Fieldset
Mother’s Love, Sorghum Porridge and Lazarus
A mother sits by her son?s side. He lies beside her, paraplegic from spinal TB, large pressure sores on his hips and knees, painful contractures of his legs. She carefully tends to him, feeding him, worrying. He is her only child.
A mother sits by her son?s side. He lies beside her, paraplegic from spinal TB, large pressure sores on his hips and knees, painful contractures of his legs. She carefully tends to him, feeding him, worrying. He is her only child. One night he is found unconscious and feverish. We resuscitate him with IV fluids and give him antibiotics for infection. He starts to seize, and we stop his seizures with diazepam. We cool his hot skin with towels. His heart is beating  rapidly and looks as if it will burst through his chest.
 
I am not expecting him to survive the night. Amazingly, he is still alive the next morning, conscious and eating. His mother is still at his side, spooning a thick gruel of sorghum porridge into his mouth.
 
He is like Lazarus