Danielle's Story

    When we reached the hospital, we left the car in the parking ramp and took the elevator to the main floor.   Unsure of where we were supposed to go first, we walked down a long hallway that was lined with pictures.  On either side we saw doors leading to specialists’ offices.  I remember the sweet bitter smell of medicines and cleaning solvents hitting us in the face.

      We walked up to the front desk and a lady asked “could I help you? “  I answered, “Yes, my daughter is suppose to be admitted, but we’re not sure what we’re suppose to do from here“.  She pointed us in the direction of admitting so we could fill out paper work.  When that was taken care of we were escorted to the 2^nd floor the pediatric floor.

     This unit is set up with two doors separated by a very wide wall. Those doors are locked at all times.  In order to visit a child who is a patient there, you have to use the phone mounted on the wall to the right next to a camera.  After you call the nurse’s desk she will buzz to “unlock” the door and it will open.   I liked the fact that not just anyone could visit the children in the unit. 

    Just after we had Danielle settled in her room,  a parade of doctors and interns began coming in one after another.  All of them seemed to be asking the same questions and doing the same checkups on Danielle.  When that had gone on for a while, I started losing my patience.  I wanted some answers and soon!

    At last two doctors came in and asked to talk with me.  When they introduced themselves I learned that the first, an older man, was named Dr Inoue, the second was a woman I will call Dr. “O.”  (She has a long last name that is very hard to spell so we’ll stick with Dr O.)  They both were very nice and seemed to understand our concern.  Sometimes it must be hard for doctors to be understanding and have patience with the parents of each child that comes in.  I imagine that they would rather go straight to work because they know what must be done.

    The two doctors explained to us that Danielle had to have a bone marrow biopsy in order for them to know exactly what was going on.  They said that the marrow would be taken from the hip bone through the back.  After numbing an area on Danielle’s back, they would then insert a hollow needle, cut away a small fragment of bone, and draw up some of the marrow.  Later the sample of marrow would be examined under a microscope.   They warned us that the procedure could be painful. 

    The doctors gave me a choice of stepping out of the room or staying there during the procedure.  I had made a promise to Danielle I was going to stay.  She was given Benadryl which made her very sleepy and everything seemed to be going well. I tried to watch what they were doing but couldn’t see much except for an instrument being exchanged between hands.  I was able to see when they drew the marrow into a syringe.  The cutting of the bone and the drawing up of the marrow was the painful part for Danielle because all of a sudden her grip tightened on my hand.  In order to take her mind from the ordeal, I talked to her about anything I could think of.  When the procedure was finished, that was when I came to the realization that this whole thing was happening.  It was not just a laboratory mistake and not a dream.

    We were both frightened.  Except for the happy time when Danielle was born, that was the first stay in a hospital for either of us.  Danielle had a private bathroom in her room so I locked myself in there because I didn’t want her to see how upset I was.  I sat down on the floor and began to cry.  A few moments later a nurse knocked on the door to ask if I was all right.  I answered, “Yes.” but I really wanted to scream, “NO!”  They just didn’t seem to understand.  This very morning I had a normal eleven year old daughter and now doctors were telling me she is very sick.  She doesn’t look or act sick.  I just had to watch my daughter go through something I had never heard of before.  No, I’m not okay!  I’m sitting on the floor of a hospital bathroom