Getting Maxwell

February 9, 2004

My back was to the window as I reached under my desk and without sitting down, turned on the computer. Outside, the clouds hung in the air, hovering just above the ground; they shimmered, silvery, grey casting a dim light into my office. Nobody had arrived but me and the office held a static, anticipatory energy, on the verge of lighting up for the day. My computer monitor lit up and I opened my calendar. Monday February 9th, 2004. I hadn’t checked my schedule for the day and found that I had an interview first thing, 9 AM, for a role on our team. Better get my office straightened up. Interviews were held in individual offices at Microsoft and I wanted to present myself as being organized, diligent and prepared.

And then the phone rang. 

“Hello?” 

“I need you to come home”, it was Erin and she was sobbing into the phone. “Max is still sick, he threw up again this morning, I just don’t know what’s wrong but I’m taking him in to get this figured out. I got a Cat Scan scheduled at 9:30. Beck has a doctor’s appointment this morning and I just need your help. I don’t know how long this is going to take but I need you to come back. Can you meet me at Children’s Hospital?"

“Of course, I’m on my way. It’s going to be OK."

Before leaving I sent a mail to our recruiting contact and to the rest of my team, “Sorry about short notice but I have to head back to Seattle. I have an interview at 9AM but won’t be able to make it, please find someone to cover for me. My son is very sick”. I shut down my computer, picked up my bag and walked through the door back to my car.  I'd never even sat down. 

I drove out of the Microsoft parking lot and into the foggy morning, the opposite direction of everyone else; all heading into the office to start their day. My email reverberated in my head “my son is very sick”. I wonder what people at work will think when they see that. “I hope it wasn’t too dramatic sounding.” On the drive images of Max from the the last week kept creeping into my head; lying on the floor of our basement, his 8 year old little body writhing in pain and his sobbing screams “my head, my head Oww, help me, Oww.” I could still see the popsicle stick he was holding with the riddle on it he’d told me 5 minutes earlier.  Huddled into the corner of his bed, where he’d spent most of the last week, forcing a smile over the confused and scared look on his face. He’d been coloring a poster with water color pens, a Star Wars poster with black velvet inserts. Max loved painting, coloring, making things. In the back seat of my car, his head drooping against the shoulder strap of the seatbelt, eyes closed in pain after I’d carried him out a movie we’d gone to see together, Spy Kids. He’d had another sudden attack with his head. This time sitting in a full theatre. Just after the movie ended he started crying “Ow… OWWW, my head.. Dad OWWW. DAD... HELP ME!” I’d carried him out of the theatre into an elevator full of families, his limp body in my arms, still crying “my head, my head, Dad help…” That was Friday, three days before. As I drove I kept reminding myself that this was no big deal. Max was fine. Our daughter Robin had migraines and this was probably just something like that. Erin had taken her in for a Cat Scan too years ago and it was just fine. It would be good just to rule something really bad out. I had a lifelong history of worrying about things that never happened. I reminded myself, and kept reminding myself, “It’s going to be OK”. Max stumbling as he reached for the door to our SUV parked in front of our house, holding the silver bowl he’d had nearby for the last week, his “barf bowl". “I just need some fresh air that’s all, then I’ll feel better."

A few days earlier I’d done some research on the web using Max’s symptoms. "Sudden headache, throwing up first thing in the morning." SEARCH… “Brain Tumor Symptoms”. Stunned, I'd closed the browser and walked away from the computer. My mind spun wildly into panic and I found myself upstairs staring out the window of our kitchen into the cold, grey February sky . “If Max has a brain tumor, I don’t know what I’d do. Nothing will matter, I’ll cease to exist.”  

Children’s hospital in Seattle is just outside the U-district, near the University of Washington where both Erin and I went to College. We started going out when we were working together in the men’s department of a clothing store, 15 years earlier. It was about a mile from away from the hospital. The hospital was obscured from the road by some bushes and trees and I’d driven by it every day for a year on my way to and from work when we were living nearby. I didn’t even know it was there. 

The driveway wound up to the right, a steep hill beside the hospital. I pulled into the visitor parking on the top floor and found a spot  in front of the entrance; "Visitor Parking, 2 hour limit”. I parked and stood up. The damp, morning air suddenly cold against my face as I stepped out of the warmth of my car and walked toward the entrance of Children’s Hospital. 

The reception area of the hospital was a large room with high ceilings and windows on two sides. The check-in desk was just in front of the door as I entered and next to it was a 4 foot tall wooden carved Pinocchio statue, brightly painted in red and green. To the left, a few rows of chairs, back to back with kids and parents sitting sporadically throughout the room. Max was sitting next to Erin, still in his red flannel pajamas, they had snowmen on them. I remembered them from the pictures I’d taken Christmas morning. He was hunched over the silver bowl on his lap.

“Hey buddy, how’s it going?” I was hoping to sound cheery and uplifting.

“OK Dad.” Max didn’t sit up, his head turned to the side on top of the silver bowl, he didn’t look at me.

Beck, our one month old was asleep in his baby carrier, wrapped in blankets on the floor next to Erin. 

“I just got tired of waiting on this. I told them that we just need to get a Cat Scan scheduled today.” Erin wasn’t afraid to be assertive and take command. She knew how to get what she wanted and I was glad she’d got us in this morning.  

