Parenting
When my husband and I first tied the knot, our Sundays often found us seated behind a couple with five energetic sons. Although I dreamed of having a large family myself, I would often elbow my husband and exclaim, “Five boys… that’s my worst nightmare!” Over time, I learned that the mother of those well-behaved boys had endured a battle with cancer that resulted in the loss of her leg. My perspective shifted, and I began to think, “Cancer… now that’s my real nightmare.”
Five years ago this month, my worst fears materialized when my five-year-old son was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor.
In the spring of 2009, I was already feeling overwhelmed, managing four little boys under the age of six. It was a choice I had made, but the constant energy and chaos were more than I could bear. In the weeks leading up to the diagnosis, my nightly prayers often included, “Dear God, please help me find a way to be a better mother.”
Things did change, but not in the way I had hoped.
On the morning of April 22, 2009, our household was filled with the familiar sounds of toaster waffles and children’s programming. That week, everyone had been battling a stomach bug, which left me frazzled. My oldest son was still asleep, and I figured it was his turn to be unwell, so I let him rest. Meanwhile, my one-year-old was busy making a mess, and I was preparing lunches for an Earth Day picnic that my oldest had suggested.
As the morning progressed, the chaos escalated. Playhouse Disney continued to play in the background while my youngest threw tantrums. When I took him upstairs for his nap, I noticed that one of my five-year-old twins, Alex, was still in bed. He had been to the bathroom but returned without a word. Alarmingly, I discovered he had thrown up on the floor beside his bed.
When I tried to wake him, his responses were slurred and incoherent. He was staring blankly to the side, and his body jerked in a way I had never witnessed before. Realizing something was gravely wrong, I called my husband at work, barely able to keep my composure as I relayed my concerns to the receptionist. “Can you get him? I think something is very wrong with Alex,” I managed to say.
He was on the line in an instant, and as I described the situation, he gently suggested calling the pediatrician. However, my instincts told me to call 911.
The wait for the sirens was agonizing, but when the paramedics arrived, they swarmed in with urgency. They began with a barrage of questions: Did he have any pre-existing conditions? Could he have ingested something harmful? Had he recently hit his head? The answers were all negative, except for the last question, but they concluded it might be a febrile seizure. I felt a fleeting sense of relief, even though I knew he hadn’t had a fever.
My father arrived to watch the other boys as they placed Alex on a stretcher, and I was grateful to ride in the ambulance with him. I remember wishing I had my camera to capture this moment, thinking Alex would find humor in the ambulance ride once he recovered.
During the ride to the children’s hospital, the EMT and I exchanged stories about our kids until Alex’s condition worsened, requiring the sirens to be activated. At that point, I understood that something far more serious was at play.
Upon arrival at the hospital, there were more questions. Had he hit his head? I recalled a fall he had taken at skating lessons three months earlier. Please, let that be the cause.
He was rushed for a CT scan, and then the ER doctor delivered the devastating news: “It’s a tumor.” My mind raced with disbelief. I could hear the doctor, but his words felt distant, as if I were at the far end of a long tunnel. Instead, I thought about how we were supposed to be on a picnic that day, one Alex had planned. How could a little boy who was so full of life possibly have a tumor?
“How can a five-year-old get a brain tumor?” I asked helplessly. The doctor offered no response, shifting his focus back to Alex.
I called my husband and delivered the news in a rush. There was a brief pause as he absorbed the information before he said, “I’m on my way.”
People often describe such fast-moving, stressful events as a blur, but I remember every agonizing detail that followed. I vividly recall meeting the neurosurgeon, waiting for a biopsy, and the overwhelming atmosphere of the ICU. I can still feel the weight in my stomach and how my knees buckled when we learned that the cancer was inoperable and terminal.
No parent expects to face such a reality. Just three weeks prior, Alex had been a joyful, vibrant child, receiving a clean bill of health during his kindergarten check-up. Yet, he had experienced severe headaches that I had dismissed as migraines or allergies, and I had been preparing to consult the pediatrician about them. In hindsight, it wouldn’t have changed the outcome. The surgeon speculated that the tumor had likely been developing since birth.
That day five years ago altered our lives forever. Alex lost his battle with cancer on June 10, 2010, and the memories of that “crapiversary” loom large. He was just six years old. Since then, our home feels quieter, as if his brothers are searching for purpose without him. Sometimes, I feel lost in how to find happiness without Alex.
Three months after his passing, I discovered I was pregnant again. I was terrified at the thought of another child; I doubted my ability to cope. Nevertheless, this new baby has brought healing. He serves as a small reminder of Alex and may be the answer to my prayers for change. Without him, I fear I would still be mired in the profound sadness following Alex’s death, and my family would be even more fragmented.
I can’t definitively say that losing Alex has made me a better mother. However, it has shifted my perspective on what once troubled me. Messy floors, noise, broken toys, and chaos have become less significant. Today, a perfect family is defined by love, laughter, and the presence we share right now. I strive to find joy in the small moments, as those truly matter. While there will always be an ache in my heart for my sweet boy, I consciously choose to focus on positive thoughts for the future. I recognize that the family I once envisioned has been irreparably altered.
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Summary
This article narrates a parent’s harrowing journey through the unexpected diagnosis of a child’s cancer. Initially overwhelmed by the demands of motherhood, the author faces the ultimate nightmare when her son is diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. Despite the profound loss, she reflects on the changes in her family dynamics and her evolving understanding of motherhood, emphasizing the importance of love and cherishing the present moment.