Give It Time

Time is like the wind, 

it lifts the light and leaves the heavy.

~Domenico Cieri Estrada 

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I snapped this photo tonight then got an earful from pre-teen daughter of the year #1.  She didn’t like me taking random photos she considered “dumb.”  But to me it symbolized normalcy.  Her backpack lying on the living room floor with planner, laptop and binder close by.  Ah, a “normal” Wednesday.

She’s a good kid.  I don’t quite know how we did it, but dad of the year and I did something right with that one.  She’s kind, a good friend, helpful to others, and pretty darn serious about her school work.  We think she’s awesome but, as her parents, I guess that’s kind of our job.

Recently, our lives settle into a slow pause every Wednesday.  I feel myself barely breathing those mornings we head to the clinic to have her blood drawn.  She reminds me she’s old enough to go back on her own and I wait, pretending to be calm in the lobby area, happy when she emerges with that bright wrap on her arm.  The wrap I know will leave a bruise she will complain about the next day.

She investigates her body like our dog hunts for crumbs on our kitchen floor.  She hunts for new bruises evaluating size, and shape and purpleness.  Every day she points out something either new or old but seems notable to mention.  She’s worried as she talks and I know it but I brush it off most often with the statement, “Give it time.”

Today a mysterious bruise came out of no where on her finger and swelled.  It wasn’t there this morning and just suddenly appeared.  It’s speed, swelling and immense immediate bruising scares her, I know.  Again I say, “Give it time.”

Our conversations now contain several words ending in “ia”, such as petechia and anemia.  I watch tears run down her face every Wednesday evening when we discuss test results which I most often end with,  “Give it time.”

I say give it time so often because we are fortunate to have plenty of it!  Immune Thrombocytopenia (ITP) takes time;  time that tests your patience when you are her age.  I don’t write about it for any pitty.  There’s no reason for that. This blood disorder causes a person’s body to attack itself in the form of eating platelets.  I walk around with numbers ranging from 150,000 - 200,000.  Daughter of the year #1 has just 1,000.  We hope in the end to hear the word acute and not chronic, but time will tell.  Ah, time.

Until then we wait every Wednesday for the call from that familiar phone number to hear yet another number, one that tells us her platelet count.  It’s been a great test of remembering what you can control and try as I might, I cannot change that count.  I just have to give it time.

Give it time reminds me to feel grateful.  Grateful we have plenty of it, unlike other parents who walk through that office with that dreaded O word on the door, “Oncology.”  I have thought often about the parents who got a different diagnosis.  Yes, our lives have changed but we hope it is temporary.  Either way it is nothing like the battles others face.  I will gladly take measuring life in platelet counts over the alternative.

And so we give it time.  Time to wipe away tears when the counts didn’t budge from the week before.  Time to hope things change and pray for the most positive outcome that brings her closer to what she defines as normal.  Time to wait until next Wednesday when it starts all over again.