11 Things I Wish My Child’s Doctor Knew. Thanx to Kate.


1. Please don’t ask me to leave my child’s side. I can’t rest or eat knowing that something could happen while outside the safety of my arms. I need to be there.

2. I need to be part of my child’s care team. I am there everyday. I am used to being in charge. At home, no nurses or doctors are telling me what to do. Help me be a part of the team.

3. I am not stupid. I may not understand all the words that you use, but I am willing to learn. Teach me. Help me understand what you are talking about. What could be more important for me know?

4. I am not overprotective. I am a parent. I see my child struggling to survive. I was given this child to protect and love. If I am doing something excessive, then kindly, gently tell me that it is not necessary. But do not tell me I am overprotective. Those words are fighting words.

5. I don’t know if you believe in God or not, but I hope that you do. While my child is under the care of your hands, I am in the waiting room asking for God to guide your hands and your mind so that you can save my child’s life. I pray for you.

6. Caring for a child with a chronic illness isn’t what I bargained for when I was planning a family. This is the hardest thing I have ever had to deal with. I am not just my child’s parent. I have many roles and wear many hats. Please understand this problem has touched every facet of my life and is challenging me in ways that you cannot possibly understand or see.

7. I am grieving. This is not what I planned. My home is waiting for my child. Clothes hang in the closet; toys and books are waiting to serve their purpose. Please be kind while I try grasp what all of this means and while I mourn the life my child should have had.

8. I trust you. I have handed over the most helpless and important person in my life. I know that you are not God, but I am hoping that through you, God will work a miracle.

9. I have hope. I don’t care about statistics. There aren’t two children here at the same time, having the same surgery. There is one, and that is my child. Don’t tell me that you don’t think that my child won’t make it. Tell me, that you’ll do everything in you power to help my child survive.

10. I know you don’t have a crystal ball. When I ask you for my child’s prognosis, I am asking you for reassurance. Every parent wants to be a grandparent one day. Don’t get irritated when I ask you about the future. Tell me I’m doing a good job today.

11. If it is God’s will to take my child too soon, don’t be afraid to let me see you cry. Your tears will help to cleanse my wounded heart. I need to know that you cared.


…I got this off Kate’s blog. I found it fitting, having gone thru the nightmare of a child with cancer. I can totally relate to this!

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