When Garrett got sick, I used up all of my vacation. At that time, our head of Human Resources called me in and informed me that I now had to take unpaid leave if I wanted to stay out of the office any longer. He then added that in order to continue my benefits, I had to pay “my share” of all benefits costs during this leave. This included insurance, retirement, and other contributions. The weekly outlay was not insignificant. I was dismayed to say the least.

Fortunately, our senior management and common sense prevailed. We came to an informal arrangement where I “made up” lost time by working weekends and extended days when Garrett was home and doing okay. When he was inpatient (most of the first year and the first 3 months of the second), I would stay with him in the hospital on the weekends (Friday night through Sunday evening) and on Tuesday night and all day Wednesday. This would give my wife a break from the hospital and let me spend time with my son.

It worked very well. Pam later calculated that I worked more hours in make-up than I missed for Garrett. The company came out ahead. Every situation is different and every solution will be different in these circumstances. There is only one constant: You will never ever regret the precious time you spent with your child.

My husband and I shared decision-making by keeping a joint medical journal. The days that my husband stayed at the hospital, he would write down all medicines given, side effects, fever, vital signs, food consumed, sleep patterns, and any questions that needed to be asked at the next rounds. This way, I knew exactly what had been happening. Decisions were made as we traded shifts at our son’s bedside.

I made most of the medical decisions. My husband did not know what a protocol was, nor did he ever learn the names of the medicines. He came with me to medical conferences, however, and his presence gave me strength.

Curt and I discuss every detail of the medical issues. It is so helpful to hash things over together to get a clearer idea of what our main concerns are.

We took turns going in with our son for painful procedures. The doctors loved to see my husband come in because he’s a friendly, easygoing person who never asked them any medical questions. We shared hospital duty, also. I would be there during any crisis because I was the person better able to be a strong advocate, but he went when our son was feeling better and needed entertaining company. It worked out well.

My husband fell apart emotionally when our daughter was diagnosed, and he never really recovered. He stayed with her once in the hospital and cried almost the whole time. She never wanted him there again, so I did all of the hospital duty.

Whenever Brian was in the hospital, we both wanted to be there. We were able to be there most of the time because our children have a wonderful aunt and uncle who stayed with them when needed. During Brian’s second extended stay in the hospital, we both let go a little, and we each took turns sleeping at the Ronald McDonald House. That way we each got a decent night’s sleep (or some sleep) every other night.

My wife took care of most of the medical information gathering because she had a scientific background. But my work schedule was more flexible, so I took my son for almost all of his treatments and hospitalizations. I cherish my memories of those long hours in the car and waiting room.

My husband does about 75 percent of the hospital/clinic/radiation visits. In fact, he does all of them when he is in town. I take care of the rest of the children and float in when I get a chance. I keep in touch with the doctors via email.

We had a traditional relationship in which I took care of the kids and he worked. I didn’t expect him to cook or clean when I was staying at the hospital—it was all he could do to ferry our daughter to her various activities and go to work.

We both worked full-time, so we staggered our shifts. He worked 7 to 3 during the day; I worked 3 to 11 at night. He did every single dressing change for the Hickman^® catheter—584 changes, we counted them up. Wherever I left off during the day, he took over. He was great, and it really worked out well for us. We shared it all.

My husband really didn’t help at all. I couldn’t even go out because he wouldn’t give the pills. He kept saying that he was afraid he would make a mistake.

We both coped differently, but we learned to work around it. I didn’t want to deal with “what if” questions, but he was a pessimist and constantly asked the fellow questions about things that might happen. I felt that it was a waste of energy to worry about things that might never happen. I didn’t want to hear it and felt that it just added to my burden. It was all I could do to survive every day. We worked it out by going to conferences together, but I would ask my questions and then leave. He stayed behind to ask all of his questions.

My husband didn’t have the desire to read as much as I did. However, whenever I read something that I felt he should read, he always took the time to do so and then we discussed it.

My husband and I have always been a team. We complement the strengths and weaknesses of each other and I think that was the reason we managed to hold everything together. When I was down, he would bring me up. When he was down, I would do the same for him. With the exception of the initial trauma when our son was diagnosed, we handled things in that manner throughout treatment.

I went for counseling because I couldn’t sleep. At night, I got stuck thinking the same things over and over and worrying. I ended up spending 2 years on antidepressants, which I think really saved my life. They helped me sleep and kept me on an even keel. I’m off them now, my son is off treatment, and everything is looking up.

My husband and I went to counseling to try to work out a way to split up the child rearing and household duties because I was overwhelmed and resenting it. I guess it helped a little bit, but the best thing that came out of it was that I kept seeing the counselor by myself. My son wanted to go to a “feelings doctor,” too. I received a lot of very helpful, practical advice on the many behavior problems my son developed. And my son had an objective, safe person to talk things over with.

My husband had a lot of problems that really brought my daughter and me down. The cancer really opened my eyes to what was important in life. We stayed together through treatment, but we divorced after the transplant. I just realized that life is too short to spend it in a bad relationship.

My husband went to work rather than go with us to Children’s when our son was diagnosed. It went downhill from there. He started using drugs and mistreating us, so we divorced.

My son’s dad and I are divorced and we are both remarried with kids. We found it to be helpful and important to have all four parents at all of the meetings that discussed treatments and options, as well as any follow-up meeting where decisions needed to be made. While the forms that needed to be signed for treatments and protocols only needed to be signed by my ex-husband and me, we found it to be especially important that all four of us signed the paperwork. On one hand, it provided a way for stepparents to take part in and feel included in something that was so important to a child who they, too, loved, but it also alleviated the potential of someone casting blame later on if treatment didn’t work out in our favor. The doctors gladly added two more signature lines underneath the two signatures that were required.

It’s really difficult being a single parent when your child is in the hospital, as there is no other parent to take turns sitting with your child, run errands, help you make medical decisions, or support you emotionally as you are watching your child suffer. It can feel incredibly lonely! That is when friends become your lifeline. One day we rushed to the ER for what I thought would be a quick visit, and my daughter ended up being admitted for a week’s stay. I had no extra clothes, laptop, no cell phone charger, none of her comfort items, nothing! And my dog was home alone with no food or way to get outside. Before my phone died, I sent out some texts and a Facebook post to friends, coworkers, and church members. Then I dissolved into tears, feeling totally sad and overwhelmed. Next thing I knew, church members had arranged to pick up our dog; my best friend went to my home and brought me a change of clothes, my laptop and chargers, my daughter’s favorite CDs and movies, and warm food. Then a food delivery guy showed up at the door of the hospital room with a bunch of Italian food that my coworkers had ordered for me. And by day’s end I had more than 100 Facebook comments from friends, sending their love, prayers, and hopes. At that moment, I realized that though I did not have a partner to share my burdens, I was not alone and never would be. Through my daughter’s entire illness, I was supported by friends and church members. It taught me that it is okay to ask for help; it doesn’t mean you are weak or incapable of parenting alone. Quite simply, being a single parent, full-time worker, and full-time caregiver is incredibly hard, and you cannot do it alone. Don’t be afraid to ask for help! People can be incredibly compassionate and generous when you give them a chance.