Mother's Pain

On Wednesday, I will take Jackson for his Kindergarten well check and immunizations. As he is being poked, I undoubtedly will feel a pang of pain that will remind me of his first shots as an infant. All mothers, for generations and in every part of the world, know exactly what I am speaking of. That first time you see your precious baby experiencing pain, sets off an emotion within you that is unlike anything you have ever known. It is human nature; for goodness sake, it is animal instinct. For most, you rarely have to experience that horrible mother's-pain that comes from watching your child suffer. For others, it has been part of your life for years. Either way, any mother knows the feeling that can make your heart race, your chest hurt, and the conscious effort you must make not to rip your child from the grasp of whatever causes suffering.

Over the years with Elizabeth, I find myself experiencing that horrible feeling less at times when I normally would have. I assume it is part of the function of our wonderful brains- to get through what feels too painful, we can shut down so that pain is not so great that we cannot function. If I had the same mother's-pain each time I watched my sweet girl experience a needle, a procedure, a bit of suffering, I would not be able to help her get through this all as I know she must. I need to protect her, and I feel that instinct of course, but I know that part of protecting her is allowing these painful things to happen to her so that she will get well.
Sometimes, though, it is a simple thing that gets me.
For Liz, dressing changes are painful. Having the tape ripped from her very sensitive, rash covered skin is something that makes her wince and cry. She is so tough and endures many things without tears, but wound care and dressing changes are awful for her. And for me, I feel that mother-pain each time and it is all I can do to keep myself from pushing the nurse's hands away. As Liz cries that she is "done with all of this!", it is all I can do to not declare the same on her behalf.
So often, when Elizabeth is being poked, scoped, prodded, or is sick and she is at the end of her tolerance with it all, she will say to me "How can you let them do this to me? You don't know how much it hurts."
I remind myself though that one day, when she has her own precious child and experiences mother's-pain, she will see that I know exactly how much it hurts, and that I am suffering along for her.