Take Me Back...

Webster's dictionary gives the following definition of flashback:

a: interruption of chronological sequence (as in a film or literary work) by interjection of events of earlier occurrence; also : an instance of flashback

b: a past incident recurring vividly in the mind

That pretty much sums up tonight. Interrupting the chronological sequence, this flashback brought to you by PTSD.
Three years ago tonight, I sat in a room at the hospital, the "big" bone marrow room with the huge windows where Braeden had gone through his transplant, to be exact. I sat there wondering what was going on. It started out so simple. Go to clinic, get blood transfusion necessary to start radiation treatment at Cincinnati Children's. We'd been seeing some signs of discomfort, so we were eager to get going. Get blood, go home, begin packing. It was Friday. Kev and Braeden were supposed to leave Sunday and report to the hospital on Monday.
Cue the sound of brakes.... Sitting in clinic getting blood, Bub's blood pressure kept climbing. There were all kinds of thoughts and ideas as to what might be causing this, and one big elephant in the room we, or at least I, didn't want to acknowledge. Various meds and a room later, and I sat in a daze. His blood pressure was controlled with medication, he was still eligible for MIBG at Cinci, and we were rescheduled for the next week. And yet... what was going on?
Of course, now we know. It was that elephant after all. Braeden was discharged on Sunday, and readmitted on Monday, December 15, in renal failure. Rapid tumor progression had blocked his renal artery and the ureter.

That night, three years ago, I was shocked. Surprised at the turn our plans had taken that day. Disappointed. I remember, and tonight it's playing over in my mind, and I'm there again, and yet not. That night, we had no clue. No real idea of the coming storm. Tonight, I can see it all again, hear it all again. But tonight, I feel the fear. The fear I should have felt on that night, because this night, I know what's coming. I know the road we're turning down now.
Maybe I was afraid then. Maybe that part I really did forget. Perhaps as some sort of coping mechanism, I pretended even to myself that this night was a kidney problem, not a cancer problem. That it was just a bump in the road.
Now I know... this night was the start of many sleepless nights, of pain, of worry, of fear. Of more treatments and desperation. And tonight, three years later, there is still the echo.



December 12, 2008.