Last evening, Teddy and I returned from a looooong walk, during which we got locked in a stairwell and might have set off an alarm getting out, to the sounds of a little girl screaming very loud animal screams. Not high pitched throwing a fit screams, but the low-pitched cornered animal screams. Two doors down. After 10 minutes, we went to hide in the family lounge. She’s four, diagnosed last week with leukemia. I haven’t the faintest idea what they were doing. I wondered if it was a bone marrow test, because those hurt and plus require you to be basically held down, but they usually do that stuff in the procedure room. Her parents were both in with her, and the nurses. I kept an eye out all night for the mom to see if she just needed a hug, because dang… I would have. (And because the day we were admitted this time, after an hour of trying to get an IV placed, I was crying right along with Teddy and one of the nurses in the clinic gave me a hug and it made all the difference.)
And then all night, I wondered what it will be like when Teddy’s a bit older. Will it be like that? I hope that, growing up with this, it will just become part of his life. Pokes and exams and blood pressures will just be routine and not a source for lots of screaming. And that’s a sad, sad thing to hope for, but the fact is – this all IS going to be a part of his life, forever, so he might just as well get accustomed to it. (and me, too.)
Then this morning, sort of out of the blue, the nutritionist who works with all the renal patients said that they have 3 and 4 year olds who’ve been transplanted who just lift up their shirt when Dr. Brophy comes in so he can examine them, and lift their chins so he can feel their glands, and stick their arm out for labs or blood pressures. And it’s just life, it’s not a big deal.
Yes, I see God in that conversation. 🙂