The Good Dream No Woman Wants

“It was just a dream, honey,” I cooed softly to my son. My husband sat on the small bed next to me, rubbing my back as I cradled Liam’s tiny body in my arms. “It was only a dream.”

Liam whimpered, further fracturing my heart. It had been weeks since his nightmares started, and they were consistent. Every night, around 2:30 in the morning, Liam would scream. “No! No! Stay away!” he’d beg the figment of his imagination. And every night, my husband and I would run to his room and comfort him until he fell asleep once again.

We tried everything. We let him sleep with us, but he still woke up screaming. We bought him weighted blankets, soothing nightlights, we gave him magnesium and children’s melatonin, but nothing seemed to work. Will and I were exhausted each morning, and determined to find a solution to Liam’s problem.

Thankfully, Liam never remembered the previous night. He would go back to sleep after being rocked and shushed for about half an hour, then wake up refreshed and jovial that morning. And other than these nightmares, Liam was perfect. Just a boy of four, he loved Pre-K and his friends, he was learning to ride a bike, he loved watching baseball and football with Will, and he was overall a happy being.

Which is why his screams broke my heart to pieces each night.

After Liam fell asleep in my arms for what felt like the thousandth time, I lowered him back onto his bed. He looked so little, wrapped in his monster truck pajamas and curled up under his Toy Story quilt. The sight, his innocence and vulnerability, brought tears to my eyes.

When Will and I returned to our own bed, I turned to face him. “I can’t keep doing this,” I choked, holding back a sob. Tears were streaming down my face, now. Will lifted a hand and wiped one away with his thumb.

“I know,” he whispered. “Maybe we should take him to see someone.”

That was the last thing I wanted to do for a number of reasons, the main one being that Liam didn’t know that he has these nightmares. I didn’t want to take him to some sterile sleep clinic and have a stranger ask him questions he didn’t know the answer to. Or to put him on a medication that I knew nothing about.

But, our options and my patience were wearing thin.

“I guess it’s time, isn’t it?”

Four days later, our little family sat in the waiting room at the sleep clinic downtown. Will and I tried our best to prepare Liam for the appointment, telling him about the big machines, the wires, and a potential needle encounter. He looked nervous at first, the rosy pink fading from his cheeks as his brown eyes widened. Will, however, came to the rescue when he told Liam they would actually be testing him for superpowers. Liam practically bounced in his chair with excitement.

We stayed by his side for every test we could, holding his hand and telling him how brave he was. He never cried, never flinched, and never lost his smile. A bittersweet concoction of pride and fear sworled in my stomach and lumped in my throat.

And poured out of me when we got the results.

A tumor.

I fell to my knees, holding the back of my hand to my mouth to keep myself from vomiting on the gray linoleum. Will crouched next to me and rubbed my back in small circles until I recovered enough to stand. The room swayed, but I managed to get in the chair across from the doctor’s desk. Liam was in a smaller waiting room, specially designed for children while their parents received life-altering, soul-shattering news in the next room. I could hear Liam’s voice next door as he talked to one of the nurses, no doubt telling her that they just finished testing him for superpowers.

I looked at the doctor through my tears, waiting for him to tell us next steps. But, he was already talking. I couldn’t hear him through the roaring in my head. I squeezed Will’s hand, knowing he was taking this one. A small surge of love broke through my whirlwind of terror and sorrow. Will is my steady ship against the raging sea, all white sails and sturdy wood. Who knows where I would’ve been without him?

The doctor stood after a short while, giving us the room. My brain somewhat calmed, but I still felt every bit of emotion as I slowly turned my head to face my husband.

“We caught it early,” he says, wiping a tear from my face. “He says brain tumors are inherently dangerous, but this is the best possible situation for us to be in.”

I nodded, slightly relieved. Liam’s voice still carried over from next door, and I made a silent vow to myself to do everything in my power to hear that voice grow deeper, to watch his tiny body grow taller and stronger, and to see my son with gray hair one day.

Over the next few weeks, Liam went to chemo appointments, oncologist appointments, and nutritionist appointments, all under the guise of potentially having superpowers. Will and I powered through the best we could, but cancer took its toll on Liam and us. We fought a lot, both of us on edge constantly. Liam was the only thing occupying our minds, not leaving any space for each other. I cried myself to sleep every night, but I wouldn’t let Will comfort me. I built walls in my mind and around myself, the only opening being Liam and his health. By week four, we were shells of ourselves.

We put on brave smiles for Liam, trying our hardest to make sure he didn’t know what was happening. By some miracle, he was okay with us shaving his head. He never looked in the mirror much, anyway, being a boy who’s only interest was Spider-Man and chicken nuggets. He grew weak, staying inside and playing with his Legos or watching Paw Patrol instead of playing outside.

It was worth it.

After forty-eight days of hell, we broke through. Liam was in remission. For the second time, I fell to my knees in the doctor’s office. I cried again, too, but for the pure euphoria coursing through my veins. I never understood the idea of feeling like a weight lifted off someone’s shoulders, but I understood in that moment. All of the broken pieces of my heart and mind melded together once again, and I felt happiness for the first time in months.

The celebration lasted for days. Liam was, of course, upset that he didn’t have superpowers, but he didn’t complain much when we went as a family for ice cream every night. He didn’t even remember why he was upset when he got to eat chicken nuggets at every lunch.

This was how it was meant to be. Will and I came back together fiercely, somehow stronger than ever before. And it was only a matter of time before I told my boys that we’d be adding another member to our family.

An alarm clock sounds through a dream I was having. I slowly open my eyes and rub them awake. I punch the snooze button, eager to go back to sleep, but I see my lamp.

My lamp.

My bed, my sheets, my room.

My boyfriend, Will, is asleep next to me.

Not my husband.

Not my life.

It was just a dream.