Rory Fitzgerald
“More disturbing symptoms emerged and soon it became clear that something was really very wrong”
Our bouncing one-year-old baby girl, Emilia, is most commonly seen rushing merrily around the house, her blue eyes shining and a mischievous grin beneath her unruly mop of blonde hair. She is full of beans, and forever exploring, learning, playing and experimenting. She is also incredibly affectionate, always full of hugs and cuddles for her parents and her big brother and sister, who she adores.
Over the past few weeks, however, her energy levels seemed to fall to a troubling degree. Upon examining her, all of her lymph nodes were found to be up. Then she developed an enlarged spleen. She started having night sweats. More disturbing symptoms emerged and soon it became clear that something was really very wrong. The symptoms indicated a few things, but amongst the most terrifying possibilities were lymphoma and leukaemia.
The very thought was too much to bear. A hospital appointment and tests were quickly scheduled in, but there would be a long wait over the long weekend before we would find out more.
While I hoped that the chances that it was anything serious were remote, we simply did not know. I like to keep it that way: my lack of medical knowledge means that I can remain in a state of blissful ignorance. Not so my wife, who is a paediatrician and a GP registrar.
We tried to keep ourselves distracted over the weekend and we went for a family cycle down the quiet country lanes near our home. Seán cycled his new mountain bike, while I carried the two girls on my bike, with the unusually sedate Emilia on the baby carrier on the back.
At one point as we cycled along, I looked back at my wife to see her in tears. Now I was getting really worried. Later that day, some of her medical friends happened to call over. It worried me even more to see how concerned they were.
A long night
The night before the tests was a long night. We didn’t feel like talking much. We could only hope and pray that our worst fears were unfounded. It was a rainy morning when my wife packed an overnight bag and took Emilia into hospital for the tests to be done. Like a nervous tic, I was checking my phone every few minutes for news.
After what seemed like weeks, the phone rang. My wife’s voice was sunnier than it had been in a long time. The initial blood tests suggested that cancer was unlikely, and that it was more likely glandular fever. I never thought I would be so delighted to hear that my baby daughter had glandular fever.
An awful week ended with a sense of overwhelming relief for us. Yet I thought of those families who do not get the answer we did; the ones who must watch tiny, fragile, beautiful, uncomprehending little children undergo cancer treatment.
The broken-hearted ones who must contemplate that their children might not have long to live. Such thoughts are too much to bear, but they make me ever more convinced of the importance of free, universal, equal healthcare for children.
I’m left with a keen impression of the sacredness and fragility of life. We are left more thankful than ever for our beautiful baby girl, who is recovering her spirits day by day.