I’ll never forget the day I got the phone call that every
parent dreads. Lizzie has to go into
emergency right now, it said… there’s a problem with her platelets. I didn’t know much when I got that call, but
I knew enough that an issue with her platelets could very possibly mean
leukemia. I know now there are worse
words a parent can hear than that one (from second hand knowledge, thank… well,
whoever it is you thank for that), but in that moment that was scary enough.
We had
noticed over the last few months that Lizzie seemed to bruise very badly, very
easily, and the bruises seemed to linger longer than they should. This came to a head when she slipped and fell
while walking down a stone staircase, bruising herself very badly in the
process; these bruises were very deep, and lasted far longer than seemed
normal. We finally took her in to get
them checked out, and her doctor ordered blood tests. It was these test results that caused that
phone call; something wasn’t right, and in that moment it seemed like it could
be very wrong.
We
figured out pretty quickly that while Lizzie’s condition was serious, it wasn’t
nearly as bad as we initially feared.
Nights at the hospital were quickly unnecessary, and we began to spend
time (more than we wanted, but less than so many others) at the BCCH Oncology/Hematology
clinic, there for a few hours while Lizzie got her treatment. We have been going there every three, or
four, or five, weeks, as needed, for almost six years now, and that time there
has made it clear that we are absolutely some of the lucky ones. So many families, so many stories, all
different and yet at the core all fundamentally the same; we do whatever we
can, whatever we need to, to make our kids feel better.
Over
our time at BCCH, the stories of two families have stuck out for me, because of
personal connections; these families are amazing, their stories tragic, and
heartbreaking, and uplifting. I won’t
tell you their stories here; if you want
to read them, they can be found at these two links: Jasper Mohan (http://jasperupdates.tumblr.com/ )
and Lilee-Jean Whittle-Putt (http://loveforlilee.com/
)
Jasper
was, by every account I’ve ever heard, an amazing young man who could have done
whatever he liked in this world; personable, well spoken, hard-working, and
absolutely brilliant. He fit more into his 15 years than many will in a
lifetime, a statement which sounds so trite, and yet in this case is
accurate. I never actually met Jasper;
we were in the clinic at BCCH at the same time one day, and I intended to
introduce myself, but he was so busy talking to nurses, and doctors, and
parents, and other patients, that I never got a chance. You could literally feel the room brighten
when he walked in, and see the effect he had on so many people in such a short
time; again, sounds trite, but true. Everyone knew him, everyone wanted to talk
to him, and even then, with what would turn out to be only weeks left in his
life, he was up to the challenge, and more.
Lilee-Jean’s
story is one that has hit a little closer to home; I know the family, not well,
but as we do in a small town where your parents have taught virtually every kid
to graduate in the last 30 years. LJ has
taken a turn for the worse in the last few days, and it looks like her story
may be coming to an end all too soon.
All that is left to do now is pray, for those who do; I hope those
prayers, of the countless people who are including LJ in theirs, are
answered. Children should not have to go
through everything that this amazing, strong, resilient little girl has.
As
a parent, these stories hit a lot closer to home than they otherwise
would. You hug your child a little
tighter, tell them you love them a little more often, check on them in the
night one more time, as if these things will keep them safe from all the danger
the world has to offer. We do it because
it is what we can do, and hope that by controlling what we can, we will keep
them safe.
I
found out pretty early on that there were things beyond my control, that we can’t
protect them from the dangers that lurk in their own bodies. I am one of the lucky ones, though; my
daughter is bright, and cheerful, and in almost every way perfectly
healthy. She is growing like a weed,
growing up way too fast, and becoming more and more amazing each and every day.
Taller, cheekier, funnier, smarter; more
her, more the person that she is going to become, and I am thankful every day
that I get to see it.
Because I know
what it’s like to get a phone call from the doctor, telling you that your
perfect little child isn’t perfect, and there may be something terribly wrong.
I know what it’s
like to sit on a hospital bed while doctors poke and probe your child, doing
their best but scaring and hurting your child, with you unable to do a damn
thing.
I know what it’s
like to lay awake through the night in a hospital bed, your child sleeping
beside you, while you wonder if tomorrow is going to be the day you get the bad
news, even as you hope it will be good.
I know what it’s
like to check on your child in the night, almost afraid to look because you are
afraid something has gone wrong, something very specific and real.
I know all of
these things and a million more, things that 9 years ago it never even crossed
my mind that I would have to learn. And
in spite of knowing these things… no, that’s not right. I think it’s even more because of these
things I know, I know that when it comes to circumstances like this, I don’t
know a single goddamn thing.
Andrew and Chelsey, my thoughts
and prayers are with you. Stephen and
Barb, I am so sorry for your loss.
