Six weeks ago, I made this post about my son, Joshua, and the hormone shots he was about to receive. Over the past month and a half, many of our good friends have asked about how our little guy is doing, how he’s handling the shots, etc. Overall, things have been going well; our “pod” (the name for the device that gives the shot) has become part of our nightly ritual. We’ve even noticed that Joshua has grown a little over a quarter of an inch in the last six weeks.
But tonight was a personal victory for us.
I knew this day would come; I just didn’t know when it would be.
Tonight I stuck Joshua’s little leg for the 39th time.
Tonight was the first night he didn’t cry.
Not one tear.
Just a slight grimace and a determined resolve to be strong and courageous one more time.
I know these stupid shots aren’t hurting any less now than they were six weeks ago. But I’m finding some comfort in the fact that Joshua is learning to deal with the pain that’s a part of his life six nights a week. He’s learning that the pain’s not so bad. He’s learning that the hurt eventually subsides and things do return to normal. He’s learning to cope and move on. In that sense, these shots are causing him to grow up in more ways than one.
Tonight, you didn’t cry, son.
Too bad the same can’t be said of your old man.