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...

Every morning when I lift Maisie from her cot to change her nappy, I excitedly pull open the buttons of her baby-grow to free her warm little legs. I kiss her feet and tickle her thighs to see the smiles appear and the dimple creep onto her cheek. But this particular morning I wasn't so eager. I didn't want to see her beautiful naked skin stretched out in an odd shape on her side, covering the thing that was making itself a home inside her body. When I did see it that morning it seemed larger and more prominent and all those thoughts I had been trying to keep at bay came crashing to the forefront of my mind. My instinct, (us mothers definitely have one), was telling me that this is very serious and more sinister than what we thought. I tried to keep myself busy while I waited for the doctors surgery to open so I decided to bath Maisie. When I looked at her happy little face and the way she was splashing so care free in the water and blowing raspberries, it seemed so surreal t...

If only my only worry that day was going to be how I would get through an entire day without seeing my baby. On Monday 3rd April I woke up to the sound of my alarm clock for the first time in 9 months,(and no I don't mean my little human alarm clock that cries for her morning bottle). It was time for me to return to work and I was in bits. It was with a heavy heart and full on tears and snots that I had left Maisie with her granny the night before in order to start my first day back at work fresh and ready. I had thought that with all the anxiety and worries I had about returning to work and being able to step back into a role that didn't involve singing nursery rhymes and changing dirty nappies, that most of my worries about Maisie would be singing a soft tune in the background. But I was wrong. For the most part of the day I found myself wandering about aimlessly not knowing quite what to do with myself. I felt like I had completely forgot how to work, like all my previou...