White blood count (WBC) – 0.94, Absolute neutrophil Count (ANC) – 0.77; after just one day of my transfused, super, feisty granulocytes!
The staff say the numbers are small, just a blip. But, I’m happy dancing, hugging strangers and on my knees thanking God and every single angel who’s been listening to my prayers.
My bursting heart actually aches. I can hear the echo of Nick’s robust laugh in my head. The way he cracks up always makes me chuckle. It’s been a long while since he laughed like a kid should.
Donna H is visiting Vancouver and she spends the day with me at the House (Ronald McDonald House). FH walks through the door with a look upon his face that makes my stomach heave and I think I will lose my lunch onto the floor. He’s supposed to be at the hospital! Why would he would leave Nicholas and not have someone call me?
“Is Nick OK??” I’m almost shouting.
He looks from me to Donna to me again and says, “Your mother died today.”
My first reaction is rubber knees from overwhelming relief. Then I’m mad. I’m seething. “That bitch!” I snarl. I turn my back to Donna and FH when I feel my face twist.
“Susan!” I think he is reprimanding me. We’re in the House with sick little kids and their families and here I am swearing. Then he reaches out an arm but I shake him off.
The urge to get to Nicholas’ side makes me run for the car. FH has to drop me off at the front of the hospital because I can’t wait for him to park. I tiptoe to Nick’s bed because his eyes are closed. He hears me and his brown eyes are wide. “Oh Mom, Dad told me, are you OK?” There is more grief on his face.
Right now, I don’t know what to say about my mother’s death except she wasn’t old, but she wasn’t eleven years old. She didn’t mean to die, but maybe she didn’t mean to live either.
I can’t imagine what this will feel like, but right now, Nicholas needs me to be the best advocate for him that I am capable of and nobody is going to take that away from him.
Saturday, May 22, 1999