The Fun Never Ends because I’m Traumatized for Life.

Written by: Maya Thompson

Ronan—
It’s been so long since I’ve written on here—and I feel so much guilt for that. Not only guilt, but longing too. I miss writing to you so much. I’m hoping to wrap up a few things soon—which will free up some time—so I can start writing to you again on a regular basis. So much has been going on, and it would take me hours to catch you up. I don’t have hours tonight—as I have to get back to my other writing soon.
For the most part, things are going well. The foundation is still massively busy, and we have some great things coming up for September. My hometown just put on our 3rd Annual 5K—and it was such a beautiful success. So many incredible faces came out to run for you, and I’m still in awe of the way my little town pulls off such an amazing event. It just gets better every year.
Thank you to everyone—for the hard work, the volunteers, the donations, and all the people who showed up in support of my baby boy. I know how much effort goes into pulling off something like this—and I’m forever grateful for your love and support in this fight. Thank you again, truly.
Also—a huge thank-you to Ashtown Brewery for an awesome post-run event. Best brewery in all of Washington. Fo’ shizzle.
So—do you want to hear my VERY dramatic bedtime story tonight? I’ve got a good one. It just happened a few nights ago, and I feel like I’m still recovering from it. We’re out in Washington for the summer—like always. And, like always, it seems I have a major freak-out about something while we’re here—but this one was the worst.
That little sister of yours—Poppy—turned two in April. She’s the perfect mix of girly-girl and full-on tomboy. She’s insanely smart and fiery—obsessed with tutus, as long as she can wear them while covered in mud and bruises. She makes me laugh constantly with the way she speaks in full sentences and uses words that are way too big for a two-year-old. I’m amazed by her—by how vibrantly and fully she lives her life for being so tiny.
Needless to say, she’s the love of my life—just like you and your brothers are. I’m thankful for her every single day. She brings us so much happiness—and you know we need that around here.
Anyway—back to the story. Sorry I got off track—I’m that annoying mom who could talk about her baby girl all day. I’m also borderline obsessed with the age of two. She reminds me so much of you—and it makes everything feel bittersweet.
Let’s back up. Your Poppy sister has that light, sensitive skin that bruises easily. I guess I started worrying about her bruises about four months ago. It was like a little bird was perched on my shoulder—pecking away—and the voices started creeping into my head. Bruises can be an early sign of leukemia. I now know all the early signs of every pediatric cancer—and bruising easily is one of them.
For the past four months, I ignored the voices. She’s been perfectly healthy—just like you were—which feels like the cruelest joke. I pushed forward, packed us up, and road-tripped us out here for the summer—(solo road trip story is one for another time).
We arrived safe and sound—ready to settle into our favorite place on Earth. My soul aches for the Pacific Northwest—I miss it so much. Everything started off wonderfully. We took a great family trip to Sunriver, Oregon. But then it started—“My stomach hurts!”—from Poppy. And you know that’s one of my triggers.
When a child says “my stomach hurts,” I hear: “I probably have cancer.” Because that’s what you said—a couple of months before they found the tumor in your abdomen.
She’d say it off and on—usually before bed when she wasn’t quite ready to go to sleep. I told your daddy. He said it was nothing—kids get stomachaches. Yeah, well—kids also get stomachaches and cancer and die. I know both of those realities very, very well.
So I watched her closely over the next few weeks—she acted like a completely healthy child. It should have calmed me down. It didn’t.
I sing to Poppy all the time. We listen to music non-stop. One afternoon, I was putting her down for a nap in my old bedroom, and she looked up at me and said, “Gonna hold ya… gonna kiss arms… hey, hey, hey, hey—big jet plane.” I started bawling.
She just looked at me and sang louder:
