Wow, can't believe 4 days have blasted by and yet no posting from Mama.
Monday started just like we knew it would.
He drove to my house. Tucked his car away in the driveway.
We arrived just as we were told. Only this time his spinal didn't take place until almost 3pm. So you
can only imagine how that day from 9-3 went. Sitting in that room, talking with the sweet nurses we know so well now. All the "Hey Kris'" to later, my antsy ways walking out asking what's up.
Chemo would soon start after he was back into his room. This time I made sure he laid flat after his spinal. Last time was horrific for him.
We are now on day 4 of solid chemo. Yesterday when I arrived with Clam Chowder he was so happy to see me, but I could see the look. The look that finally seeped deep into his roots. Where chemo takes over, and his body starts to break down. The bloat he feels from the many, many bags of fluids they push through.
He's always on his phone. It's his only way to take his mind off of what we are trying to consider "the normal fight, gotta get through this"
Where as deep down inside, each and every single time I step into that smelly elevator, my heart weeps. I feel like screaming at everyone. Yet, I smile. I am breaking down, but will remain tough. I always always have.
We knew that by the end of the week it would be full out war. War between cancer and my boys strong but weak body. We played cards yesterday. I could feel his uneasiness as I was ready to leave. And so, I waited. Work can wait. Sometimes things just have to wait. Even at the ripe age of twenty six. Mom is Mom. And that lady is the soul to help ease through the shittiest of shittiest of feelings. Even when you try to put on a strong face, and rely on people to help you know it's gonna be okay...that everything is okay. It's really not.
We played "Fish" and I continued to lose, and we laughed. Every so often he'd stare at me, and I knew he is hurting and feeling so nauseated inside. Yet, he continued on. For me. And yet, we both didn't want to stop, because there wasn't anything else to take the pain away besides that little black phone in his hand. Or his laptop. Or the tv quietly playing in the background. A TV that he really never watches. We never have.
When Jen was close, I packed up my stuff. Soup that my Aunt Lynda brought-Thank you for that dinner-I made my path by the nurses station, letting them know that I was flying back to my nest. That he was alone. But his girlfriend was on her way. That his bedding needed changed, and maybe even a shower. He hates the way his body starts to smell about .....day 2-3. It's something only a chemo patient can know.
I kissed his shoulder. Deep inside I still feel like he's my baby. Like I wish I could just get a little dropper of Tylenol, and play a game to make him open his mouth, and then the pain would subside, and we'd go back to playing. To climbing trees. Something he loved so much as a child.
Right now, it's a fight. Round three is a motherfucker. I see it.
I got home last night trying to return all the messages as I sat at lights. I know, shoot me, I text at lights. Fuck.
I arrived home to a box of flowers delivered from my sister in law Regina in Arizona.
Her note:
Lisa, I am so amazed at your strength and endurance. You are an amazing light to everyone around you.
I hope this made you feel special. We all know you making other people feel special is usually your specialty.
Love you,
Regina.
What a way to close out a day. Right?
Today and last night I tossed and turned. There is a maternal instinct in a mama's soul that knows. Feels. Digests sadness and sickness and pain. We know as mama's. We know when things aren't right. Even when we're told the nightmare will soon close out, or "things will get better, he's a fighter"
I hear you friends. And family.
This morning he's sick. He's been puking all night. And receiving more chemo as I type this.
It's shitty to type this instead of posting all the cute pictures of many sweet memories we made last weekend.72 hours of love. Of sunshine. And coves, and fish and laughter. Just our unit.
This round will be tougher than the last, and we thought that was hard. They give a new chemo this afternoon on top of the one flowing through him right now.
I will tuck away again, with a scattered brain,and tired body. I smile. I do. I work. I try.
But deep deep down, I fucking hate this.
Thank you for the love. The texts' and notes. I hear you. I need you. I am tired. Again.
But....I will always look for sunny days.
How about these cool mornings friends? How about these beautiful days?
Let's look at them.
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| My Everything. |
Wishing you all a beautiful weekend. He's gonna be in all weekend, with a spinal on Monday. That spinal to pull what we want to see as a good signs. That his body is fighting back. That Cancer is leaving. I meet with the match/hla team next week at City Of Hope. Putting a face to the voices that I spoke to this week. You know me trying to talk, asking questions...taking a break every so often because I start to fucking cry.
And Kayla on the other end offering every bit of her kind soul and love because she understands.
I can tell you this. Science, and technology of computers, humans, blood typing and international searching a data base on the daily, and the thought that doctors gather every Wed to save lives.
THAT is bad assness. THAT is something I never knew I would become a specialist in researching.
They have drawn blood from 1 of 4 possible matches to that dude up above. It takes a few weeks to see if they match. And they do this week, after week after week to save lives.
That......is life. That is love.
Human Kindness. In medicine. And in humanity. It is love.
Might not blog for a few days. My brain is scattered, and my body is flustered.
Go spread love. And always spread kindness. Smile at a stranger, because kids...you NEVER know what they are battling.
Love you,
This WARRIOR MAMA LISA
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