The Wolf at my Door
Fiona has a very good track record of ruining my holidays - and she's doing it again. I can say this in jest because it turns out she has pneumonia and while pneumonia (which I am enjoying spelling and saying phonetically each time I type it) is really no big deal for us seasoned cancer mums, it's bad but it isn't exactly "the show" is it? Pneumonia? It's like telling me you have a hang nail…a really bad hang nail but still…That said, the last 10 days have been an interesting roller coaster…
Fiona spiked a fever last Monday night. Out of nowhere we had a fevered baby - like really fevered - and puke in the bed. Tim and I are experienced and all our old skills immediately came back to us; much like handling nuclear waste, we are adept at managing a spewing fountain of emesis #TeamWork Since we are both back to work Tim and I were able to juggle our schedules and swap out our work-from-home days so that we could deliver juice and monitor napping in front of the television between calls and work presentations. It was a bug and a, while it was coming with a fever which is always worrying, we were taking it in our stride. Or so we told ourselves…Or so I told myself.
Until Thursday. On Thursday I got scared. I started looking at the facts of the presentation - high fever out of no where, severe lethargy and no other symptoms of illness. No runny nose, no cough, no sore throat. She was really sick and I was really scared. So I took her into clinic on Thursday and I asked our team there to do blood work and put my mind at ease. She laid in a bed in the isolation room in a restless and fevered sleep and I waited remembering in too much detail the last time I sat in a dark isolation room waiting.
My darkness is made up of all my worry and anxiety and fear. My anxiety about her future and all of ours. My worry of what might be around the next corner, what complication might pop up or re-emerge. Fretting about what 'harmless' virus might be lurking that would set her back weeks or months and, in the process, put pressure on all the fragile seams of my sanity. There is wolf that lives deep in the shadows of that darkness. He is my worst fear and my biggest nightmare. He is the one who can, at will, appear and snatch her away from me.
The wolf is like a myth or a fable from the dark-ages. A story that was told to keep children from wandering too far from the village 'or the wolf will get you'. A character in a passive-aggressive story meant to incent good behavior, obedience or compliance to the rules. The difference is that this wolf, my wolf, is real. We've seen him. He's been to our door and, on more than one occasion, had my child in his jaws. I know we have successfully fought him off but I also know he's still out there. Thinking about the wolf and how quickly and easily he could come and try to snatch her is, quite frankly, a fucking waste of time.
Despite this I occasionally see his shadow.
This week, for the first time in a long time - for the first time in years - I was scared. Not worried or anxious or nervous or upset. I wasn't tired or stressed or on my period. I wasn't being hysterical or dramatic or any other such nonsense. I was scared. I could see the shadow of the wolf at my door, I could hear him panting and smell the fear and taste the bile in my throat.
So here's the funny thing (in case you aren't already 'ROTFL' or'LMAO' as the kids say…) sitting in that dark room, waiting on the blood work, even once I saw the differential and that it was clear- no blasts, no signs of relapse, nothing - I didn't breath a sigh of relief. I didn't feel better. I had been holding my breath for 3 days and despite black and white scientific evidence that the cancer wasn't back, that she was sick but it wasn't 'worst case scenario' I still felt awful. Somehow because it wasn't "something else" - all the cultures an swabs were negative and we couldn't say for sure what "it" was, I still felt like I was in that darkness of the unknown.
So Thursday night I brought her home from clinic and kept taking good care of her - well, Tim really took care of her because I needed to drink my feelings in the form of red wine until said feelings came out my eyes. I'm seriously considering writing a health-care and fitness book. Working title: #BadChoices
Friday morning she was on the mend and by Saturday she was herself again. Better energy, starting to drink and eat little bits and up and about a bit more, so much so that she was able to convince us to let her have her sleep over at Nana and Poppas, a long awaited and special treat that felt like a good reward for missing a week of school. We picked her up Sunday and then things started to take a turn for the worse again that night - It was like groundhog day with more fever and strategically placed vomit buckets all over the house. Tim and I commenced the schedule wrangling at work which was pretty straightforward as we both were in the wind down to our Christmas holidays. Long story short, after a few clinic visits and some x-rays, we are back up on the 6th floor so that she can get hydration round the clock and antibiotics via IV. For the first time, I felt better because I had a 'thing' to hang on to! Pneumonia! Fantastic! I know what Pneumonia is! Regular kids get pneumonia, they need to be in hospital and get help because Pneumonia is shitty.
I had something. It had a name and created light in the darkness by being a thing. Pneumonia? I can work with that.
So, with diagnosis in hand, and having ruled out lots of other possibilities, we were wheels up to the 6th floor, where, as another theme, Fiona likes to hang out at Christmas time. She has a flare for the dramatic my girl and as we wheeled her down the hall she happily pointed to and commented on - in a slightly judgey-way - the various Christmas trees all around the floor. Our room is down at the end of the hallway and while she will be stuck in her room and unable to view all the trees she very practically suggested I could walk the floor and facetime with her on her iPad so that she can see then.
Dramatic, judgmental and oddly pragmatic. She's mini-me.
So here we are. Back on the 6th floor and yesterday was like holding court. There's a line up to see her - all her friends have started to appear at her doorway to comment on how big she has gotten and how long here hair is and to get updates from us on Simon and the family. It was then I remembered how far we are from where we were. We have with effort - mental and medical - kept the wolf at bay and while he still lurks, it's more shadows than sightings.
Maybe someday it will just be a story we tell.
A story we tell while we drink our feelings.