An unforeseen trigger

Normally when I put my daughter to bed at 7:00 PM, my older 3 year old son tags along, so I get to snuggle them both while I sing to her. I love doing this, and seeing the kids hug and giggle at each other warms my heart. But I also relish my moments alone with Ana--I love when I get to sing to just her and feel her bury her face in my shoulder, put her arms around me. I often sing four or five songs to her as I rock her to sleep. One of our favorite songs to sing together is "Sing a Song" from Sesame Street.

"Sing,

Sing a song,
Sing out loud, sing out strong!
Sing of good things, not bad,
Sing of happy, not sad.
Sing,
Sing a song,
Make it simple to last your whole life long.
Don't worry that it's not good enough for anyone else to hear.
Just sing,
Sing a song.
La La La La La La
La La La La La La
La La La La La La
Sing, 

Sing a song."

I started singing her a lot last October, around the time she started getting unexplained bruises all over her body. We were traveling at the time. When I saw the first few bruises appear, I was concerned but didn't think much of it--just chalked it up to Ana being eager to explore the world and perhaps a bit careless. But they got worse. A blood vessel burst in her eye. She was in such distress that she couldn't sleep unless I held her in my arms as we slept on my parents' rug. When we made the decision to take her to urgent care, I burst into tears. My mind immediately went to cancer. Leukemia. What else could explain these bruises? What if I she had to undergo treatment and her little body wasn't strong enough to withstand either the drugs or the cancer? What if I had to bury my daughter?

The urgent care didn't give us many answers, so we decided to hold off on pursuing further screening or treatment until we returned to Atlanta. The day after we returned, I took her to the pediatrician, who took my concerns seriously and had her immediately tested for idiopathic thrombocytopenia, or ITP--a fancy way of saying her platelet counts might have been low. Lo and behold, her CBC came back measuring her platelet count at a mere 9,000 per microliter of blood. A normal platelet count usually ranges between 150,000-450,000 per microliter of blood. 

Without delay, our doctor made us an appointment with the Children's Healthcare of Atlanta Cancer and Blood Disorders Center. Ana and I spent week after week, for almost 3 months, at CHOA. On the one hand, it was a relief to know Ana would ultimately be okay. It was heartbreaking to sit in the CHOA waiting room, seeing kids affected by much more serious maladies, including cancer. But on the other hand, Ana's ITP was a burden that only she and I shared.While my husband is as supporting and loving as a partner can be with two young kids, he was completely preoccupied with caring for our 3 year old. At times, he seemed dismissive of her diagnosis, not feeling the gravity of the situation, like I was. During those three months of recovery, I was the one who took her to her appointments. I held her as, week after week, nurses struggled to draw blood to test her platelet count, test her blood pressure, and get other vitals. I monitored her petechia that appeared on the bottoms of her feet, and watched her every move to prevent her from falling due to her body's limited ability to clot. That was an emotional burden I alone bore with her. 

During every appointment, Ana would cry while the nurse took her vitals and drew blood. The only thing that seemed to console her at the time was singing to her; specifically, she seemed to favor "Sing a Song." And I loved that for her. I wanted her to think of good things, not bad. I wanted her to be happy, not sad. Most of all, I always want her to be able to express herself in the best way she knows how. 

We got through ITP together. By December, her platelet count exceeded 100,000 and we were told by CHOA that we didn't have to go back. She still gets a CBC during every wellness check at her pediatrician's office but there is no longer a concern that her ITP will return--it was a one time thing triggered by a virus she was fighting at the time, and her body accidentally fought her platelets instead of the virus itself. 

But, for some reason, I still sing that song to her every chance I get. She still playfully bounces when the lyrics transition to "la la la la la." Sometimes she even "sings" along. And every time I sing her that song, I become emotional thinking about the burden that we shared together, how I always want to be there for her, and how I never, ever want to let her down.