Dr. Peyton called you Zelmo. He was pretty silly. He bounced in the room and asked if you were Zelmo and if Jackson was your sister and Brooklynn your brother. He called them Zelda and Zomo. He asked where it hurt and wanted to look at your tummy. He felt it a bit and said he wanted to check for a kidney infection. After feeling it he said we should get a picture of your spleen. He sent us across the street for blood, urine, and an ultrasound. You, me, Jackson, Brooklynn and Reese packed into the dim little room and she squirted jelly on your belly and I watched her look and look. I asked if she was looking at your spleen and she replied it was your kidney. I saw her measure it then the other and the go back to the first one again. She sent us to get blood work with the promise of results at her office when we were done. We got the blood work. You took that needle like a champ. They said you did better than most adults. I know you took it better than I do. You didn't flinch and watched what they were doing the whole time! Jackson wondered how you could keep from crying. You just shrugged. They gave you a prize and we went back to get the ultrasound results. Back and forth, back and forth, with four tired hungry kids. They decided to send us back to the pediatrician's office for the results.
A change of plans.
Everyone was too accomadating at the pediatricians office. No long wait in the waiting room. No waiting at all. It was the last time we would have no waiting to get some answers. In fact, we were aloud to go through the doors ourselves. Everyone was expecting us. Everyone knew us. We've only been there a few times, and everyone knew us. They lead us right to the room. Dr. Peyton came in. He didn't call you Zelmo. He didn't ask about Zelda or Zomo. He talked slow. So. Very. Slow. He said your kidney is enlarged. He said "they" would want to remove it. He said, "this is serious." I felt hot tears stream down my face. I was mourning for your kidney. I was scared. He said lots of people live with one kidney. I didn't want to scare you. So I stopped. People live with one kidney-- I focused on that. I sat down, and he told me more scary stuff, very slowly. He said "they" would want to see her soon, and we could be there for a while. "They" needed a CT scan to find out what it was, but she would need surgery. "Could it be cancer?" I floated over the last word like it was an unspeakable thing. He nodded. He told me "they" were great doctors at a hospital 4 hours from us. He drew a map on a piece of paper. Not for me, but for you. You all watched him draw the map, so I could cry. He showed roads and a river we would cross before we got there. You were all so interested. I needed that. He said they hospital would call me in an hour, and to get things ready, call my husband and my kids situated somewhere for a few days. I wiped the tears; could doesnt mean is. We stood up, and you and your siblings all cheered that we could go home and eat lunch. He handed me the map, and lead me out a back door. I turned back to see a few nurses gathering in the hall to watch me leave, and I hopped on the people mover that would make the next 24 hours a blur.
No comments:
Post a Comment