Wesley thought it was ironic.
I had preached and preached to him about being careful when going up and down the stairs. Though he hadn't said so aloud, he had been really annoyed with me treating him like a child. He had taken great care during his entire life to stay as healthy as possible, and so hadn't thought he would have to deal with his body weakening that much. It had begun to hurt constantly moving between the floors, but not bad enough to where he felt he had had to heed my warnings. He would show me he was right, was what he had thought. Now here he was in the hospital. Wesley had only fallen down a few steps. It could have been much worse, but all the tumble had accomplished was momentarily knocking him out and giving him a slight fracture in his right tibia. We should have been able to go home that same day.
Yet we couldn't. Wesley had to stay at the hospital for much longer than any of us wanted. The scans they had taken when checking for injuries due to Wesley's fall had revealed something else. Masses were growing inside him. They were small and pre-cancerous, but there was a lot of them. Multiple surgeries had to be scheduled. Wesley had to take medicine with side-effects that caused him much pain and discomfort. It was a blessing that the masses had been caught and could be taken care of before they became a real problem, but that didn't make me feel any relief. I still had to sit in that hospital for so long everyday and slowly watch more and more of Wesley wither away. I held onto him as much as I could. Honestly, it was terrifying to touch him and feel how thin and weak he was becoming, but I still couldn't let go. Seeing him in the hospital brought thoughts to my mind that his time might really be up, and I had to reassure myself he was still right next to me fighting with everything he had.