August 24, 2018
I was combing through a large flock of lopsided yet lovingly rendered penguins when my phone rang. We were 20 minutes into the mission, and every ceramic bird looked the same to me. Each time I held one up, my 3 year old connoisseur shook her head sadly. "That's not mine."
I balanced the iPhone on my shoulder while trying not to hit the red hang-up circle with my chin. Everywhere I looked, precarious shelves of unpainted animals beckoned, pleading to my children with their oversized colorless eyes.
Phone still dangling, I inventoried my 3 kids, who were busily surveying every inch of the Clay Cafe. To my horror, the youngest one was now gathering new white pottery figurines to paint. Her little hands eagerly grasped the most alluring creatures, and now the saleslady was explaining how she might "warm up the little animal friends" with some colorful finishing details before "welcoming them home". (To congregate, I might add, with our growing terra cotta menagerie.)
It was August 24th, 2018, and at the other end of the line was our pediatrician.
"Mrs. Nel__on? I got the __udd work back from the lab. M__ has __erry high anti__oddies."
I excused myself and stepped outside, hoping to get a better connection and also hoping that my little three bulls would not fully destroy the inside of Clay Cafe. I sat on the front stoop next to a cheerful pot of pink geraniums.
"I'm sorry, um Doctor...please. Are you still there? You were breaking up. Hello?? You have M2's bloodwork?"
The phone was silent at the other end. It was already Friday afternoon and my heart sank with the thought of another week of doctor phone tag. Whyyyy do they always call on a Friday afternoon?
"Yes, I'm here. Is now a good time to talk? It seems her tTG antibodies and her EMA numbers were very high. Well out of the range, in fact. I'm very surprised to say that her stomachaches were not anxiety. I believe she has celiac disease. I would recommend a gluten free diet......."
The heat rising off of the parking lot made the geraniums go wavy. I tried to focus on their showy pink blooms, a congregation of plain little flowers clustered to form larger, more impressive offering.
"....which of course means no wheat...crackers...pasta.......but thank goodness we caught it.......labs in a month...
....and I commend you for trusting your instinct."
The conversation trailed off and I don't remember much after that. A flood of relief, uncertainty, and now...panic...filled my head.
Somehow, in the haze of the conversation with the doctor I had managed to wander back inside the Clay Cafe, retrieve the correct penguin, herd the kids into the car, and start the engine so that we were now idling in the parking lot. With horror, I realized that I had been on the bluetooth speaker for bulk of the conversation and all now 3 kids sat eerily still while all of the blood drained out of my cheeks.
"Mama?"
I turned around to face M2, her large brown eyes already pooling.
"Does this mean no more goldfish?"
Oh, M. How could I have failed this sweet girl so horribly? My tiny, delicate, sweet little girl. My sensitive one, the child who is first to notice when someone else in the family needs a hug. The kid who says she physically feels colors, who notices shading when I see monochrome, who cries when a song is beautiful. How could I miss her pain for 3 years, and now how could I not even manage to deliver the doctor's news in a mama's words, carefully packaged for my own dear little 7 year old baby?
"It's going to be OK, M. I promise we are going to get through this. Honey? We are going to find good doctors and we are going to make you feel better. M...we are going to fix your tummy and you're not going to hurt anymore."
I put the car in drive, and the four of us drove home in silence...maybe for the first time ever.
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