The day before Maisie's surgery, she was admitted into the Barbour Ward at the Royal Belfast Hospital for Sick Children and we were introduced to the surgeon who would be carrying out the operation. The surgeon spoke clearly and directly when describing the procedure of removing not only the tumour but also Maisie's left kidney. As she spoke there was an air of confidence and positivity in her tone and although we had only just met, I was already confident in her abilities as a surgeon. Her tone however changed when she began to tell us the possible risks that came with the surgery and when she finished she presented us with a piece of yellow paper. It was a form that required a signature of consent in order for the surgery to be carried out, and in that moment I realised that we had a choice. We could pick Maisie up from her hospital cot and we could run. We could run far away from the hospital, run far away from this life where cancer was taking over, far away from major surgery which came with so many risks, far away from a surgery which could possibly cost Maisie her life. It sounded very appealing in my head but even if I had tried to run I wouldn't have been able to. My legs were rooted to the spot. Deep down I knew we couldn't run away from this. Cancer had struck our family hard and it wasn't going to go away without a fight. If we ran the tumour would only continue to grow, invade, spread and again possibly cost Maisie her life. As her parents we were faced with an impossible choice, a decision which held a great deal of responsibility. It wasn't an easy one to make but we knew when it came to it there really was only one choice - Maisie needed this surgery. It was her best shot at life. My husband, with his logical thinking and clear head, took the pen and signed his name giving the surgeon permission to carry out what we hoped would be life saving surgery on our baby girl.
The anaesthetist joined us in our room at 8am to discuss the various options of pain relief for Maisie, and he informed us that it would be our choice. An epidural was the recommended option due to the fact that it can be the most effective with the least amount of side effects, (if administered correctly with no complications), but it did come with more risks. I didn't need to be told of the possible risks because I already knew them. Paralysis, spinal injury and loss of life were risks which I deemed to be too high to make when I was in labour with Maisie, that I refused an epidural. How could I be asked to allow my 9 month old baby be given an epidural, which carries the same risks for her as it did for me, when I wouldn't allow myself one? I knew that the circumstances here were different, I knew that the side effects of the morphine would be too sore on Maisie's little body and again deep down I knew it was Maisie's best option. But I was over tired, over emotional and my heart was shattered. We were being faced with impossible decisions that no parents should ever have to make. We were talking about life and death. It sounds dramatic I know, but this was where I was at. I couldn't make this decision. To me, allowing my beautiful and perfect baby to have an epidural felt like I was saying that the risks were too high for me but not for her. It felt like I was saying that I didn't value her life as much as I did my own. I couldn't make this decision. I turned to my husband once more. I knew that he too was scared, that he too had doubts and concerns but he also had an unwavering strength. He always has the ability to see things in the bigger picture and he took this decision and made it with Maisie's best interest at the forefront. In that moment I was so grateful to him, I was so proud of him and I was so glad that I had him by my side for all of this.
The surgeon then came to us at 8.15am and she walked in bright eyed and upbeat. She seemed well rested and eager to go and once again she filled me with a belief that she could do this, that everything would be OK. She went over the procedure once again, told us to expect it to take between 4-6 hours and to also expect Maisie to go to intensive care following the surgery but only as a precautionary measure. When she left it was just the three of us again standing in the hospital room. My husband and I took it in turns holding, hugging and kissing our daughter and it felt we were both trying to soak all of her in. I wished so badly that we were standing anywhere else in the world right
then, facing anything else but this.
At 9am we got a call to say they were ready for us to take Maisie down. When we got there a nurse walked me and Maisie around to where the surgery would take place and as I approached the door I felt my legs begin to wobble. They felt like jelly and I honestly wasn't sure if they were going to carry us over to the chair that was waiting for us in the centre of the large white room. This was a fear that I had never before experienced, I could feel it flowing through every part of my body. The room was filled with people in scrubs, there was at least 15 there, but I couldn't even look at them. My eyes were fixed on Maisie's face and I was concentrating really hard on putting one foot in front of the other. Before this all happened with Maisie, she would have taken people very strange. She would have cried if anyone looked at her or spoke to her, but here she was in a room full of strangers in masks and she had smiles for each one of them. She was a picture of happiness. My eyes began to fill as I thought that she has either become so used to seeing doctors and nurses that this now normal to her, or that she knew on some level that all these people were here to help her. Either way, it was all too much to bear and I didn't know how much longer I could hold it together. The anaesthetist came over and said it was time to put her to sleep. For the 3 seconds that it took, Maisie continued to smile and bounce on my knee and I repeatedly said 'I love you, I love you.' I could hear the words tremble and crack as they came out of my mouth, but if anything was to go wrong during the surgery, I wanted these to be the last words Maisie heard.
