Finding out that your child is sick is like living your worst nightmare. As parents, our first instinct is to refuse to believe it, then to want to know everything, sit down, and face the reality. At first glance, you don’t see anything, but if you take the time to observe your child, you can see deep in their eyes—hidden behind their sparkling gaze—a dark glimmer that sends a chill down your spine.
Like when our child has a fever, the flu, or that dreaded stomach bug—except this time it’s different; it’s here to stay, never to go away for the rest of their life. This isn’t exactly cheerful news… if this sounds familiar, you’ll understand, and if you’re empathetic, well, I hope it stays that way for you; our children’s health is worth all the gold in the world.
And you—you have to be there, a strong dad and/or mom, full of positive energy and optimism, even if inside you’re crying and anxious because an illness doesn’t always progress the same way. Sometimes we’re lucky; other times it takes a turn we’d have preferred to be different and takes a detour that brings us back to square one.
No matter what the illness is, when it affects the person we love most in this world, it feels like our whole world has fallen apart. We meet countless healthcare professionals in various settings—both in and out of hospitals—and our outlook on life changes; their compassionate approach reassures us.
Deep down, nothing is certain; from that point on, every day counts. We don’t say it out loud, but we savor every moment. We think constantly, doing everything we can to soften the blow, to downplay the news and test results—anything to ease their pain… but above all, most importantly, we do everything we can to keep their life the same as before; we strive to ensure that nothing changes, as long as it’s possible.
The illness won’t take precedence over happiness; the family we are must not let it stand in the way of the future. Because we often have other children caught up in this turmoil. A mother’s word: with love, anything is possible. A word of advice: talk about it, don’t isolate yourself, and if you don’t feel like wallowing in self-pity, fight to the very end—as long as there’s hope. We’re human—not insensitive, and not indestructible.