“Gonna take you for a ride on a big jet plane… Mama! Twinkle Twinkle Star!”
I had goosebumps all over my body. Big Jet Plane was one of your favorite songs. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star was the one I always sang to you—especially right before you died.
She kept begging me to sing while she squeaked along—nailing most of the words. I fell asleep holding her close, crying. She’s doing all these little things that keep you close—especially to her. I woke up feeling completely outside my body—but grateful. So grateful she keeps you close, even if she doesn’t realize it.
That night, I was getting her ready for a bath when I noticed five bruises going down her spine. They were perfectly round—small circles.
I fucking flipped out. My stomach dropped.
I snapped pictures and sent them to our favorite lovie (P.S.—names changed to protect the innocent). He said the bruising pattern was odd and asked what we’d done that day—had she fallen? Any trauma?
No—I told him. Just a normal day. Just her usual rough and tumble self.
He said not to worry—but that didn’t land with me. I was ready to throw her in the car and drive to Portland. Or all the way home. I just wanted her checked out.
After the bath, I took her upstairs to brush her teeth. She hates it. Fights me every night. Sometimes I let her do it, but every few days I have to scrub for real.
That night—I don’t know if I brushed too hard or what—but her top gums started bleeding. Everywhere.
Another sign of childhood leukemia.
I broke.
I handed her to my mom and unraveled. Started pacing. Called your daddy—sobbing. He tried to reason with me—but nothing could calm me down.
I called our other lovie—Rach—in New York. This is how the conversation went:
Me: Rach! (sobbing) I think Poppy has leukemia. (more sobbing)
Rach: Okay—I promise she doesn’t. Let’s talk it out. This sounds more like anemia. But if it’ll help, take her to get checked. Want me to call the hospital in Portland right now? I’ll make sure they get you in and treat you like gold.
Me: (still sobbing) I don’t know. Let me calm down. I’m not thinking clearly. I want her checked—but I’m not sure I can take her tonight.
I talked to your daddy again. Texted with Rach. It took four people—three of them doctors—to calm me down. My mom was wrecked from watching me be a wreck. Your brothers saw some of it—and I hate that more than anything.
Eventually, I calmed down. Tucked all three kids into bed and watched them sleep while I lay there wide awake, tossing and turning.
The next morning—I woke up feeling like I’d been hit by a truck. Poppy bounced up like nothing had happened—ready to take on the world. But I couldn’t. Not until I knew for sure.
I texted our lovie the photos again. He showed them to another doctor. Then he called me.
“Sweetheart—what do you want to do? If it’ll bring you peace, take her in. Get her checked.”
I told him yes. He faxed over an order for bloodwork.
I dropped the boys at Nana’s café, and took Poppy to get a motherfucking pokie in her arm.
She was a trooper—except not really. She was pissed. Screamed, kicked, cried—I had to hold her down while apologizing over and over. Afterward, the nurse offered her a sparkly band-aid. She ripped it off and said:
“I DON’T WANT A SPARKLY BAND-AID!”
Little badass.
I scooped her up, put her in the car, and called our lovie to say it was done. Then I cried. And beat myself up. Again.
“I feel horrible for putting her through that. This is not my finest moment.”
And he said what I needed to hear:
“Hey—don’t do that. Don’t beat yourself up. You did what you had to do. After everything you’ve been through—this isn’t an overreaction. You have every right to worry.”
He let me put Poppy on the phone—she smiled that gorgeous smile while he talked to her. The pokie was already forgotten—for her. Not for me.
A few hours later, her bloodwork came back completely normal.
I finally exhaled—the breath I’d been holding for months.
I can breathe again.
I know it won’t last forever—but for now, it’s enough.
Ronan—I’ll have to continue this later. It’s gotten so late, and my head is pounding. It just started to rain here—and that feels like a sign from you to shut it down and sleep.
I miss you so much. So very much.
G’nite.
I miss you. I love you. I hope you are safe.
xx

