“….blah, blah, blah….CANCER.
Blah, blah, blah. BIOPSY NEEDED IMMEDIATELY to confirm…blah,blah, blah.”
I vividly recall that moment. I was in the moment, I experienced the moment, and I witnessed the moment. I was quite lucid, but I remember floating above this pitiful little scene. My husband sat down against the wall and placed his head in his hands. My mother closed her eyes and began to pray fervently. Dr. Foster continued talking, her eyes never leaving mine. Dr. Aziz actually looked like he was going to cry, and I loved him fiercely for that. Dr. Phillips wrote something on his notepad. This guy was really getting on my nerves.
Nurse Warm Eyes slipped out quietly. Maybe she was giving us a moment, or maybe taking one for herself. I realized then that being a pediatric nurse had to be taxing on the spirit. Especially at times like these. I wondered just how many of these moments she’d witnessed.
“We’re going to admit him immediately. I’ve already scheduled a biopsy for tomorrow morning. We’re also going to need Dad and any other eligible family members to donate blood for possible transfusions as needed. Do you understand what I’m telling you?” Dr. Foster spoke softly now.
“Yes. Children take their father’s blood type. So he would be the best candidate to donate blood.” I didn’t know I knew that.
If Dr. Foster was surprised, she didn’t show it. She simply nodded her head and stood. I stood too.
“Mom, this is going to be difficult.” She said to me, but she looked at all of us.
“My grandson is strong, and my God is good.” My mother replied quietly.
Dr. Foster turned to go, promising to return with more news. Dr. Aziz nodded and followed her. Dr. Phillips finished what he was writing, and handed it to my mother. He gave me a brief look and followed his colleagues. I hit the floor.
I’d always been one of those folks that donated to cancer charities. If I had a few extra bucks, I’d toss it into the bucket. Fundraisers? No problem. Those poor people with their poor sick children. Here, I hope my 20 bucks helps you out. What a fool I’d been. When you walk by the shit, its easy and normal to complain about the smell. But, my God, when you’re LIVING in the shit………well, now. That’s a whole other thing.
I came to a few minutes later. My husband was shaken. My mother was, well, you know how Mamas are. I noticed she still had the slip of paper Dr. Phillips had given her, and I reached for it. Curious, I slowly unfolded the paper, preparing to be indignant at his audacity.
“There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh they dwelling. For He shall give His angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.”Psalms 91:10-11. May God bless and keep you. Call me anytime. 555-xxx-xxxx. Randy Phillips.
So much for assumptions. His bedside skills were awesome, and I was wrong, and my son was sick, and we were in the shit. God give me the strength.
Today is Iffy’s 7th birthday, a day some were not sure he’d see. My mama knew he’d still be here, I knew he’d be here, and I’m pretty sure Iffy made up his mind to be here. He’s truly an old soul, teaching me far more than I will ever teach him. He’s my son, and he’s my hero. And my God, I love him. Happy Birthday, Iffy. Mommy loves you.
Tags: biopsy, cancer, god, Iffy, Oncology
Posted in My Life |
