Any other day

It began like any other day.

My focus was on getting my kids dressed, packing lunches and loading them into the van in time to make the first bell. Nolan, age 7, and Brooklyn, age 5, love to play for a few minutes with their friends before classes officially begin.

Drop off. Check.
Coffee run. Check.
Morning visit with my wee man Ethan, age 2, to our local early years centre. Check.

Around 11 o'clock that morning E and I headed home. Thursday is our special day together, one I so cherish. I put his favourite show on TV and headed upstairs to make him some eggs for lunch.

Cue the phone.
I always check my call display before answering, and when I did, my heart dropped.

It was my kids' pediatrician's office calling.

In the three seconds or so that it took to pick up the receiver, my mind raced.

B had just gone the previous day for an ultrasound on her abdomen, specifically looking at her bladder. After recurrent UTIs, random unexplained constipation and complaints of it hurting to sit on the toilet, I asked her doctor to consider more testing.

I couldn't take her to that appointment as I was just beginning to teach my first week of the winter term, thank goodness my amazing parents jumped at the chance to spend time with B. The technician had told my mother it would be about 5 business days before results would be available to our doctor.

But the pediatrician's office was on the phone now, on this very normal, average day.
Asking me to come in regarding the results of the ultrasound.
I hung up the phone and my chest hurt.

Not 15 minutes later, the office was calling again.

This time, our pediatrician was on the other end.
"I've reviewed the results and referred you up to McMaster Children's Hospital. There is a mass in her abdomen which requires further investigation. I have spoken directly to the surgeon, he is aware of your case."

That day, two weeks ago, was just like any other day.

The same arguments.
The same requests for cooperation.
The same snacks in my kids' lunch bags.

Never, in my wildest dreams, would I have guessed our very busy pediatrician would call me at home. That McMaster would call the next day and tell us to come in three days later, promptly at 9am.

To be admitted.
To begin a very, very difficult two weeks.

CT scans.
IV drips.
Blood work.
Urine samples.
Biopsies.
Hearing and eye tests.
Echos.
Bone marrow biopsy.
Bone scan.
MIBG scan.

Days so long, tears flowing uncontrollably and questions nearly impossible to answer:

"Why do they keep touching me? They make me feel worser Mom! Make it stop!"
"How many more tests mommy, I hate tests!"
"Why can't I eat, mommy? They never let me eat here!"
"Mommy I am not sick. I am fine. Take me home?"

Seeing my little angel, my precious baby girl, in pain. Suffering at the hands of the people who were put in place to help her. Feeling entirely helpless, hopeless and trembling at the thought of one more wheelchair ride, one more gurney trip around the hospital.

Watching her little eyes close, body full of drugs, knocking her into a deep sleep over and over again for the sake of something that did not exist a few weeks ago.

Trusting strangers to care for my baby as they would their own, and begging them to do everything in their power to make her well again.

...

The day began like any other day.
Two weeks ago tomorrow.
Yet the following 14 days have been the furthest from that day.

And while these have been the single most difficult two weeks of my life as a mom, wife and woman, I can see with very clear eyes how lucky we are.

Yup.

Its only taken two weeks to complete all the tests necessary for a proper diagnosis.
The hospital is only one hour from our home.
We are surrounded by family, friends and even perfect strangers who continue to fuel us with kind words, meals, gifts and hugs.

Love is plentiful.
Hope is visible.
Faith, while being tested, is a strong and capable companion.

Please pray, for Brooklyn and all children who's lives have been anything but any other day.

#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess