EVERY TIME

It seems every time I do it, the same things happen. You’d think I’d get used to it by now, but no, that is not how it works. Kids can take a lot out of you, sometimes so much, nobody notices, because you are too numb by the experience to show anything at all.

I went to a cancer center recently to meet my daughter Ellen who resides in a group home for people with developmental disabilities, for a follow-up on a spot a scan found a while back, maybe two years ago.

I went to the main desk, searching for her, and found her in a long pathway in the professional building. The building itself is well appointed with the latest of interior designs and furnishings that look sterile.

Amidst all the professionals in their white coats and clip boards, and with loved ones in attendance sit those who will need treatment, and maybe God willing, not need treatment. All are there for the same reasons, a suspicion of cancer, and back of the mind uneasiness of looming bad news, or a brave battle with and against cancer. All these beautiful people in some kind of unsaid personal crisis, waiting their fate, and what the doctor will tell them, or even the impersonal results of a scan.

Sitting in her wheel chair, groggy from the drug they administer at her home, sits Ellen. She is wavering from consciousness to the sub consciousness, from the world of her reality, to the world of her dreamlike unreality. She has her beautiful little round face, tucked into the opening of her coat, her eyes blinking, sitting motionless. There is no one or thing around her that matters to her, just that little battle that goes on, waging in her head. She suddenly catches a glimpse of me, while her eyes are fluttering; a brief smile crosses her lips. It reminds me so long ago of another sad day in my life, watching my 21-month-old son on a gurney in an emergency room, with only day’s left to live. He saw me as I arrived from the city, standing next to him. He lifted my tie for a moment, and then let it drop. He too realized his old man was there for him.

Ellen started to lift her head, her smile becoming broader, her recognition of me was suddenly apparent! Slowly I walked over to her, leaned down, and she recognized me, holding out her arms. I leaned in and got a hug, and the whole world stopped. There was this only connection I know of between my little girl and me. It is not unlike the feeling one gets when they are in a crowded room, and someone calls attention to them, and the sense of being watched that overcomes them.

It is very difficult to see your child in a semi-conscious state. It is very difficult to know that you allowed your child to get to that state. It is also very difficult to convince yourself that you are doing it in her best interest. And every time I go to this place, I remind myself that she is being watched for something that if not caught in time, will become deadly!