And I thought I'd post it here for all the mothers of thalassemics that put their children first always, and fight for the proper treatment of their children, frustrated at doctors that refuse to help. It's about three seperate times in my life that my mother has been my driving force, my everything - I wouldn't be here without her! We love you, Moms!!
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She Held Her
She held her close, afraid that if she were to let the child go, she might not return. The hospital refused to admit her daughter, even after losing ten pounds to weight in at only twenty. She'd tried everything - from chicken soup, to a vaporizer. They refused her daughter everything - antibiotics, treatment...dignity. Her red blood cells were small, and abnormally shaped. Leukemia, the doctor suspected, but they couldn't admit her unless they had a positive test. She held her baby close, only three years old and eyes yellow from pain and malnourishment. Anger welled inside her breast; her heart beat with sadness, with fury, with determination.
"I won't leave here without antibiotics. I won't let you do this to my baby."
They went home with their newfound treasure, and it was Christmas Eve. She held her close, rocking her to sleep after she'd carried her in. Her baby slept, a fitful delerium of fever and pain. She prayed to God. The phone rang; her beloved father in law was dead. They'd been expecting this news - her husband was with his father, and she'd been all alone.
"Mommy, there's a man in my room." A man, her heart sank. Her baby girl hadn't walked in a week, and here she was: standing in front of her, the yellowness gone from her eyes. Please God, please no.
"He has a little girl with him." the child spoke, as if to cheer her mother. "They were playing ABC's with me." She peered at her mother, as if asking permission to be allowed to feel happy at these premonitions.
"Can I eat? I'm hungry now."
The mother exhaled slowly. It was a Christmas miracle; her child hadn't eaten in days. She held her baby close, and cried tears of joy.
-Twenty years later-
She wanted to hold her, so very badly. It was as if she could feel her baby's tears from across the phone line at the hospital. Her body was shutting down, her spleen was killing any red blood cells it saw as abnormal. Her baby cried of the searing pain in her left shoulder and abdomen; once again in delerium, again in fever, drugged to stay still and not rupture the organ. Her body was failing, her teeth loose and gums bleeding. They might lose the precious child in her womb, and they might lose her. Ninety nine percent odds of emergency surgery to save the neonate. Nobody seemed to care about her baby - not even the body that contained her vibrant soul. All oxygen to the neonate. All nutrients to the neonate. She prayed again - and again. Infection raged in her daughters body as anger raged once again in her heart. God was all they had now.
"I'm here honey. Please be calm - we've all been praying." The mother soothed her child.
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She held her baby close, and for once in a long while, the girl-woman smiled back at her from the surgical gurney. Tears threatened to brim in her eyes as she said her goodbyes before the surgery to save her daughter - her baby. Her grandchild safely at home, sucking his thumb - peacefully unaware that his mother had almost died for him. "I'd die for her." the mother thought to herself. She'd done enough - fought for her daughter's care, her medicine, her dignity - a diagnosis, a treatment plan. Both understood each other in this moment caught in time. A mother would surely die for their child. But, in the instance that isn't required, they do so much more.
She held her baby close. "You'll be alright. You always are."
"I know. Thanks for holding my hand down the hallway."