- Posted February 26, 2014 by
This iReport is part of an assignment:
First Person: Your essays
My Truth: Caring for my child with Leukemia
By Deborah Schwartz
It was February 8, 2013, almost a year ago, but it feels like just yesterday. I was leaving the supermarket when a call came in from my son’s school; it was 10:30am. It was already snowing hard as I got in my car; the Northeast was bracing for a blizzard.
The school nurse called to let to me know that my 5-year old son Eli’s gym teacher noticed his neck was quite swollen, and that I should come get him and bring him to his doctor right away. I drove straight to school with a car full of food and snacks to stock the house for what I thought would be a few fun days playing in the snow and hanging out inside.
When I got to school I found Eli looking somewhat unsure about the concern he was sensing from the school nurse. My heart started to race. His neck looked like a linebackers. How could I not have noticed? I called my daughter to the school office and called ahead en route to our pediatrician.
With the snow getting heavier outside, the doctor’s office was quiet. We went immediately into a room and in came the doctor. She looked, felt his neck, did a strep test, asked Eli how he was feeling and then left the room for a minute. She came back in with the senior doctor in the practice, which is never a good sign. The senior doctor examined Eli and a serious look washed over her face. I began to feel the panic set in.
The doctors asked me if I could please come with them into the other room, as the kids waited for a minute. She thought it might be cancer. “Excuse me, but what did you say?” A chill went through my body. They called ahead to Yale New Haven for us, telling them to expect us within a few hours. I was in a daze, going through the motions, I had no idea what was happening, but off we went.
Now shaking and crying, I tried to pull myself together for just a few minutes, thinking that none of this made any sense, I was just at the grocery store. I collected the kids and called my husband who was in Vermont, already stuck in the blizzard. I called my parents who immediately got in their car. I went home and dropped my daughter at my neighbors, tears pouring out of me “Can you please watch her while my parents are on their way?”
I packed a little bag of stuff for Eli and myself and got back on the road. With the blizzard in full force the roads were moving, but it was slow and all I wanted was to be there, it’s like time stood still. I looked in my rearview mirror and saw Eli’s unusually swollen neck. I just don’t know how I did not notice – my own child, right in front of me, every single day. How can I not have seen it?
We pulled into the children’s ER, they were expecting us. The first doctor came in to check on Eli. Unsure where all of this was going to lead us, we were both nervous and it showed. My heart was breaking as he was poked and prodded by kind, but unfamiliar faces. They started an IV, so that if they needed to take blood from him again he would already be accessed. He was as brave as he could be while entering a world of the unknown, he didn’t like how it felt and neither did I.
While we were waiting for results of the and X-ray and CAT scan, my father, who is a radiologist finally arrived. Aside from his emotional support, it helped to have him there to make sense of the medical talk.
Eli had Lymphoma, but that was just the beginning. The next step would be a procedure to assess his lymph nodes, and determine whether the final diagnosis would be Leukemia and not Lymphoma. The blizzard was in full force and we’d have to wait a few days to get the answers we so desperately needed.
That night we were admitted to the hospital. While Eli was in bed, I paced the hallways in a fog. They were an unknown maze of colors and doors, the faces, sounds and smells were unfamiliar. How did we get here? We were supposed to be home sleeping peacefully in our own beds. But we weren’t, and wouldn’t be for quite some time.
The next few days of rounds with doctors, fellows, residents, nurses, a social worker and childcare were a blur. I barely slept or ate. I sat on the floor of the hallways at 2am and wept. I called close friends and family and started to fill them in on what little we knew.
We were finally able to go home for a couple of days only to turn back around when we found out that it was in fact Leukemia, officially called T-cell Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia, which was in 37% of Eli’s bone marrow.
As a parent, I have always felt that it was my job to protect my children, and that if we watch out for them, take care of them, teach them to be good people, it would just all work out. Cancer wasn’t in the plan (not that it ever is), I just wasn’t prepared, and was unsure I was strong enough to handle it not just for myself, but also for Eli and my family.
We took our place at the starting line of treatment, which included chemotherapy, 6-8 months of active treatment with bi-weekly visits, followed by 2-3 years of maintenance and twice monthly treatments and check ups.
Anyone who has a loved one that has gone through chemo knows that it is just horrible. Eli went through numerous additional procedures, which included him getting a port, or “button”, that will remain in his body for the next few years. The doctors went through the list of side affects, and for the most part, the experience turned out to be as awful as they warned.
We stayed in the hospital for 10 days to get everything started. I wanted to spare him the pain, but also wished for it to all move faster, to know he was further away from the disease and closer to having a normal life again, whatever that means.
I would not leave his side for as much as people tried to get me to. I walked the halls in the late hours of the night worrying about what this all meant to him and to all of us.
And so our travels back and forth to Yale began. A 45-minute drive that felt torturous. Eli hated going and was terrified when they had to access his button. He screamed and cried. It was all so new. He threw up a lot. I kept towels and wipes everywhere. He was tired. We were all tired. The doctors tried to manage his nausea with more drugs. The names of drugs I learned in the first month made my head spin. Peg Asparagense, Vinchristine, Donarubicam, Bactrum, Zofran, the list goes on and on and on.
After the first month of induction they tested Eli’s bone marrow again. This would determine the course of the next phase of treatment. The drugs did their first great job and he was put in the low risk category and would not need a bone marrow transplant or radiation. I think it was the first time I was able to breathe.
Doctors suggested we enter a study for a drug called Methotrexate. It was a randomized study and Eli ended up being in the group where he would get a high dosage of the drug, while staying in-patient for four days at a time for four cycles.
There’s so much to take in and so many decisions to be made. As a parent, I researched every single thing with my kids, looked at food labels, checked for recalls on toys, so here I am determining the fate of my child’s life and I have no firsthand information, and no way to know I was making the right decisions. We had no option but to release ourselves and take comfort in the incredible care of one of the best hospitals in the country.
The first few months sucked. There’s no other way to put it. It was winter and we were inside a lot. He felt like crap and it made me sad all day and all night. When he was awake I would lie next to him with my hand on his head, since that is only what comforted him. When he was sleeping, I watched him sleep. Making sure he was breathing ok and just peaceful.
After the first couple of months he started to get headaches and the doctors decided to do a MRI and then an MRV (of the veins) and noticed a small clot in a vein in his head. Apparently it was one of the potential side effects of the chemo. From that day forward I had to learn h