Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, “lightening makes no sound until it strikes.” While I was sure that lightning struck within me once, I recall the emotion and passion evoked from deep within me as I demanded more answers for my child. The truth is that the real storm was just about to begin. It was December 2011.
The results of Kelsey’s blood work were due in by the morning. Now on a mission, I called at 8AM sharp. “A doctor will call you with the results as soon as possible,” was the reply I received. “Ok,” was mine because as much as I felt I was ready, I did not actually want to hear the doctor’s words.
Bright and early, I was patient. I thought that a doctor may not be in yet for the day. I was “nice” and I was patient. However, that same frustrating phone call happened again at 9AM, 10AM, and every hour on the hour until the thunder came out from within me. At 1PM, I had enough.
When the same reply came on the other end of the phone with the woman on the line who I spoke to five other times that day, I physically lost control. I remember getting bright red and angry in a way that I had never been before. Mamma bear was coming out.
Looking back, I could have been a bit nicer, but I was not hanging up the phone. I exchanged some unpleasant phrases about the office and the lack of communication that was happening. I must have been persuasive… because one minute later, I had a doctor on the line.
I can picture myself like it was yesterday, crouched on hard wood floors hearing, “You need to get to an Emergency Room as soon as possible. CHOP and DuPont would be our recommendations.” I could hardly breathe. Due to the anxiety that filled my brain, the tears that streamed instantaneously, and the dagger I felt drive through my heart, I projected on that poor doctor. I was not kind. I was not nice, and I did not hold back my annoyance at this news coming five hours after it should have.
To this day, thinking about the fact that I sat for five hours when I could have been under medical supervision for most of them is almost unbelievable. I wondered what “urgent” meant if it was able to wait five hours. Regardless, I did not take that news quietly.
I hung up the phone and without saying a word, my husband knew what to do. He called my parents and arranged for my son to be taken care of for the rest of the day and overnight. It was clear that we would spend the night in a children’s hospital. One night seemed reasonable…
My mom picked my son up almost too filled up with tears to see the doorknob. I could picture her on the couch with the same worried gaze that she wore weeks ago saying, “Something is wrong.” Indeed it was.
My husband and I did not speak on our way. There were no words that could prepare us for the days and weeks that would follow.
Instead, we clutched tightly to each other. It was the best we could do during the most unnerving and chilling car ride of our lives.
Lightening had not struck yet, and therefore we made not a sound.