A few nurses lifted Maisie's limp body from my arms and another nurse walked me out. I didn't dare look back at her because I couldn't trust myself. Walking away from her when she was at her most vulnerable, leaving her there on the table to be cut open by surgeons, allowing them to remove one of her organs, walking away when all I wanted to do was hold her felt very wrong. If I looked back I don't think I could have left. Once outside the room my guard broke. My eyes were too full to hold onto any more tears so they spilled out and flowed fast down my cheeks. The nurse told me that she really was in the best hands and she pulled me towards her in a tight embrace. She held me for a few moments until my sobs had eased and then she walked me back to my husband. Once in his arms the tears came again. I felt helpless. There was nothing that we could do now other than wait.
My husbands parents, (who have been the most amazing support to us throughout this entire time; they visited Maisie everyday when she was in hospital and have came to every chemo treatment,) were there along with my dad and his partner. We tried everything we could think of to pass the time. We had breakfast, walked the corridors, went out for fresh air, cried, drank tea and waited. It was the longest few hours of our life.
Then, at exactly 1.37pm, 4 hours and 37 minutes from when I last saw my baby, the surgeon appeared at our room door with a smile on her face. My shoulders dropped at the sight of her and without any exchange of words I knew my girl was OK. She came in and informed us that she couldn't have been happier with how the surgery went and that she was able to remove both the tumour and her kidney with no complications. She also explained that the tumour came out all in one piece, meaning no rupture, so it reduces the likelihood of needing radiotherapy treatment. I cried and cried with such relief and I hugged her so tight. She will never know how thankful and grateful I am for what she did for my girl and I will always remember her for it.
When they left I looked over to my husband who was smiling back at me. His face and body were relaxed and he looked genuinely happy, a look I hadn't seen in him for over a month. We held onto each other smiling and crying. Our daughter was OK. She made it.
We were called pretty quickly down to recovery and were warned before we went in to expect to see lots of wires, tubes and breathing masks. We were told that she had developed another anaesthetic flush so her face was red and warm but all her vitals were strong. In fact, she was responding so well that when she woke she wouldn't need to be taken to the ICU. She would be going back to the ward.
When I saw Maisie I didn't really notice the wires at first, I just took her hand in mine and felt the warmth of her skin. I was back where I belonged, right by her side and I cried once more. But this time I was crying because I was immensely proud. My little Maisie May was the strongest and bravest little girl. She was taking everything in her stride, fighting so very hard and she was winning this battle.
Wendy
The following morning Maisie woke from her hospital cot full of energy and smiles. She watched cartoons, played with her toys and made no fuss about not having any breakfast. My heart was breaking at the sight of her little dimple and her two tiny teeth which appear when she smiles. I hoped and prayed with every inch of my body that we were making the right decision.
The anaesthetist joined us in our room at 8am to discuss the various options of pain relief for Maisie, and he informed us that it would be our choice. An epidural was the recommended option due to the fact that it can be the most effective with the least amount of side effects, (if administered correctly with no complications), but it did come with more risks. I didn't need to be told of the possible risks because I already knew them. Paralysis, spinal injury and loss of life were risks which I deemed to be too high to make when I was in labour with Maisie, that I refused an epidural. How could I be asked to allow my 9 month old baby be given an epidural, which carries the same risks for her as it did for me, when I wouldn't allow myself one? I knew that the circumstances here were different, I knew that the side effects of the morphine would be too sore on Maisie's little body and again deep down I knew it was Maisie's best option. But I was over tired, over emotional and my heart was shattered. We were being faced with impossible decisions that no parents should ever have to make. We were talking about life and death. It sounds dramatic I know, but this was where I was at. I couldn't make this decision. To me, allowing my beautiful and perfect baby to have an epidural felt like I was saying that the risks were too high for me but not for her. It felt like I was saying that I didn't value her life as much as I did my own. I couldn't make this decision. I turned to my husband once more. I knew that he too was scared, that he too had doubts and concerns but he also had an unwavering strength. He always has the ability to see things in the bigger picture and he took this decision and made it with Maisie's best interest at the forefront. In that moment I was so grateful to him, I was so proud of him and I was so glad that I had him by my side for all of this.
