It Cannot Happen Again

That was my first thought this past Thursday night when we discovered a lump under Delaney's skin. A big lump. A big, quarter size hard knot.  On her left side of her chest.

It cannot happen again. I cannot bury another child.

I cannot adequately put into words how scared I was.  After she fell asleep I cried. And cried. And cried some more.

My thoughts were all over the place.  If it is the big C ... How? Why? Then it jumped to what if ... What if Colton had some type of cancer? What if that's why he died?  What if Brian and I just have some awkward mixing of the goods that gives our babies cancer? We should have had the autopsy. We should have continued to seek answers....  What would she go through??  What were we facing??

I called the pediatrician as soon as they opened on Friday. Saying to the receptionist "I need to get my daughter in, we discovered a lump" was like choking on my heart as it pounded out of my chest.  I cried all the way to the appointment (a 45 minute drive).

The doctor checked her over and immediately said "sub-cutaneous cyst".  Sub what? A cyst? She went on to explain it's probably a fluid filled cyst, quite common, and should resolve itself. We could help massage it and ... blah ... blah ... blah.  It wasn't until that moment that I even realized I hadn't, for one second, thought it could be anything benign. In hindsight I see how I *should* have been able to play out all the scenarios. Yet, all I could think was "I'm going to lose her too". 

I asked about cancer and the doctor said the odds are very low of that being the case.  If, at her one year check up next month it's still there we can be referred out to have it checked further. She was so calm, though, so nonchalant, that I felt silly for just a second.

Before that moment, though, I was just terrified.

I was told "I figured you were just being dramatic".  That kind of hurt ... even if it were true. I wish I could live blissfully unaware that babies - my babies - die.  I wish that I didn't think about what it would be like to bury a child ... again.  I wish that I could be naive and carefree and think the best.  But I know the worst.

I admit, I felt silly afterwards. I probably did overreact.  And I still hope that it's really "nothing".  I still rub it and pray it goes away.  I have a feeling, though, just like the fear deep inside, it's going to take time.

It just cannot happen again.