I am down in the dumps. I am not at ease. I am trying to manage my feelings and concerns about my toddler’s latest appointment with the developmental pediatrician. I tried to give myself a pep talk, listen to gospel music and take a walk, but nope. Still blue.
No parent ever wants to hear that something is wrong with their child. Parents are like superhero’s sworn to protect and serve their children. We will go to war; go broke; go gray in the service of our children.
I have been here before. This battlefield is not new.
I remember the feeling of going to war for my first child. At the age of fifteen, I started noticing things that were changing in the way that she behaved. I spoke to her school counselor and mentioned my daughter’s weight loss. She made note of my concerns and then brushed them off, later laughing about it with my daughter.
I spoke to the pediatrician and mentioned that her menstrual cycle had stopped. She made note of it and told me that it wasn’t a cause for concern at her age. A few months later, I followed up again and that time she ordered tests. Turns out, my daughter had a tumor on her pituitary gland.
By the time we started sitting in front of oncologists and visiting teams of doctors for all of the effects of that tumor, I was already a warrior mom.
Now here I am, on the other side of one daughter’s brain cancer – surgery, chemo, radiation – to the land of cancer survivorship. I had stepped off of the battlefield. I had happily put down my heavy armor but still wore my cape.
My toddler’s issues are not a matter of life or death. But as a parent, I want the very best life possible for my child. So to make that happen, I’m once again preparing for war as we figure out the next steps in this new battlefield.