January 6, 2009

January 6, 2009

Yesterday I went to the hematologist for Baby M’s followup for her funny looking blood cells.  I knew there was nothing wrong with her and inwardly grumbled that I had to go to this appointment.

As I sat in the waiting room, children running about and The View blaring on the TV above my head, I began to talk with the other mothers in the room.  One woman chased after her active 2 year old son running after every toy possible.  She cheerfully talked about how her husband was stuck in Italy and she was in New York with her sick son, by herself.  Her boss was getting tired of her weekly appointments for her son’s blood tests.  Another beautiful pale little girl playing a board game had an IV sticking out of her arm which bounced about as she quickly maneuvered the pieces of the game.  A mother of a teenager wearing pink pants and black UGGS told me her daughter had been coming to the hospital since her daughter was a small baby.  After all that her daughter went through, she didn’t want to have another child.

She was not self pitying about it, just matter of fact.  Then she turned to me and Baby M and kindly asked:  “What’s wrong with her?”

I felt like a fraud.  I mumbled about the baby having some tests being done but said nothing more.  As the parents talked about different doctors they saw and how often they came to the hospital, I looked at a snowflake that a child had cut out.  On it was scrawled in green crayon:  “I wish to be healthy”.

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