Gratitude for Healthy Kids

It's been an emotional week here at Mellow Lane.  I'll start by saying the everything is just fine, in fact, better than fine.  Better because I am more grateful for my life than usual.

Almost a month ago, while we were on vacation, Juliette and Zachary were sharing a bed.  Juliette and Zachary both like to be scratched when they are sleepy and somehow Juliette convinced Zachary to scratch her back and her legs.  (This is not surprising as Juliette can convince just about anyone to do just about anything.  Even her preschool teacher, when asked by a friend how she can stay strong with all those strong-willed preschoolers, said, "Oh I never have trouble saying no to them at all.  Except Juliette.  If Juliette asks for the doll house, I'll get it down.  If she wants the dress up clothes, they're hers.  For some reason I just can't no to her!"  This is not good.)  Anyway, she convinced Zachary to scratch her legs and in doing so, he found a lump on the back of her right knee.  Being a sensitive middle child (totally unlike his mother.  cough.  cough.), Zachary freaked out.  He came running out of the bedroom, Juliette trailing absently and smiley behind him.  We looked and felt the back of her leg, and indeed there was a lump behind her leg.  We assured Zachary that it was probably nothing, but that we would check with our friend, who is a pediatric radiologist when we got home.  This appeased him and both kids went to bed.  (Notice I said appeased "him" -- Juliette was totally unfazed.)

A few days later, we saw Dr. Friend, who looked at and felt the back of Juliette's knee.  She thought it was probably nothing, probably just a blah de blah or a blah de blah.  (It all went over my head.  On purpose.  I knew if I knew something specific I'd be on WebMD, which is the devil.)  She told us not to worry, but to keep an eye on it just in case.  This made us (and Zachary) feel better.

Then last week, Juliette was walking in front of me and, all of a sudden, her lump looked much bigger.  (It's about the size of half a ping pong ball for reference.)  I called Dr. Friend right away and we went to her house later that afternoon.  She looked and poked and felt and still thought it was probably still just a blah de blah but since she is someone who looks at films and not at feeling actual kids, she couldn't be sure.  She did agree that the lump was bigger.  She suggested that we go to see her friend at Children's Hospital who could tell us definitively what the lump is.  "Don't freak out when you hear what kind of doctor he is.  He's the lump guy.  He's the very best and he'll know what it is."  The lump guy is a pediatric orthopedic oncologist.

You don't really want to hear or read or use the word "oncologist" when you're talking about your four year old.  You just don't.  It also doesn't make you feel too much better when the lump guy's office is able to squeeze you into a completely full schedule "for something like that."  (Though I felt so grateful that I would have to wait less than a week to see him in the clinic, which is close to our home - and not at the hospital - on his next day there.)  And so we went on with our lives, tried not to think about it and waited patiently until it was the day for our appointment.  My mom was able to clear her afternoon to watch Annalise and Zachary, pick them up and drop them off at their various activities, so just Juliette and I made the trek to the doctor.  It was afternoon and so Juliette, who no longer naps, was pretty sleepy in the car, and therefore quiet.  (She's never quiet.)  Unfortunately this gave me time to think.  (I rarely have time to think.  Except when I'm falling asleep.  I don't sleep too well.)  And as much as I tried not to let it happen, my mind "went there."  I thought about what it would mean to have a kid with cancer.  I thought about how our lives would change, and everything we would do to fight.  I thought about how tough my little girl already is and how tough she would have to be.  I even thought about losing her.  And then I decided I had to stop thinking.  I cranked up the VBS tunes (and if you know how much I dislike over-produced children singing, then you can only imagine how much I can't stand listening to the VBS CD).  Fortunately it perked Juliette up and we sang along, badly and loudly, while she attempted to remember the "moves" in her carseat.  Much better than thinking.

We arrived at the clinic, and were greeted so warmly and cheerfully in a bright, open waiting room, well stocked with blocks and nice books.  (Like really nice books, like the kind you would actually buy or check out at the library or want to read.  Not like the usual torn, ragged, chewed crap books that you'd never even look at in normal life, but you will read over and over out of desperation, kicking yourself for neglecting to bring books from home, that you usually see in waiting rooms.)  We read about Piggie and Elephant and holes which are to dig and waited our turn.  I looked around at the other parents and children, some playing happily, some sitting quietly with their parents, one infant, and one preschooler with a prosthetic leg screaming "I hate this leg!"and wondered if I would be back in this waiting room another time; if I would become a regular, if I would meet other parents waiting anxiously like I was, if this would become another home for us.

It was our turn and a lovely nurse led us to our room, asked questions, looked and took notes.  She was followed soon after by the lump guy's PA (also lovely), who asked more questions.  She lovingly helped Juliette roll over onto her stomach on the table and gave her a pen for her to draw on the paper covering the table.  She felt her leg, asked more questions and attempted to shine a light at Juliette's lump.  Apparently there isn't much use for the light in the orthopedic rooms and the light was out.  She led us to another room where we met the lump guy.  Equally lovely, he let Juliette get comfortable before he poked at her lump also.  She was a little nervous, so she laid on my chest while he shown the light all the way through the lump, its red light going all the way through, revealing that the lump was indeed the blah de blah which Dr. Friend had suspected all along... a Baker's cyst.  The light will shine all the way through only liquid or air and since there is no air in this part of the body, the lump is indeed liquid.  A Baker's cyst in children is totally benign and usually not painful at all.  There is absolutely nothing that needs to be done.  Juliette is totally fine and the cyst will eventually just go away on its own.  He said that some day we will look down and just realize that it is gone.  We spent much of the appointment remarking on how fabulous Juliette's big brother was to have found the cyst in the first place.  What a great little kid.

So my baby is going to be fine.  She is totally, totally fine.  She is the same happy and healthy girl that she was last week and last month and last year.

I am grateful, so grateful I don't even know what to do or say to express just how grateful I feel.  Honestly the whole episode has been an exercise in gratitude: gratitude for a not-even-yet eight year old big brother who found the lump to begin with; gratitude for a dear friend who is willing to look at my daughter (and the daughters and sons of all our friends because she is the kind of friend who doesn't mind looking at the rash, hurt wrist, etc.); gratitude that she has a friend who is a leader in the field; gratitude for a staff fitting us in when they could have told us to wait a month and gratitude for a mom who can watch my other kids so I can focus on the one who needed the attention at that time.  Mostly I am grateful for my beautiful family, with all our ups and downs, nooks and crannies, temper tantrums and doldrums and giggles and tickle tortures and hugs and kisses.  And scratches.  I'm grateful for scratches.