Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful Boy May 23, 2013

“Don’t freak mom.” Those words do more to send a mother’s blood pressure to the roof than any other. “I finally went to a doctor about that pain in my side.”

Nate had told me about his side just a few weeks earlier. It hurt enough to keep him up at night and compared to his left side, it did seem swollen. Having a nephew who had Lymphoma at 16, I had insisted he get that looked at.

“They did a Chest X-Ray and there is a mass of unknown origin and I have a CT Biopsy scheduled for Monday, can you take me?”

A mass of unknown origin, a MASS, how can he have a mass? Maybe it’s a pulled muscle? Maybe it’s an inflamed fatty tissue? A CT Biopsy? He’s only 20 years old.

Monday morning we arrive an evidently we are late. He said it was an 11:00 am appointment. They girl explains that he was supposed to be there at 9:00 am for prep. We assume we are going to have to reschedule, but they don’t. She says, ‘no problem.’ No problem, being late for a scheduled appointment at a doctor’s office? She calls to the back and says a number that must reference Nate. She looks up and says, “We will get you right in.” Right in? What is happening here? This is NOT how the medical world works. You are late, you have to wait. We barely sit down and they call us back. The waiting room is packed. I am somewhat confused at the star treatment. I note to myself, Nate is getting the red carpet treatment here, why?

They make him put on a hospital gown. He’s so tall his feet hang off the end of the bed. I don’t want to scare him but I remember how painful my lung biopsy was so I tell him to be sure to tell the technician that it hurts, not to suck it up like I did if he feels any pain. They come and take some blood work. There is some blood on the bed. His blood. I try not to think about my son in a hospital gown, with an IV, lying in a hospital bed, about to get a CT Needle Biopsy on a mass of unknown origin. I joke about his feet hanging off the bed. He isn’t even scared. At 20 years old he’s 10 foot tall and bullet proof. They take him back and direct me to another waiting room.

I have a book in my hand, one of my favorite authors. I realize that I have read the same paragraph three times and still have no idea what it says. Reading is not going to work. I stare at the huge fish tank that is directly across from where I am sitting. A small child comes up with her father and they look at the fish.

In the movies, when parents deal with terminal illnesses in their children, it’s all so very dramatic. They scream, “No, take me instead!” I start making my pact with God. I can’t scream. It’s a quiet breath that is barely a whisper that says, Oh God, please, just take me instead.”

My sister told me to write down Nate’s entire medical history to take to U of M. I frantically get out my blue notebook and just start randomly noting doctor’s visits, ER visits, asthma, tubes in his ears and my pregnancy for him.

Nate wasn’t planned. Elissa was only six months old when I got pregnant for Nate. I knew his dad wasn’t going to be happy about having another one so soon. I’m not really sure I am ready for another one either. Its Christmas time and I have morning sickness but I haven’t told anyone yet that I’m pregnant.  Good grief, I’m still nursing Elissa. At my parent’s house, I feel sick, crampy. I start to spot. I know what’s happening. I have been through this before. I fight the urge to push and keep saying, no, God no, please not again, please. I keep begging and finally say the words, I want him. I immediately calm down and I hear a still small voice say, “Even if he’s special?” I say yes, out loud and repeat, “Yes, I want him, even if he’s special.” The pains stop. I tell no one about this. It’s February before I even tell his dad that I am pregnant. I spend the entire pregnancy wondering what ‘even if he’s special’ means.

Nate was a planned C-section. I argued with the doctors that they had the date wrong; they were going to take him too early. I knew when he was conceived.  They told me they would only change the date if I had an amino. No way was I having one of those. So August 27^th, early in the morning, Nathan Thomas Bracher was born weighing 9lbs, 3oz and 23 inches. He was covered in vernix. He looked like he had been dipped in pancake batter! I kissed his face anyway. He had the blackest eyes I had ever seen. When he shifted them to look at you, he looked like a shark in a tank. We call him Shark Boy. He had a problem with his bilirubin levels so he was hooked up to a wallaby. He looked like a glowbug! I asked for him to be removed from my room at night because I couldn’t sleep next to this nuclear glowing baby! We call him Pumpkin Boy for his lovely orange/yellow glow.

