Change of Plans & Run On Sentences

Originally Tate was scheduled to have an appointment with his Oncologist today and chemotherapy and a spinal tap tomorrow, but citing COVID-19 precautions, Phoenix Children’s Hospital has closed the surgery center/procedure room at the clinic and is sending its patients to the hospital instead. Tate still met with Dr. Williams at the clinic today, and he also got his monthly dose of Vincristine. Wednesday he has an appointment at the main campus at 9:30am for his lumbar puncture and intrathecal methotrexate. It seems to me that the tiny clinic would be a safer place for the immunocompromised than the hospital could ever be, but I am not in charge of these things.

The waiting room was nearly empty today. Besides Tate and me, there was only one other patient/parent combo. Normally it’s crawling with people there to support their loved ones; the anxious grandparents, siblings, aunts and uncles were gone. It was so strange. PCH is allowing only one adult per patient to enter which meant that Greg didn’t get to come in, and that was really sad. He’s a good dad that is very involved in his son’s care. Selfishly, I don’t like going to these appointments without him; Greg is the one I turn to when I don’t feel brave. I have felt not felt brave a lot.

Appointments with Dr. Williams are few and far between and very special. Tate normally sees Angie, the Nurse Practitioner, and she’s awesome and knows our family better than anyone, but Dr. Williams is the shot caller regardless of who examines him at his many appointments. Since Tate didn’t have any weird or painful issues to report today, the appointment was a very lighthearted one for the most part. We talked about Tate’s college classes and how strange our world is right now; we learned that Dr. Williams plays hockey twice a week.

Dr. Williams was thrilled to see Tate moving around so well. At some point he turned to me and said quietly, “For a while I didn’t know if he would ever get out of that wheelchair.” That comment stunned me. I thought back to all the times we brought Tate to the clinic for more chemo when his body was already wrecked by treatment and the staff stayed sympathetic but cheerful around him knowing that he might not ever walk again. Then I remembered how happy they were to see Tate walking into the clinic for the first time after months and months of therapy. Their joy was real. Angie and the nurses are more amazing to me now than ever; the burden they carry while treating their patients and trying to help the parents cope is more than I realized.

I never once considered Tate wouldn’t walk again. Not once.

I’ll post an update after Tate’s spinal tap on Wednesday. Tate is a very careful quarantiner and nervous about going to the hospital.