Pediatric Cancer Awareness Month

Not many people are aware of this, but September is Pediatric Cancer Awareness Month. As a mother with a child currently going through chemotherapy, I thought of many heart wrenching facts and stories I could tell you. But instead, I am going to post a story I wrote a year ago. It was originally written for a writing contest on pixnpens.com for the theme of cancer. It captures what I went through at the beginning of my son’s cancer journey, and I hope you enjoy it.

Casey by Stephanie Craig

I tried to get Casey to fall asleep, but I failed. Fear and anxiousness were keeping both of us awake. The white, sterile walls brought no comfort as I looked around the room for a clock. It was after midnight.
“Happy Birthday Baby,” I whispered into my son’s ear, knowing nothing about this birthday would be happy. My, now, 2-year-old son grasped me tighter as I, again, tried to rock him to sleep. My tears were getting his hair wet, but I could not stop them from coming. His face was buried in my chest, and I noticed him trembling. He was crying too.
The doctor came back into the room with the blood test results. “Leukemia,” he said. I tried to listen as he did his best to comfort me with statistics and stories of hope. But all my mind would hear is “Cancer.” My 2-year-old boy had cancer.
The doctor was interrupted by nurses coming in to take more blood and do another set of vital signs. I was relieved because I did not want to hear from the doctor anymore that night. But the relief was short lived when I saw the fear in Casey’s eyes. He had already been poked and prodded too many times in the previous 12 hours. Now they wanted more, and he was not ready to give in to them. The nurses had to physically restrain him as they did the blood draw and got his vital signs.
Casey was trying to fight them even more under the restraint. His head was thrashing around, and he was screaming. He stopped when he saw me. “Momma,” he called and looked into my eyes. His two-year-old brain could not form the words, but his eyes could communicate them to me. “Help me. I’m scared. Why are you letting them do this to me?”
When the nurses left, I was able to hold him again. As I cuddled him, I whispered, “I’m sorry Casey-boy. I’d take it away if I could, but I can’t. I’ll be here the whole time, holding you. When it’s done, you will be a better, stronger boy.” The words must have comforted him because he fell into a deep sleep, not even awakened when the nurses came for his vital signs again.
Sleep would not come for me as I wrestled with the emotions and questions I did not know how to ask. I looked to God, but no prayer could form on my lips. It was then that the Lord said to me, “I’m sorry dear child. I’d take it away if I could, but I can’t. I’ll be here the whole time, holding you. When it’s done, you will be a better, stronger person.” I felt His arm around me, and I finally fell asleep