In mid November our son, Benjamin, was accidentally kicked in the face at school while playing with his friends. What started out as some swelling around the injured area progressed into a firm, dark purple bump close to the outer corner of his right eye. In a short period of time the skin on the bump began to peel, the bump continued to grow and eventually opened up. In the six weeks between the kick and Christmas I took him to our family doctor, to get x-rays, twice to the optometrist, to a kids walk-in clinic at the hospital and to the emergency room.
The morning of December 23rd my husband, David, tested positive for COVID-19 and so we began the 10-day isolation period which would include Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, New Years Eve and New Years Day. Thankfully our daughter at one-and-a-half years old was too young to understand but we worried about Benjamin who'd been eagerly counting down the days to Santa's arrival with the help of his advent calendar. When I told him that Daddy wouldn't be able to celebrate with us upstairs Benjamin's wish was for me to email Santa and ask him to delay his visit to our home until his Daddy could safely return upstairs unmasked. Thankfully Santa agreed without hesitation.
On Boxing Day Benjamin's eye injury continued to look worse. We had virtual consults with a family doctor on December 26th and 27th who, on December 27th, urged us to return to the kids clinic at the hospital. Immediately upon examining Benjamin the doctor at the kids clinic sent us straight to Sick Kids Emerg and told me to insist on being given a dermatology appointment before being sent home.
We followed the doctor's orders and 12 hours, 4 waiting areas, an eye exam and a 'brain tickle' (COVID test) for Ben that ended in a kick to the shins for the poor nurse, we left with a plan to return in the morning for an ophthamology appointment. Bright and early the next morning we were back and Ben passed all of his eye exams with flying colours. We were given a prescription for antibiotics and told to return first thing in the morning two days later. After another thorough eye exam and the antibiotics having had no effect we were asked to wait in our isolation room (close contact COVID protocol).
Benjamin had an IV put in without any tears. In fact he was thrilled with it as he bounded around pretending he’d been given a super power where he could shoot spiderwebs. He had a COVID test that he wasn’t thrilled about but he didn’t kick the nurse in the shins this time so he’s showing progress. He had a CT scan, an experience he got really excited about, imagining he was in a rocket ship launching into space.
Over the next 4 or 5 hours we were seen by a number of doctors of varying specializations. Finally the staff physician came back with an oculo plastics doctor and an oncologist. With Benjamin happily playing on his tablet beside me the doctors began talking to me. They suspected what they'd initially thought was an eye infection was a type of cancer called a sarcoma. Immediately after the word 'cancer' came out of the doctor's mouth my phone died. Because of our COVID close contact status we weren't allowed to go to the gift shop to buy a phone charger. I vaguely remember handing my Visa to the oculo plastics doctor who very willingly went off to buy me one while the oncologist continued on. I remember asking about survival odds and what treatment could look like but I don't remember much after the word 'cancer' as I'm fairly certain I went into shock.
At that point the doctor returned with my gift shop phone charger and as soon as I had enough power I called David to deliver the news. Making that call and delivering that news to the love of my life about our sweet little boy was one of the worst things I've ever had to do in my whole life. Doing that and keeping it together in front of Benjamin who was still happily playing games on his tablet beside me, so innocently oblivious to everything that was going on, was one of the hardest.
The doctor took over the call, re-explaining for David's benefit what he'd told me and answering any questions he had. The call ended with a question from David for the oncologist, "One last question. Can you tell me what my wife's face looks like right now?"
