The Book of Me

Tiny voices, bright faces and joyful laughter filled the playroom by 8 a.m. The teens had their video games, the toddlers had their trains and for a moment all looked right in the world. Except all of these kids were bald. All of these kids had lines and walked or crawled with IV poles attached. All of these kids have cancer.  This busy playroom is at a Children's Hospital where week after week kids of all ages come to get chemotherapy treatment.  The children play together - some too young to even understand the bond they share from their experience with this disease. And the parents - they smile, they laugh and support one another.  Today, I was back in this clinic with Xavier awaiting his lumbar puncture. It has been four years since we have been there. Time has helped me forget. But, as much as I want to forget the devastating diagnosis and everything that followed, I fondly remembered the strength and kindness within those four walls of the oncology clinic. 

No one wants to see their child hurt. But when you have a child with a serious medical condition, seeing your child in pain can often be a frequent occurrence. Physical pain is one thing - emotional suffering is another- one I had little experience with until recently. (Yes, I am struggling, so that's why I am writing!) When Xavier was initially diagnosed and treated for brain cancer, he was a baby. He couldn't talk, express his feelings or even remember the trauma he suffered. Now, he is older, smarter and more thoughtful - yet too young to understand. About a month ago we started to see a change in Xavier. He was different. His sleep patterns changed, he was lethargic and other symptoms arose that concerned us. An MRI was immediately scheduled, followed by appointments with multiple doctors. A lumbar puncture has now been scheduled. I am not concerned they will find more cancer. I am not worried there is anything physically wrong. What has me scared and heart broken i