Comments:

13 responses to “The Fun Never Ends because I’m Traumatized for Life.”

  1. Mary Avatar
    Mary

    Oh Maya… I’m so sorry you always have this shadow of fear following you around. But don’t beat yourself up for being a “maniac” — I’m sure all moms who’d been through the particular hell of losing a child to cancer would’ve reacted the same. I’m so glad Poppy is fine. I love following her antics on Instagram. Did she ever hear the song “Big Jet Plane” or was that just an eerie coincidence? I got chills reading that. I remembered it was one of Ronan’s favorites.

    Reply
  2. cherlo30 Avatar
    cherlo30

    Maya, so happy to read your post. You have such beautiful children. Little Poppy is adorable. Glad you are enjoying your summer!! Hold those memories near your heart!!

    Reply
  3. jenny8117 Avatar
    jenny8117

    I cried reading this because I could have written this post myself! I have an almost 4 year old boy and a 2 year old girl. Because of reading Ronan’s blog, a few other blogs about little boys that die of cancer, I continue to be a complete hypo, especially about my little boy. Clearly because I’m so scared of losing him like you all have lost your little boys.
    He has light skin also and gets tons of bruises. But one night when I was particularly worried about him, I looked at his back during his bath and saw little red petachie dots. I knew then that it was all over for me and my boy. I sat there stunned and silent at the edge of the bathtub. I knew that I would have to take him to the ER right away, but until then, during the evening I would have to stop bonding with him. Nobody could have convinced me otherwise that he didn’t have leukemia. My husband was more worried about ME being insane that he was Brady.
    Of course the next morning the ER doctor asks me if he’s been sleeping on the couch for two weeks, had pneumonia, Etc. I said no, but what started this was he came down with thrush that went to his esophagus. For no reason at all……Of course our pedi told us that only kids with severely compromised immune systems get thrush after age 3. Thanks doctor.
    Just to make you feel a little better, the ER doc told us he can tell 99% of the time just by looking at a child if they have leukemia. A child acting normal with bruising or a little bleeding isn’t what he looks for, he says their color has to completely change and they have zero energy. Brady’s blood work came back fine also.
    I feel for you, I really do. Just like you, I know it will be another worry in time….and you have gone through the worst already. So sorry…

    Reply
  4. Jane Bowlin Avatar
    Jane Bowlin

    Being a Mom and a worrier (with a vivid imagination), I can understand and and hugely empathize with every word. My children are grown, and now, with an adorable 2 year old granddaughter in the mix, I only worry More. — Many Blessings to you and your Precious family. ♥

    Reply
  5. Summer Avatar
    Summer

    Mama, I’m so sorry about everything that’s happened to you, and how it’s left this effect on you.

    One tip I have to helping cope with your fear is this:
    Those sort of fears have a tendency to build up inside you, and the second you see something that might give them some rational, they explode into a panic attack. Next time you have this sort of fear that feels like its building up, it might be best to just take Poppy to the doctor for a quick check up as soon as you find yourself continuously dwelling on that scary thought. (No pokies! Just a simple check up so he can assess the basis of your fear and calm you down) That way you can try to stop that fear in its tracks early before it ends up overtaking you later.

    I’m sorry you have to live like this, it’s so messed up and not fair that you have been traumatized to the point that you constantly worry about your beautiful healthy children. What you are feeling is a completely normal response coming from losing a child to illness, but that doesn’t make it any less fair. But I know you guys will be fine because Ronan is looking out for you. He’s the best big brother, he will protect his little sister his own way.

    Reply
  6. KT Avatar
    KT

    Mama, was just thinking of you the other day!!! That Poppy just melts me. 😢 I can believe how big and handsome the boys have gotten too. Love to all of
    you!!!! xoxo 💜

    Reply
  7. Amy R Avatar
    Amy R

    Your gift of writing is extraordinary and unique…I could read anything you write & can’t wait for your book! I love coming across your Facebook & IG posts (hello incredible photos!) but your blog posts are my favorite. I have 3 healthy kids and I’ve had freak out moments about their health for no good reason other than following a mom’s gut feeling. My dear, you have every single right to obsess and lose it whenever you want. I bet the fact that your were in Washington when you noticed Ronan’s eye for the first time has something to do with why you feel like you have a freak out moment every time you visit. Even though he wasn’t diagnosed in Washington, that’s where his cancer journey began for you. Take comfort in the fact that it’s ALWAYS okay for you to feel anything…and what better place to feel like you’re out of control with worry than in the comfort of your mom & your childhood home. You’re an incredible mama. Taking Poppy in was the right thing to do and I’m thankful that she’s a very healthy little girl! Enjoy the rest of your summer having some peace of mind. Just keep following your gut…and your Ronan.

