It is something (BB’s test results)

by

“It is something,” she says.

And for a moment the street you are walking on falls into silence.  The man sitting outside Starbucks pauses midway through his coffee, the child in the pushchair stops his wail of despair.  Your breath gets caught in your throat, and your palms turn sweaty and your eyes sting with the threat of oncoming tears, and you still don’t know what something is.

“Are you there?” she says, speaking louder down the phone.

And you croak a reply that sounds like yes whilst your head spins back to the last time you were told it ‘was something.’ When you stood with your older child in a doctors surgery as the nurse looked at you gently, and told you your eldest daughter was dangerously ill, and needed to go to hospital immediately.

Then something was diabetes.

But now, as the world hangs on something, and the disembodied voice waits to tell you what it is, you can only fear the worse and in a split second you see the end of it all.

“We only have some of the tests back, but it has shown something.”

Your breath now threatens to choke you, overwhelm you; whilst you battle with the theory that perhaps not knowing is better.

“So far, we can see she has a hormone deficiency,” the voice begins “that is causing her low blood sugars, it seems to be her growth hormone, which links to the pituitary gland.”

For a moment an irrational thought flies into your mind, your three year old is hormonal, does that explain the tantrums and the sometimes diva like performances?

“We need to do more tests, I’m sorry.”

You snap back into seriousness, when doctors say they are sorry, it normally means something is going to be crap.

“We need to do a brain scan, to rule out tumours, it is rare.”

Tumours – that bloody word again.  It keeps cropping up, mixed with the word unlikely, but it pops up all the same.

“Now don’t worry, she has had a MRI before?”

Silently you mouth; “three, my three year old daughter has had three, this will be her eighth general anesthetic.”

You struggle to keep up as new words are forced into your head. The world is still silent as new knowledge finds a place in your brain.

“She will need hormones, by injection, maybe once, maybe twice a day, until puberty ends.”

Puberty? Your daughter has yet to master writing; the end of puberty is a lifetime away.  Injections, you bloody hate injections.

“Hopefully it won’t be anything more, but the tests, the new tests they will tell us more.  I’m sorry.”

Sorry, there she goes again, apologising, scaring the shit out of me.

“Before the MRI, we will starve her, give her sugar, let her drop, and take more blood.  It is a rough test.”

You remember the twelve vials from last time, lined up, dripping with your youngests blood.  Does she any more left? Will it hurt her like last time?

“Do you understand Jane? I will write in a letter? It will be ok, please don’t worry.”

You think, “I am a mother, how can I not worry?”

You hang up the phone, the world awakens.

69 thoughts on “It is something (BB’s test results)”

  7. oh Jane, I’m so sorry BB has to endure more tests and more time in the hospital. If there is anything I can do just ask. Lots of love, Emma xx

  11. I can’t think of a single thing to say that would be of any help. But if she is anything like her Mummy and big sister she’ll face it head on and take it in her stride. Hugs for you all xx

  13. Oh bugger. Bugger, Bugger, Bugger. I hope they get you in for the test s soon so they can be done and over with so you can move forward. I want to say I wish it wasn’t happening but it is and so I will say I hope that you get all of the information and medication that you need for BB and that you can find the strength within you to deal with this on top of everything else.

  14. It is truly the crappest of the crap that your little one is 3 and going through all this poking and prodding and scanning.
    All I can say is that I have a benign tumour on my pituitary gland, which affects my hormones. And it means that I have to take a tablet every day – and that’s it.
    Probably because your daughter is so young and it’s affecting her growth hormone, that’s why she needs injections.
    But I guess what I’m saying is that it can be a tumour and it can mean treatment for the rest of her life. But that can be OK. Once the hormone imbalance is detected, it can be put right with medication so she lives her life just like the rest of us.
    Sending hugs at this scary time xxxx

  16. Oh I am so sorry – and why on Earth did they tell you that over the phone! I wish I knew what to say. You are a remarkable woman and you will help her get through whatever it is she has to cope with. Sending you all love and hugs xx

  17. Hi, came across your blog on loveallblogs. I read the post about your daughters tests and was drawn in. I hope things turn out to be much better than you think. x

  24. Oh you guys, jeez. I hope life gives you a break soon, doesn’t seem fair how much you’ve had to deal with recently. Amazing that you can still write so incredibly well about something so tough. Big love xx

  27. I read the post about BB having the tests a few days ago and had to ask Hubby, the doc, to explain it as I couldn’t get my head round what she was going through and the difference between that and diabetes which your older child has. All these bloody sugar levels, ups and downs, injections! Jane, I ache for you, as any mother would.

  28. I don’t want to say ‘sorry’ because it doesn’t sound good enough. I wish I could hug you really, but I just hope you get the strength to deal with something not many of us cannot truly understand.

  32. You write about this so frankly and eloquently. I don’t know what to say except that I hope the tests are all over soon so that you know exactly what you’re dealing with and can face it head on. And also I know from first hand experience that the word ‘tumour’, even if unlikely, is terrifying but (as Donna said) tumours can be benign. I had one removed a few years ago and have only a scar to show for it.

  33. Jane, I am so sorry to hear about this, I really, really am. It reads like a sick joke….. when will it all end. I am thinking of you. Let’s hope these next set of tests come back with more hopeful news. (ps brilliantly written). XXX

  34. How sh*t! I wish I had something better to say to you.
    You are in my thoughts. How lucky BB is to have such a strong mummy to help her through but neither of you should have to.
    Much love xxx

  36. Can I just say – that was beautifully written and you are BB are very special. Am here if I can be in anyway helpful x

  38. Shit. I was reading this thinking ‘there’ll be a punchline coming soon’ it’ll be a funny story not a sad story. Really hope that the doctor is right and there is nothing to worry about.

  41. Oh Jane, huge huge hugs to you and BB! If hospital is local to me let me know when you are in & I’ll pop in with some cake when it is done.

  47. Oh goodness, sorry to be so late commenting – so sorry you and your utterly beautiful little girl have to go through all this – sending big hugs and hopefully a little bit of strength! xx

Comments are closed.