We had our Awards Ceremony for Awana on Wednesday night. A deeply disappointed Cailey had to stay home because she’s been suffering from a sore throat and fever.
When I got home, she was getting ready for bed, asking me to recap the evenings festivities, but wanting me to leave out the part about everyone getting ice cream, because that would just make her sad.
As she was brushing her teeth, she said, “Mom, what is this lump here?” And she pointed to her throat. She’s asked me this question before, and I have given her my stock answer, “That’s your Adams Apple and everyone has it.” I was about mid-sentence when I glanced at her profile. I stopped. And asked her to turn towards me.
My sweet baby girl has a golf ball sized lump on the front of her throat. How did I not see that? I calmly ushered her into see her father, taking great care not to take on the high pitched screech that naturally happens when I’m freaked out. It’s a sound that only mad dogs ought to hear.
He looked at it and immediately got her packed up for a trip to the Emergency Room. He asked her if she’d rather have mommy or daddy take her. She looked at both of us with sad eyes and said quietly, “daddy.” I assured her that I totally understood.
And I did. If I had a choice who I’d want to accompany me to the Emergency Room (me or Fiddledaddy) I’d choose Fiddledaddy hands down.
Cailey knows that mommy gets a little strange when nervous. And besides, Daddy has far cooler phone apps to keep you occupied in times of duress.
I made sure she was bundled up in her pink hooded jacket because emergency rooms and the morgue are on the same climate control thermostat, and I sent an extra long sleeved pink shirt for good measure. And pink socks. I bravely watched my little girl clad in pink Tinkerbell p.j.s shuffle out the front door. She looked back and sadly said, “Bye, Mommy.”
And then the serious hand wringing began. Fiddledaddy did indeed keep her amused with his iPhone, sending home interesting pictures to keep me in the loop. Like the TV up on the wall. And the unused remote. Because, hello, no kids programming at dark thirty in the E.R.
And then there was the picture of her getting stuck with a needle for the I.V.
She wasn’t even crying. And no one lay dead on the ground beside her. I couldn’t believe that my little firebrand let someone poke her with a needle without suffering dire bodily injury.
My dad loves to tell the story of how it once took a doctor, two nurses, and two weary parents to hold me down for a shot when I was about Cailey’s age.
And she had to get stuck twice before they found a suitable vein. Then there was the picture of my girl wearing an iron apron as she was entering the tube for the MRI.
She’s not a fan of enclosed spaces. And again, no tears or bloodshed. She was brave.
It broke my heart. Not to be there with her. But suddenly I realized that she was drawing on her daddy for all her bravery.
At about 1:30 in the morning, they wearily came home. She couldn’t wait to show me the ball of cotton strapped onto each arm with tape. She would have woken up both siblings for a lightening fast round of show-and-tell if I had let her.
In a nutshell, Cailey has a congenital cyst on her thyroid. It’s likely that she’s had it for a good while, but now it’s infected and really making a scene. They gave her a round of antibiotics at the hospital, and she started on them orally at home today. If the cyst does not resolve with the use of antibiotics over the next 2 weeks, she’ll have to have it removed surgically.
I’ll be honest with you, that scares the crap out of me. We are scheduled to meet with an Ear, Nose, and Throat Specialist early on Friday morning.
Cailey, who has a very full dance card, is more concerned about her social schedule and is afraid of missing Friday Park Day with all her little girlfriends, not to mention All The Birthday Parties on our calendared horizon. Including a “sleep under” given by my girlfriend, Stacy.
She intends to pointedly ask the doctor if she can still make all of her appointed social rounds. And he’d better be a strong strong man, because one look in those sad big blue eyes, and that freckled, dimpled face is enough to melt even the hardest of hearts.
I’ll let you know what happens after the appointment. And thank you to my sweet friends that have started praying already. I can’t imagine putting one step before the other without the healing gift of prayer.