literal mama: 04.10

This is an article that I recently submitted to Island Parent. I have no idea if it will be published, but I'm putting it on here to share with my two readers.
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“There is a sizable lump here on the side of Ryen’s neck. I think you need to see someone about this. I’m going to refer to a paediatric surgeon. He’s going to want to biopsy it.” I stare dumb founded at my doctor. Seriously. We are only at the doctor for his one year check up. He’s healthy in all ways. She makes me feel the lump and once I have I can’t believe that I haven’t noticed it before. It’s visible from the outside. Enormous.

I stopped in to see my husband at work on the way home from the doctor. He can’t believe that we didn’t notice it either. It really is large. Are we neglectful parents? How long has it been growing there? And what is it?

I immediately get online. Google is a terrible thing for a scared mom. Cancer. Everything I read is saying cancer. Then I research the surgeon. Oncology. Words I don’t want to associate with my 13 month old. I admittedly lost it. My husband had to come home from work. I couldn’t breathe. My heart was racing. I held my baby and realized that this might be the beginning of something terrifying.

I’m not ignorant when it comes to cancer. My mom, Grandma and aunt have all battled and beaten breast cancer in the last 2 years. But we have never had a kid with cancer in my family. Things like this don’t happen to us. We are blessed. These things happen to other people. We know families that have had this happen to them and we feel compassion but never imagined that it would be us.

Things move quickly. There’s an ultrasound the next day with the radiologist saying that it’s an infection but significantly large, 3.4 cm to be exact, the surgeon 2 days after who says that it has to come out and an emergency room doctor who says it will go down on its own. There are too many different opinions, contradictory opinions. How are we supposed to know what to do? There is no way to know what it is and if it is cancer, specifically lymphoma, we could lose valuable treatment time waiting to see if it goes down on its own. The surgeon schedules surgery for two weeks later. In the meantime, I’m left to research options, possible outcomes, contact Children’s Hospital, seek second, third and fourth opinions and stress out. While we face the scariest possibilities, I still have to parent my kids. I pull my oldest out of preschool because I’m scared of the boys getting sick before Ryen’s surgery. I become a hermit, going only to doctor’s appointments. I cry. I blog. I worry. I talk to every person I know.

My fears are many. I’m scared that my baby will have lymphoma and will have to face terrible treatments, surgeries and possibly the unthinkable. I’m scared that our lives will be defined by this event and we will always refer to pre and post cancer when discussing our lives. I’m scared that our fun, silly and carefree (relatively speaking) lives will be changed forever. I’m scared that my husband and I will never be us again. I’m scared for everything. I can’t face the realities so instead I start planning. I plan the logistics of Ryen and I having to be in Vancouver for treatment. I plan who will take care of my other son. I plan so I don’t have to think. I won’t plan for the holidays one month away. I can’t buy presents when I don’t know what our lives will look like in one month.

Surgery day arrives. My little baby has to have a general, a local, morphine and Tylenol. I am so grateful that I am breastfeeding so that after his surgery he can have mommy milk and not juice or formula. He does well in surgery. We are able to go home that afternoon. The surgeon is cautiously optimistic. Some relief.

It takes a week but it’s not malignant. We are not a family with cancer. My son does not have to face chemotherapy and more surgeries. He gets to continue to develop, grow, learn. I am relieved. I am full of thankful joy. I have had to face the unthinkable and get to walk away knowing that my son is healthy. We might never know what caused the infection or why his lymph node reacted that way but we know what it is not.

I frequently remember how thankful I am to live here. Not once through this entire process did I have to consider how much this was costing. Specialists, testing, surgery, hospital visits, more testing. So much medical care and no cost to us. It has its faults but our medical system can work incredibly well and quickly when it needs to.

130 new cases of childhood cancers are diagnosed every year in BC. Most of these children survive cancer and go on to live complete and full lives. Research is always improving the treatment and survival rates for those diagnosed under 17 years old (source: BC Cancer Agency). That is still 130 families who do not get the news that we did. 130 families whose lives will never be quite the same. 130 families who have to face terrifying options.

To say it changed me as a mom is an understatement. I don’t want to work. I don’t want to be away from them. I want to be around for everything. I make decisions differently. I feel like his life is precious, fragile and I have to be grateful for it. I look at his scar and remember what we went through. I remember all the fear, stress and anxiety. It gives me perspective when he is driving me crazy, crying and holding onto my legs while I am trying to make dinner. My child is healthy and I will always remember that and be thankful. We are on the other end and moving forward.

literal mama

Pages

28.4.10

beauty

26.4.10

biopsies and scars

21.4.10

efficiency

18.4.10

healing

12.4.10

illness