Sunday Afternoon

Is it weird that I miss Paige's oncologists?

I miss the nurses, too. They got to know Paige so well, and they worked so hard taking care of her, and us. So many of them have moved on to other hospitals, so even when I take my trip up to the hospital for the first time since Paige died, I won't get to see all of them. That will be a big trip, even with 1/4 of the special people there.

Mostly I want to talk to the nurse Michael. I stubbornly refused to learn any of the nurses names for a long time after Paige's diagnosis, and I would refer to them based on some fact I remembered about them; a hobby they had, a physical trait. But not their names. My own way of refusing to look the situation (or the people involved) fully in the face, I suppose. After many times of referring to Michael as "silly guy" (he WAS often silly; Paige knew who I meant), he looked at me and said, a little steel-ily, "My name is Michael." After that, I worked hard to remember the names of the nurses. He was a ballast; good at seeing the big picture, and able to communicate with me on a parent to parent level, which I needed.

I also miss one of the doctors. He was the first voice of authority to say that he agreed with us that something was wrong, when we kept bringing Paige up to Dartmouth and she wasn't getting better.

And then there was ninny doctor, who was abrasive and a little mean, and before the diagnosis made Paige walk across the floor on legs that were hurting her so badly that she had hardly walked for days. "See, she can walk when she wants to - she's fine. Go home," after Paige hobbled towards me, crying, and collapsed in my arms.

(Note added: It took me about two and a half years to forgive him. There was a handful of people that angered, hurt or upset me during this whole experience. I finally got to the place this autumn where I was ready to let go; not to pretend it didn't happen, but to let go of my resentment and anger towards them.
I didn't do this in one sitting - I spaced it out over a couple of weeks. And after all the rest were done, I realized that I needed to forgive ME. To let go of the blame and shame and regret of all the ways I felt I had messed up and wasn't the parent I could have been. It's pretty hard to forgive yourself. When resentment starts to pop up again, or self-blame, I remind myself by repeating, "_______, I forgive you." Forgiveness is a challenging topic, and an even more challenging practice. The Aramaic [language Jesus spoke] translates the word forgiveness to untangle a ball of yarn. One of Dartmouth's chaplains shared that with me. It has been a tremendously helpful analogy.)

But the kind doctor, who walked down long hallways with us so we could find one of the departments we had never been to, was gentle, and caring. And to hear him say that he thought we were right was like a breath of fresh air. Not a relief to hear that she was sick, but a relief to feel like we were being listened to; that maybe now some progress would be made in helping her get better.

Oh the kaleidoscope.