When Nate was just over a year old, he got pneumonia, bad. He was on antibiotics for a double ear infection but I knew something was wrong. He was shaking and it appeared like he was talking in his sleep. His temperature was 106. I called the doctor’s office and told them I am coming over. When we got there I said his name and said, “Which room?” I wasn’t going to sit in a waiting room, not with a 106 temp. The doctor came right in. He started saying something to me about Nate’s temp, assuming that I was an exaggerating mom. Before he can finish the girl taking Nate’s temp says, “Doctor.” This was before ibuprofen was over the counter. The acetaminophen I had been giving him brought him no relief. One dose of ibuprofen and he wasn’t shaking anymore and peacefully sleeping, even snoring like a man. After the blood test it is confirmed pneumonia. I was given the option to put him in the hospital or treat him at home. We go home.

When he is three we spent a fourth of July in the ER. By spent I mean we are in there at 3:00pm and are not seen until 11:00pm. This was the summer Nate talked me into letting his grandpa shave his head. While we are outside and I am petting his head when I find a bump. I look, oh God there is a ladybug sized brown bug, biting him. I try to flick it off. It won't budge. I try to pull it. It won't budge. So off to ER. Nate was such a trouper that day. We only had a handful of toys but he was great. This is the time period he is called Nater Tornader. He’s usually a bit of an energetic kid. Finally when it’s nearing 11:00pm I go to the girl at the desk and say, “I know you have been busy. I know that drunks who fall off their boats and cut their feet on the boat propeller do take precedence over a child with a bug in his head but really? We have been here since three. It will probably take a minute for SOMEONE to take some tweezers and snatch out this bug.” It works, we are in a room! It does only take a minute to remove the STILL very much alive bug that has been sucking on my child’s head all 4^th of July night. They assure me it’s not a tick but a chigger so I'm told NOT to worry about Lyme disease but they give us some antibiotics just in case. We call him Chigger Boy for years.

There are many MANY doctors’ visits for ear infections that eventually lead to getting tubes in his ears. It took five nurses and myself to hold him still to get the IV in him before the surgery. I was holding his head, trying to keep him calm. I tell him it will only hurt for a little bit. He screams, “You lied. YOU LIED! It hurts, it STILL hurts.” One of the nurses starts to giggle. It took an abnormally long time for us to be able to see him after recovery. We finally question what is taking so long when out pops a gurney, Nate sitting up and five nurses around him laughing. One apologizes and says, “Oh, I'm sorry, we had to keep him a bit longer because he was TOO much fun.“

He is hospitalized at four with dehydration from a Roti Virus infection. This time he was way too weak to fight the insertion of the IV.

Shortly after he is diagnosed with asthma and has to start taking medications to treat his allergies. Try having a three year old on liquid albuterol!!! Bouncing off the walls does not BEGIN to describe the effects of that drug. He’s Nater Tornader again.

With each illness or medical event in his life, I wonder about the still small voice asking me, “even if he’s special?”

He breaks out in Chickenpox the night after our church Christmas program. I had to call everyone he possibly exposed to Chickenpox, including our pastor. The pastor had played the part of Jesus and was sitting among the children during the play. Unrehearsed, during the closing song, he picked up Nathan. Nathan curled up against his chest and made the whole congregation melt. Who wouldn't want to curl up in Jesus’ arms when you have a 104 temp?

Once we moved out into the country, the rest of his childhood was uneventful, health wise. He stopped taking his medications for allergies and asthma in junior high and frankly was rarely sick. Sitting there waiting for him to come back to his room after his biopsy, I really couldn't remember his last doctors visit.

The nurse comes out and says, “Can you follow me? The radiologist would like to speak with you a moment.”

The radiologist starts explaining that they were having difficulty taking a sample. He shows me a screen that displays the image of my son’s body and his mass of unknown origin. The radiologist points to these little broken white marks. “Those are his ribs. They are being destroyed from the pressure of the mass. That is what is causing him the pain.” He shows me that the mass of unknown origin is growing into the muscles on his right side; the other half of it is ‘infiltrating’ his rib cage. He repeats this same information several times. I look at him. I see in his eyes he wants to tell me more. I tell him about the nephew with lymphoma and ask him what he thinks this mass is. He quietly says, I don't think it’s lymphoma but let’s wait until the labs come back on the tissue samples before making any decisions.”

It’s echoing in the back of my head but I can still hear it.

 “Even if he’s special?”

Yes, I say again, EVEN if he’s special.

Before you cross the street,

Take my hand,

Life is just what happens to you,

While you're busy making other plans

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XO2v7qZClbw