12/02/2021
Cancer is the word we all fear.
The hushed whispers,
The gaze that’s never met.
It’s rubbing your child’s legs at midnight,
Because the chemo makes them hurt.
It’s watching your baby so scared and confused, making them take all their meds and telling them it’s all for the best.
It's lying in a hospital bed with your child scared it will be the last time you hold them.
It's listening to the beeping machine that keeps you up all night.
It's sitting in a hospital chair with very little to no sleep, scared of what will come next.
It's walking about the hospital corridors in a daze, feeling empty and lost.
It’s holding the sick bowl because they’ve not stopped being sick for hours.
It's month's of hospital stays away from your family and other children.
It’s pouring poison into the veins of your beautiful baby,
Watching them bloat from steroids, or turn into skeletons from infections and aggressive treatment.
It’s handing your child over to strangers, so they can operate on them.
It’s holding your child down for painful tests and procedures listening to their screams.
It’s comforting them, and telling them, everything will be OK.
It’s crying in the shower, because you have to be strong and not let them see you weak.
It’s saying goodbye to the warriors you meet along the way, some will make it, some will not.
It’s washing your hands 50 billion times a day,
The fear of infections never far away.
It’s blood tests, and lumbers, injections, chemo, meds,
It’s MRIs, CTs, and X-rays.
It’s waiting by the phone, for the results, desperately hoping nothing has changed.
It’s watching your child sleep at night, and making memories while you can.
Even if your child is one of the lucky ones, it’s the late effects, the long-term consequences.
It’s physio, and OT, and psychiatrists, neuro, pain team, bone team.
Even when treatment is finally through, even when your child is happy and well.
Cancer will always leave a scar, deeply embedded on your heart.
In its wake it leaves disabilities, and psychological scars, PTSD and anxiety, constant fear and worry.
When your child has cancer, it changes you.
You watch your child go to hell and back,
You get so used to your child having anaesthetic that you don’t cry anymore,
You calmly hold your child still for painful tests.
You seem so strong.
But I see you.
I know inside, behind that strong exterior, that mask you put on for all the world.
I know you’re slowly breaking, you’re trying hard not to show it, but I see it.
I know because my child’s a warrior too.💛🎗️
Word's from a cancer mom with our own added on 💛
