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My beautiful, healthy baby boy
Is no longer a baby.
He’s a teen.
My beautiful, healthy teenage boy
Is no longer perfectly healthy
We sit now with words and knowledge
We can’t unlearn
No matter how much we wish we could.

Words loom before us like congenital.
Surgery.
Scary words for a child with no previous medical conditions.
A world of doctors, surgeries, revolving doors
Fears.

And we’re the lucky ones here.

What essentially may add up to nothing more than a lifelong inconvenience
Means he still has his life.
Others here… I know will not get that luxury.

We are the lucky ones.

I can’t unlearn
I can’t kiss this booboo and make it all better
I can’t do anything but offer encouragement and let the medicine (wo)men do their work.

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