3am
Justin finally dozed off. My phone had run out of battery. I needed water or coffee or something. I asked the nurse to watch him, found a Diet Coke and left my phone at the front desk charging station. Walking back to his room, I noticed the emergency room was eerily quiet and still. Then the doctor was there. It’s funny what you can think about even when receiving bad news. She was talking, talking, talking. “Bone decalcification, white blood cell count.” She had to be eight months pregnant. “It could be rheumatic disease.” Arthritis? Like old people? “Red blood cell count.” Maybe even nine months. “We are transferring him to Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia (CHOP), waiting to secure a bed. I’m going to call an ambulance right now. Lastly, I want to warn you so that you’re not blindsided.” Is she kidding right now, I thought? I am most definitely already blindsided. “I highly suspect that Justin has some type of leukaemia. Do you have any questions?” Me: Okay.
Her: Do you understand everything?
Me: What is bone de-calcification? Why didn’t the other doctors tell me that? I had his feet X-rayed twice.
Her: It means that the bones in his feet look like they have been eaten by moths. I pulled up his previous set of X-rays. It wasn’t there. The damage to his bones happened since Justin’s last set of X-rays. I tried to figure out the weeks when he was X-rayed last. It was right before Christmas. How long had he suffered? I didn’t know. I remembered, with guilt, sending him to school after he cried while putting on his shoes. But I couldn’t think because eaten by moths and leukaemia rang so loudly in my ears; and that kind of hot, acidic stuff that definitely is vomit but you can swallow, still stung my throat. And there was no time for guilt. Me: Okay.
Her: Do you have any other questions?
Me: No.
Her: I’m really sorry. Do you need anything?
Me: I need to use the phone. I could tell it was morning because there was a bustling that usually accompanies shift change just outside our room. I had made the difficult but necessary phone calls and now it was just a waiting game. Justin had hardly slept. His high fever had not broken. He was still in pain despite several doses of acetaminophen. The doctor came in to assure me the ambulance was on its way, her shift was over and she wished us good luck. Luck. I don’t believe in luck. I ignored my back pain, fatigue and hunger. Jeff had arrived with an ashen face and few words. Justin intermittently cried and lashed out in anger. I tried to pray in my mind but the only coherent thoughts I could form were, ‘help me’ and ‘please don’t let my baby die.’ I carried Justin to the bathroom. It was then we realised it wasn’t that he did not want to bear weight on his feet but that he could not. He sort of collapsed when I put him down in front of the toilet, but we caught him up and sat him instead. He wouldn’t walk again for four weeks.
