I remember one night two years ago up at Primary Children’s Hospital. I had spent the day in a dark hospital room while Hayes slept on and off with intermittent showings of Baby Einstein’s on the TV. I played peek a boo with Hayes and then watched as he drifted off to sleep. It was usually when he fell asleep that I began to notice that I was starving. It was about 7:30 and I vividly remember asking the nurse to keep an eye on him while I ran to grab food at the cafeteria.
It was my break for the day so I usually “enjoyed” myself by getting a Coke Zero from the soda machine and even splurged on some cafeteria sushi. You know, the real fancy sushi with the plastic green grass? Yep, I was a high roller sometimes.
On this night, I had just made my purchase and was walking slowly up the stairs to the 4th floor when my phone rang. The caller I.D. said “Primary Children’s Oncology”…I assumed it was an automated call from the oncology clinic so I denied the call and kept making my way up. All of a sudden, over the loud speaker I heard, “Will the parent of Hayes Tate please immediately make their way to his room.” I had NEVER heard this before, for any parent let alone myself. I was in a panic and ran the last set of stairs two at a time. I used my keycard to get into the unit and ran towards Hayes room.
Doctors and nurses were overflowing out his door with anxious looks on their faces. I pushed my way in and Hayes lay right where I had just played peek a boo with him 20 minutes before but now his eyes were closed and blood poured from his nose. How did this happen so quickly?!? I held his hands and nuzzled into his face with my wet cheek pressed into his. He didn’t respond. I whispered “My sweet baby boy…” over and over again as tears streamed. I listened to the doctors as they explained to me that Hayes had been unresponsive and they had called a “Code Blue”.
The next step was for Hayes to have a CT scan to rule out a brain bleed. The blessing came within an hour and the news that Hayes did not have a brain bleed but rather low platelets and an extreme loss of blood was actually a relief. Hayes had scary situations all of the time, daily and sometimes hourly, so this roller coaster of heart break was all too familiar. The blood loss and platelet transfusion were just the teeniest of bumps in the road.
We were back in his hospital room and I sat rocking him in the green pleather chair. As I held him, I cried that night at what could have been. To be honest, it still takes me right to the edge of tears. The irony is that the “what if” has already happened, but it is just a reminder that I lived that fear.
As I held him, the hum of CNN played on the TV. My mind focused and I realized what the political panel was debating. They were arguing the presidential candidates. Who would be the most honest? Who had said what in their past? Who would cut taxes?…..I wanted to throw up, I was so angry. Here these 5 people were, passionately arguing over something that really, in the grand scheme of things didn’t matter, and I had almost lost my baby boy the hour earlier.
The cancer unit is this other world. You have to go through two sets of double doors and every room is pressurized to insure that no germs can get in. It is truly the most locked down area of the hospital because these little bodies are so vulnerable and susceptible to sickness. Because of this, it is incredibly isolating and lonely. You really don’t know what the weather is outside let alone the political climate. So listening to the news that night completely disgusted me. That people were worrying about things that didn’t matter just killed me inside. How was childhood cancer not the subject of their disgust?!
It probably isn’t completely logical. I understand that childhood cancer isn’t everyone’s agenda, but during that 331 day fight, it was all I knew. It was all I could wrap my passion around. I lived the world of childhood cancer. Still, to this day, I have a hard time empathizing with political and social issues and debates. For me, none of that stuff matters. My fight is childhood cancer. It will be until there is a change. This is my forever fight, my forever “Code Blue”.
