Letting Go
In May of 2003, we lived in Australia where my
husband was the Defense Attaché to the American Embassy in Canberra. Originally scheduled to leave in June, we
extended our assignment for six months so our daughter, Megan, could finish
high school there. (The school year goes
from January to December in Australia.)
Megan came home from school on May 19th
not feeling well. She complained of pain
in her right side. Her symptoms weren’t
severe, but I questioned if we should go to the emergency room in case it might
be her appendix. One of Megan's best friends
lived down the street, and her father was a doctor. He came to the house to look at Megan and let
me know if she needed immediate attention.
He carefully examined her abdomen and lingered there for a while. He looked at me with concern and said, “I
don’t think it’s her appendix or anything that needs to be taken care of
tonight, but there’s something going on that won’t be quickly fixed.
I had no idea what he was talking about. He wasn’t so sure either.
We went to the doctor first thing in the morning,
and he sent us immediately for an ultrasound.
The technician was very silent through the procedure and spent a lot of
time carefully studying the screen.
After quite a long wait, the ultrasound doctor came in and explained to
us that Megan had a rather large growth in her abdomen, about the size of a
football.
Megan and I were scheduled to go back to her primary
doctor in an hour, and so we got some ice cream and sat in the car as we waited
for our appointment. We sat in
shock. After some time passed and the
silence became obvious, we started to giggle and make jokes about what could be
in Megan’s abdomen. My method of dealing
with something uncomfortable has always been to make jokes. Thank goodness Megan could laugh with me.
Megan’s doctor had no clue what the ultrasound meant
and sent us to a specialist. Numerous
tests were performed, and we met with a surgeon in the next few days. Doctor Cho was a sweet, loving woman who
tried to put us at ease as best she could, but she was unable to tell us exactly
what was in Megan’s abdomen and was concerned about it herself. She talked about a large tumor that most
likely was attached to Megan’s pancreas or possibly her duodenum. It would have to be removed. She wouldn’t know what kind of tumor it was
or if it was a tumor until after the surgery.
During the process she also wanted a pancreatic specialist and a heart
surgeon standing by. This invasive
monster could also be wrapped around Megan’s aorta.
I’ve never felt such fear in my life. Both Rick and I experienced so much panic and
shock that we couldn’t pray. We couldn’t
find peace and comfort in each other as we usually did.
We had to make the choice whether to fly Megan back
to the states for the surgery or have it done in Australia. Although going back to the states felt
logical, we would have to spend six weeks there after the surgery before Megan
could fly home. We felt very confident
in the doctor we had seen and the Australian medical system. After talking to Megan, we decided she would
feel more secure around her friends and familiar home. We chose to stay in Australia for the
surgery. The doctor thought it would be
two weeks before she could perform the operation.
That first week was a difficult time for us all. The
uncertainty of what was in Megan’s abdomen frightened Rick and me terribly, but
we didn’t want to express our concerns around her. She was unable to go to school as she didn’t
feel well and wasn’t eating a lot. It
also seemed to me that this should be a priority case and should be taken care
of immediately. (I suppose every mother
feels that way when her child is ill.)
Why the long wait?
Rick had a dream that he was at Megan’s funeral and
spoke at it, saying “What a great loss for the world”. Fortunately, he didn’t tell me about that
dream until months later. I would wake
up in the middle of the night in such terror that I couldn’t breathe.
Prior to this time, I had struggled with the idea of
my children leaving me. David was
already in the states attending college, and Megan would leave us soon after we
arrived back there from our Australian assignment. I wanted my children to stay with me. I struggled with depression and obsessed
about my time with them. Now, God was
about to take me to a place where no parent should go to teach me about letting
them go.
To be continued…
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