Raising Maisie May

At 4.AM on Friday morning Maisie woke hungry. I gave her a bottle which she quickly guzzled and she drifted back off to sleep. I sat watching her for a while; her eyes shut, her mouth open, her little chest rising and falling with every breath, so peaceful and perfect. But, there on her neck, red and starting to bruise, were the small but significant marks to remind me that everything wasn't perfect. Our lives were changing and being taken in a new direction, one where we were uncertain of the final destination. And just when I thought I could not possibly cry anymore, the tears started coming, fear being released with every drop that fell from my lashes. The surgeon came around early that morning to see how Maisie managed through the night. He said that if we were feeling up to it we could go home over the weekend as we waited for the results of the biopsy. A part of me wanted to lift Maisie from the cot right then and run and not look back but the other part of me was scared.

The next morning I purposely woke Maisie at 5.AM and again at 7.AM to give her a bottle as she was to fast again until the afternoon. It was set to be another big day for her, with another anesthetic but this time she would have to go to theater. The surgeons today were inserting a Broviac line which would go in through her neck, be tunneled under the skin and come out through her chest in order to be used for "further treatment". (At the time of insertion we were unaware that the further treatment they were referring to was chemotherapy). Following this a biopsy of the renal mass on her left abdomen would be carried out and a CT scan. What a day for my little bear. At 8.AM the surgeon arrived to discuss the process of the day and to talk me through the procedures. I couldn't quite follow everything he was saying but key words were ringing loudly in my head; incision scars, chances of bleeding, injury to lung, bladder, bowel, line can be blocked, pulled out, air traps,

At 4.AM the next morning after a few hours of restless and uncomfortable sleep, I woke to the unfamiliar sounds of the hospital ward. I looked across and saw my beautiful little girl fast asleep with her mouth open and her wee legs hanging through the gaps in the cot. For a second it actually made me giggle and then the realisation of why she was lying there came back. I then felt guilty for having a giggle, I felt guilty for not being able to protect her from this, and I felt guilty that I hadn't noticed. What kind of mother was I? The guilt swamped my body in an unbearable physical weight and unable to move by it, I lay there crying silently to myself until my head felt like it was going to burst and my throat was sore from trying to contain my sobs. I lifted my phone and frantically scrolled through every picture I had of Maisie desperately looking to see if I could find the lump in any of them. Even though we had been informed that with the type of tumour they suspected Maisi