Birthdays After Cancer

It wasn’t long ago that I found myself sitting in the Texas Children’s Hospital lobby waiting on my son’s ultrasound results.  He was downstairs eating with dad after a morning fast.  For five minutes…I assumed I would be getting another  “I don’t know” result.  Yet, the longer I sat alone in the silent-white-walled room… the more my maternal intuition kicked in of what was to come… bad news.  My hands began to shake, my palms began to sweat, my heart-rate increased with every passing minute and my thoughts lingered on the black cat that had run across my path the night before.

I finally called my pediatrician who said:

“I’m so sorry you had to wait, they wanted to tell you in person. And I didn’t want to tell you this over the phone…he has a tumor.”

“A malignant tumor?” I asked.

“Yes, I’m so sorry to tell you this over the phone.” She said.

“That’s OK, I’d rather hear it from you than a stranger.” I hung up and began to cry.

My eyes went back to the white wall but my mind thought only one thing…my child has cancer. Wilms Tumor.   For months, specialists had treated me like a hypochondriac bimbo with an IQ of 70 because they thought my son had a virus.  Yeah, the virus my 11 month-old daughter avoided for five months despite licking everything in sight.  I had decided I would smack the next doctor that told me antibiotics wouldn’t help a virus.  Yeah, thanks but I had that information in 1993-94 via my friend in med-school.

Five months later and one less kidney he completed chemotherapy.

Today…he is celebrating his 6th birthday.  While he knows his life is extra special, he’s extremely focused on presents, cake and icing.  And frankly…that’s fine with me.