 |
| The last time we would see this little tummy unmarked. |
The surgeon then came to us at 8.15am and she walked in bright eyed and upbeat. She seemed well rested and eager to go and once again she filled me with a belief that she could do this, that everything would be OK. She went over the procedure once again, told us to expect it to take between 4-6 hours and to also expect Maisie to go to intensive care following the surgery but only as a precautionary measure. When she left it was just the three of us again standing in the hospital room. My husband and I took it in turns holding, hugging and kissing our daughter and it felt we were both trying to soak all of her in. I wished so badly that we were standing anywhere else in the world right
then, facing anything else but this.
At 9am we got a call to say they were ready for us to take Maisie down. When we got there a nurse walked me and Maisie around to where the surgery would take place and as I approached the door I felt my legs begin to wobble. They felt like jelly and I honestly wasn't sure if they were going to carry us over to the chair that was waiting for us in the centre of the large white room. This was a fear that I had never before experienced, I could feel it flowing through every part of my body. The room was filled with people in scrubs, there was at least 15 there, but I couldn't even look at them. My eyes were fixed on Maisie's face and I was concentrating really hard on putting one foot in front of the other. Before this all happened with Maisie, she would have taken people very strange. She would have cried if anyone looked at her or spoke to her, but here she was in a room full of strangers in masks and she had smiles for each one of them. She was a picture of happiness. My eyes began to fill as I thought that she has either become so used to seeing doctors and nurses that this now normal to her, or that she knew on some level that all these people were here to help her. Either way, it was all too much to bear and I didn't know how much longer I could hold it together. The anaesthetist came over and said it was time to put her to sleep. For the 3 seconds that it took, Maisie continued to smile and bounce on my knee and I repeatedly said 'I love you, I love you.' I could hear the words tremble and crack as they came out of my mouth, but if anything was to go wrong during the surgery, I wanted these to be the last words Maisie heard.
A few nurses lifted Maisie's limp body from my arms and another nurse walked me out. I didn't dare look back at her because I couldn't trust myself. Walking away from her when she was at her most vulnerable, leaving her there on the table to be cut open by surgeons, allowing them to remove one of her organs, walking away when all I wanted to do was hold her felt very wrong. If I looked back I don't think I could have left. Once outside the room my guard broke. My eyes were too full to hold onto any more tears so they spilled out and flowed fast down my cheeks. The nurse told me that she really was in the best hands and she pulled me towards her in a tight embrace. She held me for a few moments until my sobs had eased and then she walked me back to my husband. Once in his arms the tears came again. I felt helpless. There was nothing that we could do now other than wait.
My husbands parents, (who have been the most amazing support to us throughout this entire time; they visited Maisie everyday when she was in hospital and have came to every chemo treatment,) were there along with my dad and his partner. We tried everything we could think of to pass the time. We had breakfast, walked the corridors, went out for fresh air, cried, drank tea and waited. It was the longest few hours of our life.
Then, at exactly 1.37pm, 4 hours and 37 minutes from when I last saw my baby, the surgeon appeared at our room door with a smile on her face. My shoulders dropped at the sight of her and without any exchange of words I knew my girl was OK. She came in and informed us that she couldn't have been happier with how the surgery went and that she was able to remove both the tumour and her kidney with no complications. She also explained that the tumour came out all in one piece, meaning no rupture, so it reduces the likelihood of needing radiotherapy treatment. I cried and cried with such relief and I hugged her so tight. She will never know how thankful and grateful I am for what she did for my girl and I will always remember her for it.
When they left I looked over to my husband who was smiling back at me. His face and body were relaxed and he looked genuinely happy, a look I hadn't seen in him for over a month. We held onto each other smiling and crying. Our daughter was OK. She made it.
We were called pretty quickly down to recovery and were warned before we went in to expect to see lots of wires, tubes and breathing masks. We were told that she had developed another anaesthetic flush so her face was red and warm but all her vitals were strong. In fact, she was responding so well that when she woke she wouldn't need to be taken to the ICU. She would be going back to the ward.
When I saw Maisie I didn't really notice the wires at first, I just took her hand in mine and felt the warmth of her skin. I was back where I belonged, right by her side and I cried once more. But this time I was crying because I was immensely proud. My little Maisie May was the strongest and bravest little girl. She was taking everything in her stride, fighting so very hard and she was winning this battle.
Wendy
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