Cheaper Than Therapy

I have forgotten so much...there is so much I can't remember no matter how hard I try. 

Then there are all the things that have been my flooding my memory as we have approached this week. I am not sure if Facebook is a blessing or a curse in this case. (This video is from the week before diagnosis when we thought Jonathan was bouncing back from the flu.)

Friday, the 16th, we met Mark's sister and family for dinner and Jonathan brought home his very first Paw Patrol toy. Chase and his truck were the only toys I happened to throw into my bag as we walked the door Monday to head to the doctor.

Not the greatest picture, but I only took two.

Daddy putting together The Lookout.

Sunday night was the Children's Christmas Program. Afterward, there was a fellowship and presents for the kids. Jonathan was not impressed with Santa, and he definitely was not acting like himself.

Before Mark left for work Monday morning, we agreed that if we could get an appointment Jonathan needed to go back to the doctor. We didn't know if he hadn't completely recovered from having the flu, or if he had another ear infection (which it turned out he did), but there was something going on. 

Mid-afternoon Monday, Madison and I loaded up the boys and made the trek to the pediatrician. Another nasal swab for the flu - negative. Check the ears - positive. And then the words that began it all...

"Hey, my mom wanted me to mention that when they were here at Thanksgiving, Jonathan seemed very pale to her. There happens to be a history of anemia in our family, so you may want to check it out."  ...  Now if you have seen me in person, you know "pale" is nothing new, and you can't get much fairer than our two little blue-eyed "cotton-tops" already are, so this is not something that registered to me. 

[By the way, our oncologist told us that a lot of kids are diagnosed around the holidays because parents have gotten used to the changes in their appearance over time, but when family comes into town and mentions that something doesn't look right, it triggers a trip to the doctor. So, speak in love, but don't hesitate to say something. You may save a child's life.]

When the nurse came back for the finger stick, I was too distracted with holding him still and his screams to pay much attention to what she was actually doing. When she came back the second time because they didn't think the results of the first test could possibly be right, she had my full attention. I don't remember where the wayward drop landed, I just remember comparing it in my mind to watered down tomato soup and knowing that wasn't how blood was supposed to look.

When the nurse practitioner came in to explain that there wasn't a problem with the test, Jonathan had a hemoglobin level of 4 and we needed to go to the hospital for more testing, my brain shut down. 

"So, we go home and we'll get it all set up for, like, tomorrow?"

"No, you go straight from here. We are calling now. They will be expecting you."

I might have been able to talk myself out of all the horrible things running through my brain if every single person who worked in that office hadn't come by to give me a hug and ask if we needed anything, but when the pediatrician's office sends your 23 month old off with not just one sucker, but the entire bag of suckers, you know you have just crossed some threshold you never wanted to cross.

Have you ever reached a point in your life where you knew things were going to change forever? Something was about to happen and whatever "normal" you knew was gone forever? I took this picture somewhere around 10-11pm on the awful hospital room sofa. We were waiting on the preliminary blood work to come back. There was no way Jonathan was going to sleep in the hospital crib (those things look like tiny jail cells) and Mark was stretched out on the other half. As "not normal" as those circumstances were, I just needed a picture before everything changed. 

And change it did. And change we continue to do.

If you aren't a normal reader of Jonathan's journey, but want to know more...

you can read it here.

If you are a normal reader, thank you for joining us through our struggles. I would have posted this in Caring Bridge, but it doesn't allow the in-text pictures or video. I know most, and maybe even all, of this has been shared before but I needed to process so I could stop crying every time I looked at my news feed. Post-traumatic stress disorder is a very real thing for families dealing with cancer. I don't think I am at that point...just year anniversary/holiday emotional, so please don't worry [Mother, that is directed toward you!], but if you know families going through this, give them an extra hug, smile, or word of encouragement this holiday season.