Saturday, March 24, 2012

The Silent Scream

I don't forget. It's the silent scream that haunts me. Dr. Nameless, do you hear the silent scream? It is not a sound that anyone can hear. The head is pulled back, the mouth is ajar, and it breathes no breath. It just cringes in extreme pain. I have seen it. I can still hear it. I have pointed it out. And they think I am just the mother. I am his voice, and my voice doesn't count. How could a mother really know?

It's the pain that comes out of the mouth of a damaged child. It is the agony that is felt without a sound. It is not imagination, and it is not hard to see.

That's the scream that comes from the face that knows out of experience that no one will hear. So, what's the use of making noise. It's from a manchild who had no words to express what he felt, and the doctor was so glad not to have to listen to it. Where is the doctor that still has the awareness to see the silent pain? As I describe it, it could be called blood curdling. But does anyone register this? Maybe he actually sees the scream, but doctor would rather experiment.

The doctor bends the leg to check on the range of motion. Oh, and he was hoping to get a sound out of Erik so he could hear a reaction. Maybe he would then know how far the hip could go before it went out of joint. But there was no noise coming from those lips, and the x-ray would have shown that the ball of the femur was disintegrating during the unhinging of the joint. The doctor was listening and he did not see the silent scream at all. That scream comes from my autistic Vitamin D deficient son who knew that he would never walk again.

The gastroenterologist didn't see it either, nor did the kidney specialist, nor the generalist. They never really looked at the object in front of them. The object is now dead. And now will anyone remember? No, because nobody saw. Nobody heard the silent scream.


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