“No, that’s great Erin, I think you’re right”. I said, reassured by her insistence, and looking forward to being on the other side of a clean Cat Scan for Max. 

“Max Hanson”, a bolt of fear shot through my core when Max’s name was called by the smiling young woman standing near the reception table. 

“Let’s go buddy” I said, “can I help you?” I was doing everything I could to sound cheerful, but not too cheerful.

The cat scan was a whirlwind. We followed a cheerful woman down the hall and into an elevator, down to the Rocket area of the hospital. That’s where radiology was. All the areas in the hospital had friendly names; Whale, Giraffe, Rocket. The walls were painted in bright colors, rainbows with cute, happy animals on them. It seemed to make the experience even more arresting for me. Cheerful bears and dogs driving trains and flying around in rocket ships contrasted so sharply with the anxiety that was threatening to overwhelm me.

When the cat scan was complete we were escorted to a  room with a bed and two chairs. Max got in the bed so he could lie down. He wasn’t feeling good at all, lying down seemed to help though. The room didn’t have a door, it was open on one side to the hallway we’d come down after the cat scan. There were a few rooms just like it. It seemed to be a waiting room and we were waiting to hear the results of Max’s Cat Scan. 

"Hey guys want to play the colors game?” Max was lying on his back on the little bed in front of us. The colors game was a pass-time we’d made up and played over and over for the last couple years. Max had always loved playing games. It didn’t matter where we were, what we were doing, there seemed always a chance to play. 

 “Sure buddy, you start”. 

“OK, let’s do NFL teams. Red, white and blue”, his voice piped out, almost cheerfully from behind the rail along the side of the bed he was lying in.

"Ummm.. Patriots?” 

“Nope” 

"Uhh.. Giants"

"Uh, uh."

"Hmm. OK this is hard. Honey, feel free to pitch in here.” I joked to Erin sitting next to me,

“OK. Um I don’t know, this is a hard one. Let me think."

We played. The four of us sitting in the radiology department of Children’s Hospital, surrounded by doctors, nurses, sick kids and scared parents, waiting for the results of Max’s Cat Scan; and magically the fear melted away. 

After we’d gotten through most of the NFL and moved on to the NBA I looked up at the clock on the wall above the bed, it was 10:03 AM. We’d been sitting there for twenty minutes. 

Panic bolted through my body, starting in my lower back, rising over my shoulders and into the back up my head. This isn't good. It shouldn’t take this long. Why is it taking this long? If this were good news it would come back faster, terrified thoughts spun me around, taking everything over. I searched for something to grab onto to calm the rising charge of fear churning inside me. 

“Black and blue.” Max playfully called out.  His light, cheerful voice starkly contrasting my internal anxiety. 

OK, wait. They’re really busy, there’s a lot going on. Probably something urgent, more important than us because Max’s scan is clean. If it were bad news they’d tell us right away. OK, It’s going to be alright. I got enough of a grip to answer Max who was waiting anxiously for me to try to guess which NBA team had black and blue uniforms. 

“That’s tough Max, I don’t know. NBA teams are hard. Can I have a hint?” Max somehow knew all the teams in all the leagues, even College. I don’t know how he did it. 

“You can do this Dad,” Max encouraged me. “Texas”. 

There were only a few teams in Texas, I had to be able to figure this out. I had no idea. "Um.. Mavericks?” I guessed. 

“Yep, you got it Dad!” Max said happily. 

“OK hold on Max, I need to talk with Dad for a minute.” Erin interrupted.  "I need to get Beck to his doctors appointment so I’m going to go. After they come back with the results I need you to go across the street to Max’s doctor and tell them to figure out what’s going on. If this is a migraine or some kind of flu, whatever but we need to get it figured out."

“OK sure, that’s fine Erin.” Her confidence about leaving before the results to Max’s scan came back erased my panic. If she’s willing to leave, I’m sure everything is fine, I’m just creating all this in my head. 

“I’ll give you a call and see you later."

Erin stood up, picked up our one month old in his little chair with the carrying handle over the top. “See you soon.” 

Max and I were alone in the waiting area. 

“Hey bud, I’m going to take a break from the color game for a little while.” I wanted some time to try to resolve the fear once again building in my stomach. 

After a few minutes a woman in a white lab jacket came by our little room. 

“Hasn’t anyone come by to talk with you.” 

“No, it’s ok though, I’m sure you’re all really busy.” I said, trying to sound gracious and assured. 

“OK, I’m so sorry about the wait. I’ll have someone come over right away, thanks for your patience. We’ll be right back.” She turned and left and I felt better. They just forgot about us. Nothing to worry about. We’d be getting out of here soon. 

I slid back in my chair, took a deep breath, closed my eyes and waited. 

“Mr Hanson?” The voice came from just to my right in the hallway outside our waiting room. 

I slid back up and looked out to see a different woman with blonde hair in a white lab coat standing beside me.

“Hi” I said cheerfully, looking forward to getting the news we’d been waiting for. 

She looked at me without smiling. I looked up at her from where I was sitting and she said;

“Mr. Hanson, we found a lesion on the CT."

A lesion I thought - what was that?  A bruise or something? That didn’t sound too bad. 

“OK” I said looking past her out into the empty hallway behind her. “What’s a lesion?"

“A tumor”. 

And that’s when the ground opened up below me and I began falling into darkness.