I Have Had Enough Character Development, Thank You Very Much!

The last seven months have been anything but boring.  My diagnosis started the journey and this past Thursday night was the worst for me yet.

My diagnosis was May 29th while 25 weeks pregnant.  A week later, I hit my boss' car backing out of the driveway while both of them were watching.  2 days later, right before his 1-year-old pictures, Jack was sitting at the table in his booster seat and pushed back.  Before I could even react, the chair was on its back with Jack still strapped in.  For days we watched him and his eyes and worried damage had been done.  We welcome Charlie and, for a couple of weeks, are in pure bliss.  Then comes chemo.   That knocks me out of commission for months.  We finish chemo, get ready for radiation, and I am happy to be on the uphill of this journey.

I think about cancer often and what I should learn from it.  Be happy and live life to its fullest.  I was doing that before the dreaded words, "You have breast cancer." So I just try to really live life every single day.  It calms me to think that way and I feel that the worst is over.

Then here comes Thursday to remind me that life is never done with you....

Thursday I got home from work, changed clothes, and started down the stairs with both boys in my arms.  I ALWAYS take off my socks.  My head told me to take them off, but I was in a hurry.  I got down about 5 stairs and my feet slipped out from under me.  The next few seconds are a blur, but what I think happened is that instinctively I pushed my behind out to sit down.  I think I dropped Jack and I saw us all tumbling down the stairs.  (There are 14!).  I do remember looking down and being surprised that  Charlie was still in my arms, but he had hyper extended backwards.  I was holding him under his behind with him facing me.  When I got him back up, he didn't look right.  He was curled up like a letter C, his arms were clenched up, and he was moaning.  Moaning like someone who had brain damage.  At that moment, I thought my smiley Charlie was changed forever.  He wasn't going to smile anymore.  He wasn't going to "talk" to me anymore.  He was gone.

I told Jason to call 911 and started pacing around the house crying, whispering to Charlie, and begging him to open his eyes and smile at me.  Jack was fine just scared and crying because I was.  Jason called 911, I turned on Elmo for Jack and gave him some chocolate (thank god for chocolate!).  I picked up my cell phone and called Jason's mom.  Jason changed and we waited the LONGEST 5 minutes ever.  During all this, I kept looking at Charlie and he was still moaning, was curled up, and wouldn't open his eyes.  I won't even try to express what I was feeling.  Nancy showed up, the firemen showed up, and the questions started.

What happened? Did he hit his head? (I don't know) How was he acting? I can't remember anything else.  Everyone was reassuring me.  Charlie was finally crying at this time.  The paramedics were encouraged with that.  The ambulance showed up and they took Charlie from me and started assessing him.  They felt that he was okay, but suggested we go to the hospital.

Charlie still hadn't smiled.  I needed to see his smile.  I needed to know he was still Charlie.  The paramedics joked that he was just mad at me.  Still, this mother needed a smile.

Charlie and I had our first ambulance ride together.  We get to the hospital and they finally let me hold him again and he smiled!  I think it was the first time I exhaled.  It didn't stop my tears, but I felt a little better.

The doctor came in and checked him out.  She said he seemed fine.  She didn't want to do xrays because the amount of radiation is high for such a little fellow.   We fed him and wait for about 30 minutes to watch him.  He drank 4.5 ounces and fell asleep in my arms.

I didn't sleep much that night.  I kept reliving and reliving the fall and couldn't get that image out of my head of him moaning and all curled up.  I have always dealt with events like this by figuring out what I should learn from it.  It calms me to figure that out and then figure out how to make sure it doesn't happen again.  I already know that life is short.  I already know to enjoy every day.  I already know that my boys are miracles.  So what am I supposed to learn from this?

Then a thought came to me... Maybe I don't have to learn something Godly or profound.  Maybe it is as simple as to remember not to wear socks down a hardwood staircase.  Nothing profound about that.  Just take a deep breath, Dawn, and take off the damn socks.