"Thank You For Saving My Little Girl's Life"

Yesterday, I managed to swing a deal with a colleague, get off early and high-tail it back to Piedmont, North Carolina (through Friday-afternoon traffic on 1-40 that, like the years of cigarettes for smokers, literally scraped time off my life) in time to catch the tail-end of my Mother and my niece's combined birthday parties.

Abigail is two, and Mama says she's a "mini-me" in terms of her fascination with books. She is also an Elmo freak. Last month, I was not sure I would be able to make the party, so we had our own little birthday party before I went back down East. When I arrived at the party, Abby greeted empty-handed-me holding the massive Raggedy Ann I gave her then - as if to say, "I know you already got me a present". It was very sweet.

I was pleased to see that Lexie's Mama was there . . . having taken some time off from literally living at Duke Children's Hospital. I have not seen her since the diagnosis.

While preparing a plate from the left-overs in the kitchen, we found ourselves alone and I asked her how Lexie was doing.

She said to me, "I want to thank you for saving my little girl's life".

I was once of those gulp-in-the-throat moments that bring you up short, is just a little embarrassing and I don't always handle well. I could feel the tears welling up (having always longed for a daughter, I could not imagine being in her shoes) and quickly moved to suppress them.

(Mama had already told me how Abigail had greeted Lexie's Mama when she arrived at the party . . . with big hug and a sad-for-a-two-year-old-and-already-knowing-the-answer, "Where's Lexie"?)

Now, I did not really save Lexie's life. The team of Hematologist-Oncologists and Infectious Disease gurus and most-excellent Surgeons that are battling her cancer are saving Lexie's life. I just provided the prod to get her there.

I was pleased to hear that, among others, Lexie is under the care of Paul Martin . . . a saint-in-sensible-no-doubt-Earth-friendly-shoes who once labored at Brenner's (while I was still a Pediatric resident).

Lexie's Mom, a pharmacist, and I talked about her most recent problems during chemo . . . which include a central line infection (which means the line will need to be replaced before her next round). From antibiotics and super-bugs/evil-fungi to bone-marrow transplants to medical-center politics and personalities, it was enlightening to LISTEN (in a non-clinical setting) to a Mother's perspective.

When transferring patients to large centers, I usually take a moment to warn parents about the deluge of doctors-with-varying-degrees-of-experience-and-authority . . . and that their best advocate in an ICU setting is actually usually their child's primary nurse. My conversation with Lexie's Mom certainly confirms that it's not a bad practice.

As we watched my brother do stupid things with his fearless daughter on silly mechanical toys (without a helmet - despite my protestations), my Mother subsequently joined the conversation . . . and then my sister-in-law (an RN) . . . who offered more praise, "You knew what was wrong as soon as I called you - you just didn't want to tell me."

Yes, I did. And no I didn't.

At one point, the conversation deviated to a newborn whose delivery I had attended back East right before the cyber-stalking case . . . born with a serious surgical problem that few Pediatricians see in "real life", much less manage. I told Lexie's Mom that I was the only person at the small, rural, far-Eastern hospital that day who had ever taken care of a baby life that.

Lexie's Mom, a woman-of-great-faith-despite-being-sorely-tested . . . a woman who appreciates my heartache and sadness and still-white-hot pain over what was done to me in Asheboro . . . smiled and said,

"Well, maybe that's why you were there. You were/are needed. Even if for just that one baby."

Once again, I found myself brought up short by a Mother's wisdom.

It was a lovely evening . . . full of hot-dogs and hamburgers and Mama's homemade "hot" pimento cheese and Elmo cake and sweet tea and wrapping paper and squealing children and my brother's booming voice (he always talks like he's trying to be heard over a jet engine). And I have new pictures of the tiny girl-cousins for my refrigerator door.

I hear it's Relay-For-Life weekend in Asheboro.

My family is in such a relay . . . for the long haul.

And on that thought, it's time to enjoy this weekend. Lots of work to do at home. Not a lot of time to do it.