By this time, the nauseousness had subsided but my daughter's appetite had not recovered, and some more IV lines were attached to the pump. Her pain still persisted. In fact, the most memorable moment of Christmas would be the experience of witnessing my daughter, usually stoic in the face of pain, writhing in agony for 3 hours after midnight in the dark hospital bed. The morphine had not helped. Tears streamed down her cheeks, legs kicked about, her body contorted as she repeated the words, "it hurts... it hurts... owe-ee! owe-ee!" And I will never forget the feeling of utter helplessness as my eyes met hers, her gaze desperately begging me to take the pain away. Without hesitation I would have, but all I could do was hold her hand and cry with her. Yet at the height of her misery she would plead, "daddy, pray for me!" She would be the one reminding me of the One who was journeying with us... and whose presence we were to be celebrating on Christmas day.
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