AND MILES TO GO BEFORE I SLEEP: A TWENTY-FIVE YEAR JOURNEY Part Two: A Series of “Firsts” It is impossible to describe the feeling one bears when they hang up the phone having just been informed that their four and a half year old precious twin daughter has leukemia and they have to immediately go to the hospital. You are of course first and foremost in shock. Disasters of this magnitude always happen to others, not you. But as reality sets in, you begin to experience a series of “firsts.” You first realize that life as you know it has changed forever and will never be the same. You look at your precious child and realize that untold horrible things are about to happen to her and there is now nothing you can do to protect her from that pain. For a brief passing moment, you think that you might just lose her. How will you survive such a loss? How will her twin sister survive such a loss? And as you quickly block out that fear, you realize that you have as never before just become the foundation, the cornerstone, the load-bearing column, the steadfast stalwart rock that from this point forward must provide the physical and psychological support for her and the rest of the family, who can never waiver or show weakness, who must learn to crush the emotion into submission in order that you can make the responsible decision and be the advocate for your child in the most delicate and difficult of situations which are to come. You dedicate your life to the one and only thing before you that now matters: SURVIVAL. And with that realization, I made the first of many difficult decisions. As our nanny packed Carmen’s clothes and nightgowns and personals for the hospital admission, I called my parents to ask them to drive down to Atlanta from Rome for the evening to meet us at the hospital. Every little girl needs her mom, but knowing the issues existing with Carmen’s mom that had led to our separation and divorce and not knowing whether her reaction would be helpful or supportive, I postponed for the time being bringing her into the equation. It didnt feel right, but I knew I had to, for it was the choice that was in Carmens best interests, and as I soon came to learn, the only thing that mattered, comfortable or not, was what was in Carmens best interests. But I knew that I could only postpone that decision briefly. The next big decision involved sitting down the twins to tell them what was about to happen. For the first time since conception, the twins would not be spending the night together next to each other. They wouldnt be saying their prayers and getting tucked into bed by Papa together. For the first time in their lives, they would not wake up and see each other across the room the next morning. For the first time in their lives, they would not eat breakfast together, go to school together, and spend their day together. Carmen was sick; she had something like a cold, but it was a lot stronger than that even though it didn’t seem like it. We had to go spend the night in the hospital, maybe for a few days, so that the doctors could give her the medicine she needed to get better. They would be taking extra good care of Carmen and all the nurses would pay special attention to her. And once we got her there, then tomorrow after school, Cristina could come visit her sister. And Carmen asked in the first of what we would later become known as “Carmen-speak,” “Papa, will you be there with me in the HOSTIPLE?” “Oh yes I will sweetheart,” as I hugged her ever so tightly. “I will never leave your side darling.” And thus began the journey that would lead me to spend more than a year’s worth of nights in the “HOSTIPLE” with both of my daughters over the next fifteen years. PART THREE: “Egleston and the ‘Pokes’” tomorrow.
Posted on: Tue, 20 May 2014 11:29:59 +0000
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