A Room of Fear And Hope

One of yesterday’s unhappy tasks was to take Offspring the Third for part one of his annual visit to the pediatric hematologist/oncologist. He was a picture of stoicism and endurance. Apart from the usual patience-consuming wait to refresh the insurance paperwork, there was the momentary terror of a blood draw.

Mercifully, as he has aged, the horror of phlebotomy has decreased significantly for Offspring the Third. It used to require the assistance of two nurses and Herself, holding his flailing and bellowing form as still as possible, while the woman with the needle attempted to secure the required sample. Each appointment would leave both Herself and Offspring the Third nauseated, sweating and quivering. Yesterday, though, all that was required was a comforting lap and some words of encouragement. He still broke out in a cold sweat, but did no more than discreetly wipe a few tears and adjust his hat afterwards. If I had hands, I would have applauded.

This yearly appointment was established when Offspring the Third was still just a toddler. An enlarged spleen during a viral illness triggered a flurry of doctors’ appointments with thinly-veiled undertones of immense worry. It was eventually determined that he had been spared the grimmer possibilities of childhood cancer, and that instead, he has a congenital enzyme deficiency that can lead to a form of hemolytic anemia. His deficiency is mild, and he has not (yet) become anemic. Careful watch of him when his immune system is fighting illness, and protection of his spleen when it is enlarged, are the only requirements beyond his annual visit.

There is a room set aside specifically for the children waiting for appointments in the hematology/oncology clinic. It was relatively quiet there yesterday. Often populated by bald-headed children and their stoic families, it is a place where a bond of understanding can be instantly and wordlessly forged. The wellsprings of sorrow, dread, and determined optimism lie very close to the surface in all parents who have had to contemplate a child’s potentially fatal illness, and one glance is all that is needed for a channel to be opened between them.

Today, we are particularly grateful that Offspring the Third -- and the First and Second as well -- are healthy, and we offer a silent request to the universe that the children of the waiting room and their families can find the strength and courage to face whatever lies ahead.