Urgent, dangerous surgery
The next morning we were allocated a Ronald Macdonald home, which became our home from home for nearly 20 days. Our oldest was completely thrown. He’d left the hospital with his Nan and she moved into his home, taking him to and from school, to his swimming lessons, to his friends – all the things his mum should be doing.
Back at the hospital, everything was moving so fast. Dylan needed surgery. Surgery that was so dangerous that he may not survive it. If he did survive the surgery he may be left with permanent disabilities, unable to breathe, talk, think. The list was endless. This was surgery that he HAD to have.
The days leading up to his operation were hard. We tried to act normal. I tried not to burst into tears, and we tried to have fun. Dylan had his friends and family visit and we basically took over the ward. The steroids had given Dylan his appetite back so we had a pizza place on speed dial.
The day of the surgery was long and difficult for all of us. Taking Dylan to theatre knowing that it may be the last time I saw, kissed or held him was torture. I lost count of how many times I wanted to just turn and run with him in my arms, and keep on running until this nightmare was over. Fortunately, the surgery was a total success and, bar a few setbacks, Dylan was back on his feet in no time. Then there was the anxious wait for pathology.
The tumour was cancerous. Grade 4 medulloblastoma to be exact. We were sent home to wait while the doctors decided a treatment plan. Treatment was scheduled to start mid-June, but frustratingly it was pushed back a week.