I keep being reminded of how lucky we are.
Yesterday, I picked up my son from school only to be told that I needed to go visit his teacher. My son the seven year old with amazing articulation skills and a compassionate nature that I find compelling and inexplicable had apparently had what he called a "discussion" with one of his classmates when said classmate stole an eraser. Except what my son called a "discussion", the math teacher called "Rolling around on the floor and shouting at each other". Oops. I am never a fan of walking into a landmine, but this seemed huge to me. What could provoke my sweet and thoughtful M to do such a thing? We talked it out and discussed alternate ways to handle conflict and even came up with a plan to write a letter of apology to the math teacher.
When we returned home, M was walking funny and complaining about his groin area. I figured it was a way to get out of writing the note, but he was enthusiastic about the letter as well, so something didn't jive there. I called his primary doctor to discuss and was told that they wouldn't be able to see M for a week. They advised us to go to urgent care, where-to make a long story short-the doctor did a quick exam and then told us to go straight to the local Children's Hospital post haste...
..Where they didn't think it was what the Urgent Care dr thought it was, but then did more tests and determined that it could possibly be what the UCDr thought it might be, or it could be option B, C or D-which didn't matter because all of these choices still ended with the same kind of surgery.
Talk about sending your head spinning.
I watched the screen intently, looking for differences, noting that one part of his body looked like a kaleidoscope and the exact same part of his body-on the other side-was clear. However I had to leave for a show before my son was finished with his ultrasound. So, I collected myself and successfully made it outside of the room without crying, even though every fiber of my mommy being desperately wanted to stay. I wandered around for a minute before being asked if I needed help by what looked like a doctor just coming in to do his shift. I shook my head and realized that the water that landed on my hand was coming from my eyes. Shit, I was crying in public.
Made it to my show in one piece. Started unloading my equipment in the rain and thought, take off your crocs and put on a pair of real shoes before you slip. Slipped mid-that-thought. Sat in the puddle for a minute laughing until somebody asked why I was crying. Started wondering why I couldn't feel my facial functions...
Thankfully I'm surrounded by wonderful people who let me go just as I was getting the phone call that my son indeed did need surgery.
Which was done. He's fine. This problem that he's had for weeks and possibly months will never happen again.
And just as I start to feel like I'm tired and worn, like it's showing that I haven't had a shower in a day and a half and starting to wonder what kind of caffeine pills I'm going to have to pop to get through tonight's show, the grandfather of the child in the room with my son comes over and introduces himself, asking with his hand out, "Does your child have cancer as well?"
No, my son does not. Praise the Lord, and Buddha, and that Lotus sitting chick from the Tibetan religion, and the universe and whomever else might be calling the shots from wherever those people sit. My son is healthy and fine, and will be walking by the end of today. He'll be running next week, and I'll have forgotten the imminent fear you feel any time you hold your child's hand as they are undergoing anaesthesia, or the moment I realized forty minutes in that they said the surgery should only take twenty.
Because my kid is not the victim of a mutated cell, but his is. And he has been there by his bedside since I got here without a break. I heard him talking to the doctors all night long as I tried to calm my son down and ease him into restful sleep. My child was hysterical when they put the IV into his hand, but his child is missing a major organ and has only cried out once or twice.
I would be screaming at the sky at that injustice if it were my child, but this man is jovial, smiling and shaking hands. He wished us well. And all I wanted to do was stare at my shoes and be mad at the universe for doing that to his kid. To any kid.
..and now yesterday morning feels like it was a continent away...
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| What my son saw as he was going under :) |
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