One excruciating day

Yesterday Emma stayed home from school and I took her to the doctor because off and on she has had a weird lump near her collar bone.

The doctor (not our regular doctor, just the one we could see that day) said, right in front of Emma, that it could be leukemia or lymphoma so she wanted to have some blood work done.  She said she'd call me with the results.

In the way of mothers everywhere that don't want their children alarmed, I acted cheery as best I could.  Emma was stressed about giving blood and I tried to be chatty and make it seem like no big deal.  "Leukemia or lymphoma" echoed in my brain.

Leukemia or lymphoma.

In the car, driving home, Emma said softly, "I hope I'm OK."

I swallowed hard.  I asked her if she was worried.  She said no.  I told her I wasn't either.  We stoically lied through our teeth.

When I got home, I went in my room and locked the door.  I went in my bathroom and locked that door.  I went in my closet.  I sat on the floor and dialed Janet's number.  I wanted to talk to her about the seminary carpool but I burst into tears and spilled all the worry out to her.  She picked up the worry and carried some of it for me.

Let me know, she said.  I promised I would.

And we waited.  Adam called a few times to check.   Stephanie texted me.  I texted back my situation.  She promised prayers and took on a little more of the worry.  Janet texted to see if I knew anything and to tell me she was thinking of me.  Marianne called me and the thought crossed my mind to recruit Olivia, Jill, my mom, anyone who would listen, on the worry train too.  The more people who knew, the better I would feel?

I decided that since I had to put myself back together after talking, I'd better keep myself intact.  I felt brittle and tense.  I absolutely had to smile and act like I was fine.  For Emma.  She stayed home all day.  She didn't go into her room to read.  She stayed close by.  A few times she wanted a hug.  She was subdued.  She startled each time the phone rang.  I'd answer and her eyes would widen and search my face.

It was never the doctor.  I kept imagining how silly I would feel when I found out I was just being overly dramatic and she was really fine.  I kept telling myself that was what would happen.

But what if it wasn't?

I forbade myself from researching leukemia or lymphoma on the internet.

When Braeden got home, he rescued us with his obliviousness to our inner anguish.  He distracted Emma and made her laugh and help him make a white elephant gift for mutual tonight.

Finally, finally we heard from the doctor.  Besides being slightly anemic, she is fine.  Nothing to worry about.  She. Is. Fine.

I went to Emma, tears on my cheeks.  I told her the happy news.  She said, "You're crying?  I'm fine, Mom.  I'm fine."  Then her arms were around me, comforting me.  Braeden was floored.  "You're going to make me cry," he said.  I explained the whole awful day to him.  He was shocked.

It was quite a day.

Just one day.  How grateful I am that by nightfall, my world had been righted.  My heart breaks and I ache for those whose despair can't be so quickly erased.

I hope for more empathy from myself.  More appreciation for the gift that is healthy children.  More gratitude.