Monday, November 25, 2013

"I can't be the mom of a kid going through chemo" by Jessica Warren

We made our way up to the chemo ward. I felt my stomach twist into knots as we approached the desk to check in. The woman behind the desk put a wrist band on Zayne stating his information. We sat down and waited to be called back. A big guy came out and headed right for my son. “Zayne…my man!” He put his hand up for a high five. Z decided he would humor him. He led us through double doors back to a small area and took his vitals. “Ok you can go find a spot in the infusion center!” He said way to chipper for how I was feeling. As we walked back thoughts raided my mind. How would he do? Is this the routine every week? He has to get poked every time we come here? Will he end up hating this place? We found a beautiful seat by the window just in view of the helicopter pad on the roof of the hospital across the way. We turned a movie on for Zayne as he made himself comfy in the big chair. A nurse came over with a huge smile and asked if we were ready to access the port. I had no clue what that meant but we said yes. Little did I know what we were in for. Once I told the nurse I didn’t put the numbing cream on, I saw the look on her face. It told me I should be scared. “We figured since he had an open wound from putting the port in last week, a quick poke may be better than tearing a band aid 5 fresh stiches.” I told the nurse with a shake in my voice. Was I wrong? Would my baby suffer for my decision? He did so great with the IV…didn’t even cry. He hates band aids. What if I made the wrong call? You should have known Jess….you should have called. “Ok” she simply said with a smile I knew she was giving simply to keep me calm. I began to panic. I started to get sick. She took us into a small room. It had a couple cupboards and an exam table. I had that protective feeling to grab Zayne and run. We would find a different way…we would try some oil only made in Africa…we would be on our knees round the clock asking God for a miracle…anything but what my little boy was about to endure. The nurse began to talk to Zayne and tell him what she would be doing. He stared at her…scared. We took his shirt off and laid him back on the table. He looked so little. So scared. And I couldn’t do a thing. My head began to scream. I told myself to suck it up and be strong for this amazing little boy God put in my possession. I squatted down and rubbed his legs while his dad held his hand. The nurse rubbed an orange looking sponge over his fresh port to clean it off. He looked at her and glanced at me. The tears were welling up in my eyes and I knew the gates wouldn’t hold them for long. She pulled the needle out of its package and I thought I was going to faint. It was twice the size, if not more, than a regular needle. I began to scan the room for a trash can. Wrong call Jess….you screwed up this time and it’s not going to be you that suffers it’s gonna be your baby who is lying on this table trying to be brave. I wish I could rewind. Why?....WHY DIDN’T YOU HELP ME???? I screamed at God in my head. My pulse raced as I had my own conversation with God. The nurse hovered over the port with the needle while talking to Zayne. She pressed it in and he jerked back. He screamed. Jake held him tighter as she had to poke him again. He screamed even louder this time. His lips turned purple as his face scrunched up in pain. “Baby…baby….You’re ok! You are so big! It’s all over sweetie!! We are right here.” I tried talking to him while I rubbed his legs. She was taping the needle in when he finally took a breath. He screamed again and began to cry. By this time tears were streaming down my face. Jake sat him up and I grabbed him. I just held him and cried as quietly as I could. I can’t do this every time. I don’t have it in me. I am not cut out to be the mom of a kid that goes through chemo. I gave him back to Jake and left the room. I couldn’t get to the restroom quick enough. I pulled out my phone and texted Gina. I know I had a few choice words in that text. She texted back telling me to breathe about 5 or 6 times…and while reading it I realized that I was in fact still breathing. I don’t know how I was. This shouldn’t be happening to him. It would be easier if it was happening to me and my kids were left out the equation. Gina and I texted back and forth for about 5 more min and I finally felt as if I could put one foot in front of the other. I made it back to the room and we made our way to the play room. Zayne was having fun once again. He was fine. I however, kept replaying the moment and kept drowning every time I did. Gina was put on my speed dial after that day. And even now 15 weeks later I still get up on a Tuesday and send her a text asking her if she is ready to face the day with me. And her reply is always “I’m here!! Let’s do this!!”

1 comment:

  1. Through tears I read, and with my snotty nose, I try to gather my composure, while my youngest grandson sleeps in my arms. I pray for a miracle for Zayne and I pray for the strength for you, his mother. God, please hear our cries....