He’s come to hate it.
Well, maybe not it. It is necessary. It saves untold lives through prevention.
He’s seen the results of it not happening. He’s seen the little chests that don’t rise in breath anymore. He’s held the dead weight.
That is the most terrifying.
However, for whatever reason, he’s come to hate the experience of obtaining That Which Is Necessary.
He takes the little version of himself in. The Little One is having fun, spending time with dad.
The Little One gets to meet the nice nurse and doctor. They play with him. Shine a light on his hand. The Little One is having a grand time.
Next, is a lull. As the doctor turns to leave, he says the nurse will be right back. The dad and The Little One play with the toys supplied by the office.
And then, the nurse comes back in with her cargo.
There they are, lying on the table. Five plastic syringe tipped packages, full of That Which Is Necessary.
The nurse looks at the dad knowingly. She asks him to hold The Little One’s hands and head. Then she says that the best way is just to gently press your chest against The Little One’s upper half, as she holds down the legs.
Five Penetrations. Five Points of Pain.
The Little One, wondering why his dad let the nurse hurt him.
Is the pain qualitatively necessary?
The dad doesn’t know. The dad doesn’t care.
He just wants The Little One to stop hurting. He just wishes he could take The Little One’s pain unto himself.