A moment later all three doctors were gone to see if they could get Benjamin admitted to secure him a place on the board for biopsy surgery that night or the next day and I was left alone to dig deep and excitedly explain that we might get to have a sleepover at the hospital. Benjamin, being the sweet, enthusiastic kid that he is, matched my excited tone and started to guess what a hospital bedroom might be like. At one point there was a lull in our chatter and he looked up at me with those beautiful brown eyes of his and began singing a lullaby from one of his favourite movies, Back to the Outback. I’ll never forget his soft little singing voice or his words and how they tugged at my heart:
Sleep little one, close your eyes Your body’s cooling with the night Let your worries slip away Tomorrow is a brand new day
Shimmering moon and satin sky Soft wind breathes its lullaby Your dreams are here to set you free The dawn will bring you back to me The dawn will bring you back to me
An hour or so later the doctors returned to let us know there were no beds available but told us to come back early the next morning, New Years Eve, and that they'd be able to get him for the biopsy at some point during the day. They assured me that even though they couldn't admit him his case would be made a priority.
Benjamin fell asleep on the drive home while tears silently streamed down my face. David was seven days into isolation at this point and the CDC had just reduced the recommended isolation period for asymptomatic people to 5 days. As I lifted a sleeping Benjamin from his car seat David who I hadn't seen in a week met us at the car, double masked. He hugged us both tight and we wept in the middle of the dark street as Benjamin continued to sleep soundly on my shoulder.
That night I couldn't sleep. I snuck into Benjamin's room and snuggled up close. When I eventually went back to bed David crept into his room, sat in the chair in his room and just watched him sleep. Neither of us could believe that this positive, brave, smart, funny, vibrant, enthusiastic, kind-hearted boy with boundless energy and the most adventurous spirit could be as sick as the doctors were saying.
The next morning before the sun came up we were back at the hospital for pre-op. Benjamin was given another COVID test and the nurse left a package of wipes for me to give him a sponge bath before putting on his hospital-issued pajamas. We were in our isolation room for a few hours together, intermittently visited by the nurse, anesthesiologist, ocular plastics doctor and staff physician. The whole time Ben was happy, silly, playing, excitedly telling stories and FaceTiming family while I tried my best to focus on absorbing his energy so as not to cry and not to vomit. My stomach was in knots.
Benjamin was given a sedative that looked like chocolate syrup in a syringe, something he was excited for. Before long he was dopey, snuggled up in my lap with his head on my shoulder, still talking a mile a minute in what sounded like a nonsensical drunken slur. The nurses came in with a wheelchair and he was wheeled away watching one of his favourite movies, Back to the Outback. I could hear the fading of his slurred words while he explained the storyline to the nurses as he disappeared down the hallway.
I waited anxiously in the isolation room. Nearly two hours later the nurse arrived to bring me to see him in the recovery room. It was heartbreaking. He had a patch covering the eye where they’d performed the biopsy. He was slurring and upset. He was furiously trying to eat the Freezies he’d been given but was holding them upside down and they spilled out over his hospital issued pajamas. He was whimpering and hangry, having not eaten in 20 hours. He fought me as I got him dressed and into the wheelchair. He was so unlike his regular self, and rightly so, but it gutted me to see him like this.
When we were released David was waiting outside the hospital to walk us to our car. He was double masked and had driven his mum’s car to the hospital. It was the ninth day of his isolation after testing positive for COVID and given we may very well be dealing with cancer we didn’t take any risks with Ben’s health but I understood that David really needed to see him in person and this was the safest way we could think of.
I can’t even imagine how David felt that week. As a loving, very hands-on dad and the most supportive partner I could ever hope to have, it must have been torture for him experiencing everything from afar, unable to hug us, especially Benjamin. Unable to care for our daughter when I couldn’t be home. Unable to be at the hospital (even if he hadn’t tested positive, the hospital has a one parent rule due to COVID). Unable to witness first-hand the incredible strength Benjamin was showing, taking everything in a stride (that carried me through on many occasions). As alone as I felt that week, I can’t fathom having experienced it almost as an outsider, from our basement.
At home, I changed Benjamin into his pajamas and we both crawled into ‘the big bed’ (the bed in David and my room), got under the covers and turned on Back to the Outback. I held him tight to me, thankful for every inhale and exhale.
At this point the only thing we could do was to wait for a call from Sick Kids telling us the results of the biopsy. We knew it would be about a week’s time, what we were sure would be the longest week of our lives.
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