breathing slow.
Exhaustion take over.
And just when it felt like she might get relief… 30 minutes later, she jolted awake with that same urgent sensation.
“I have to go.”
And the entire routine started all over again.
Unplug the monitors.
Grab the IV pole.
Hold her up.
Walk to the toilet.
Brace for the squeezing of my hand.
Brace for the cry.
Brace for the burning.
Six hours of this cycle.
Pain relief.
Thirty minutes of rest.
Urgency.
Agony.
Repeat.
Over and over again this cycle continued.
There is a helplessness that comes with watching the medication barely stay ahead of the pain. It wasn’t that we weren’t treating it, it was that her little body was fighting something so fierce that even strong medication could only quiet it briefly.It was watching Jazmyne trapped in a cycle of pain that we could not fully stop.
The night felt endless.This night wasn’t just hard.
It was traumatic.
There is something about watching your child shake, cry, and plead for relief that takes you to the edge. And yet, in between the cries, I kept praying. Not polished prayers. Not pretty prayers. Just desperate ones.
God, please make it stop.
God, please give her rest.
God, please help her body heal.
I don’t know why this part of her journey has to be so brutal. But I do know this: even in the worst night, He was there. In the nurse who stayed and brainstormed. In the strength to lift her again and again. In the breath in her lungs. In the fact that we made it through the night.
Day 28 night shift was the worst so far. Most nights come with challenges it this night was will be imbedded into my brain of what I witness my baby endure.
There was a moment in the middle of the night that will stay with me forever.
Jazmyne was squatting on the toilet, shaking, tears streaming down her face from the pain. She looked up at me and mouthed through the tears,
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
Her words caught me completely off guard.
I gently asked, “For what, baby?”
Through tears she said,
“For all of this. I’m sorry that I have leukemia and I’m in the hospital ”
There aren’t words strong enough for a moment like that.
I don’t know if there was enough reassurance in me at that second to fully convince her that she has absolutely nothing to be sorry for. No child chooses this. No child causes this. No child should ever feel responsible for the weight their illness puts on a family.
I told her, “There is no place I would rather be than right here with you..sitting on this cold tile floor at 2 a.m., holding your hand. This is exactly where I’m supposed to be. Right here with you.”
And I meant it.
Right there, in the middle of the beeping monitors, the IV pole, the exhaustion, the pain — that was the holiest place I could stand.
Right here with you is the best place ever.
Not because it isn’t hard.
But because you are here.
And I will choose this spot beside you every single time.
But morning still came.
Day 28 night shift will be embedded into my brain forever.
But as brutal as that night was… morning came.
And Day 29 presented itself with its own set of challenges.
Just when we thought we had navigated the worst of it, a new layer unfolded — one we weren’t quite prepared for.
I’ll share about Day 29-30 in my next post.
~In the Mighty Name of Jesus
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Rinska Flores