Living the nightmare

Sick kids is the true definition of living the nightmare.
You cannot take your focus off the pale, immobile, glazed-over little being, which is the most precious thing in your life. It looks as if a force greater than you is gradually sipping at their soul and strength. You know it won't stop till your child is fully drained. And you are so absolutely powerless to do anything about it.
Your head is only filled with questions of what to do for them. Doctor again? A different doctor? Hospital? Water, inhaler, Panadol?
You can't see past right now: Their face, their fright, their pain is a 360 degree canvas wrapped around your conscious.
You need something to break the dark momentum. But the hospital doctors seem as confused as you are. Moreso. The canvas grows darker and ever larger.
Then it spreads. You see the same signs in your other children, in your small, fragile baby. You plead with doctors it's going the same way but they maintain powerlessness to act until the disease makes it's mark. But by then, you know it will be too late; they too will end this fading into white hospital sheets and walls.

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