    Reply
  8. glenda1203 Avatar
    glenda1203

    RoMama,

    I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through and you continue to go through this journey of FUCANCER has brought you through. Thank goodness Poppy is fine. I enjoy watching her grow on your IG. She’s a beauty! Miss reading your blog, but hope your book is coming along! Hope you are having an almost perfect summer w/ your family (almost perfect, never perfect without Ro) RoLove Always…. Always RoLove xx

    Reply
  9. Rachel Brusseau Avatar
    Rachel Brusseau

    I don’t have a child with cancer, but I have worked around them almost my entire career. All my kids have been subjected to blood draws because I thought they had cancer when they were fatigued or had bone pain or had belly pain or had excessive bruising.

    I lather up their arm with EMLA cream so they don’t feel the poke, I text their awesome pediatrician who puts in the order, and a couple hours later I feel better.

    Then I feel like SHIT that I put them through it, and put myself through the stress. I’ve seen so many little sweeties with “chronic sore throat” or “chronic fatigue” or “excessive bruising” end up having cancer, and no matter how hard I try I can’t get my brain anywhere else.

    My 17 yr old just made her own appt because she had lumps in her throat that won’t go away & fatigue. She didn’t tell me, because she doesn’t want me to worry. Turned out to be nothing, but see what I created???? A child with anxiety about cancer. Lovely. Parenting award for me please (not).

    I’ve haven’t learned my lesson though. If my 8-yr old has symptoms of cancer next month, I’m taking him in for a CBC. I’m with you on this one.

    Reply
  10. stacy Avatar
    stacy

    You’re not a maniac, it’s very normal. I worried about just by reading this. Much more you, for having experienced firsthand. I usually worry about my nephews in the same way with just a black eye or a persistent fever because I have some knowledge about pediatric cancer through this blog and others. It is quite normal and I rejoiced the end because I was really beginning to think you were going to have to go through this again and that broke my heart.

    Reply
  11. boxersaz Avatar
    boxersaz

    You need to take a deep breath during these times of worry and fear. Calm yourself so that your children will be calm and not carry this into their adulthood. Children are so impressionable and will remember the slightest things. Hold it together for all of you and your well being. I have had these types of irrational fears. It took a long time but it can be made to go away and be in peace.

    Reply
  12. emmeejay Avatar
    emmeejay

    My son didn’t even die of cancer, he died of complications from being born 14 weeks early, and even I have all of those same irrational fears! It’s so easy to say keep it together but til you’ve gone though the death of a child you really shouldn’t say that. It’s impossible to know how any little thing can send you into a panic that your remaining or new children are going to die at any given time. It never goes away. It’s heartbreaking and frustrating.

    Maya your kids are so kind and intelligent I’m positive they will someday, if not already now, understand why you are the way you are. I’m so glad Poppy is ok. I love watching her grow.

    Much love..

    Reply
  13. emmeejay Avatar
    emmeejay

    My son didn’t even die of cancer, he died of complications form being born 14 weeks too early, and even I have all the irrational fears you have! It’s heartbreaking and frustrating not being able to know how or when any little thing can trigger you to think your remaining or new children are going to die at any minute!
    Unless you’ve experience the loss of a child you really shouldn’t say to get it together or keep it together. It’s impossible.

    Maya, your kids are so kind and intelligent I’m sure they’re going to know someday, if not already, why you are the way you are.
    I’m so glad Poppy is ok. I love getting to watch her grow on Instagram.

    Much love…

    Reply

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