Funny how you can blow your little problems into big ones, and deal with them as BFDs, which they really aren’t, until your kid is dealt an awful, unfair, fatal blow, and suddenly you’re jerked back into a reality that’s only partially yours. And then you realize just how petty and small-thinking you’ve been.

Our son noticed some pain & swelling in one of his testicles and went, urged by his girlfriend, to Urgent Care. (Sidebar: he doesn’t have insurance. I know, I know.) He was referred to a urologist, who sent him for an ultrasound, and told him Tuesday that he had to have surgery on Wednesday. Four days. And we just were informed on Tuesday.

So we braved I80 commuter traffic to pick him up and deliver him to the hospital. We waited…and waited…and waited. We read books (he read a Wine Atlas as he’s preparing for his Level 1 Sommelier exam). Finally the nurse came and things began to feel real.

No more books once he had his I.V. inserted. T here was no more reading, except of one another’s faces, moods, thoughts. My boy is like his dad, he keeps things close to his chest, until he feels that his audience is receptive and non-judging, then he opens up.

The surgery nurse came, and we gathered up his stuff and our stuff, rode the elevator to the surgery level, and away he went. We went to the cafeteria and had lunch. Then, while my husband read, I paced the floor, the hall, fielded texts from C’s GF and my clients who are closing on a house tomorrow, my family, etc. The occasional phone call. Climbed stairs. It was barely an hour and I had to move.

The doctor noted the C handled the surgery well. His left testicle is history; pathology in 7-10 days. He’ll get a CT scan of his body from shoulders to groin. That, and the pathology, will give him and his doctor a path to pursue.

Meanwhile, as a parent, a mother, very attached with her children, this is the WORST. I know it’s worse for him and his GF, as they have live with this. I’m sure he’ll kick cancer’s ass, but there’s a small kernel of doubt that wants me to go to the place of “he’s going to die.” But of course. As do we all. Will this be it? I think not.

I kind of want to prepare for the worst and hope for the best. When my husband or I are involved, it’s a fairly easy thing to compartmentalize that. But with our kids? For whom we want the best? Oh, not so much. I’m all mother bear then.

A part of me is hyper-alert, and I hope that serves our son and his GF at this challenging time. I hate that I can’t be the one to advocate for him. I hope he steps up on the insurance front. No matter, we’re here as his advocate for him.

I’m sure this will end well, and my inner mama bear is ready to roar.