You Learn.

You learn the minute you walk into the building, those around you are fighting the fight. 

You learn that being greeted by a smiling face showing you the way is what makes the difference.

You learn that from admitting, receiving your NEW medical record number, they care.

You learn the gentleman Danny, taking the lead to each and every stop you must make (4 appts), knows.  He knows the fight.  He knows the strength of a beanie hiding lost hair.  He knows the mama warrior standing there is petrified, yet strong and so he shares uplifting stories.  Testimonies of those he's witnessed fight and win.  He's been there 25 years.  It is his passion.  He puts his arm across Kris' shoulders as we walk onto our next appt. affirming that "everything is gonna be okay"-  His kindness never faltered.

You learn the class you sit in for transplant patients that cancer isn't prejudice.  It tackles rich people.  Poor people. White people. Black people.  Mexican people.  Asian people. Skinny people. Chubby people. It tackles people sitting in that room alone.  Bald.  Relapsing with an even bigger tumor.  Asking questions because they are probably scared to death.  Soon making her way to us, asking questions. 

You learn that each person you come in contact with....cares.  

You learn the terms of BMT. Counts. Meds.  Coordinators and their purpose.  Advance directives for important decisions scary or not.  You must deal with it. 

You learn the strength, and fears of your boy.  Those you already know, yet watch him filter some more.

Sometimes offering me that side smile with his little dimple.  And cute eyes with missing lashes. 

You learn the cafeteria is just like the others.  Doctors, nurses, humans, personnel and families.  Eat.  Because they need to.  Nothing fancy, but nourishing.  Watching clocks, and checking schedules. The hustle continues. Lives being saved. 

You learn that this place is over 100 years old, yet it feels like the interior is less than 5.  

You learn that people with hair are still in a battle.  Whether returning for a visit for a check up, or brand new learning the path ahead.  And so you never judge.  My staring problem was on fleek.  

You learn that your son wanted to drive because he feels good right now.  And so you sit in the back seat while they navigate like a normal couple down that morning traffic-y freeway.  And you become car sick because you don't want to look at the road because you are a back seat driver.  Just trying to let him and her live a normal life.

You learn his cancer is still in remission, but this path is needed to help fight off the rest.  (Philadelphia Chromosome) 

You learn the radiation area was most enlightening.  Where people came down halls in wheelchairs holding puke buckets, wrapped in blankets. In the fight for their life.  No other way.  And so they try and pry a smile at you.  Your heart melts for them.  For you.  For your son. You watch a girl walk in asking if her "girl" is done with treatment to be told, "not yet"- But when you finally see her come down the hall, bald, very sick but so happy to see the love of her life, it made a sliver of light fill the elevator.  Love in sickness and in health. Humanity.

You learn there's an interesting smell in that waiting room, but you can't put your finger on it. And so you know it will linger.  Forever. 

You learn that his new doctor and transplant team, care.  She discussed the process, from brutal, to beautiful. How at about 2 weeks post transplant the cells become friends, and make peace.  How they know exactly what to do the minute they enter his body.  And as she explains you have loppy tears that want to fall, but you look down and through your bag because you don't want that awkward stare from everyone in the room. She hugs you as she leaves after showing how perfectly matched our donor is.  And possibly in Germany.  Ya, swallow that kids. 

You learn that even though exhausted after a long day of gathering your tools for this project, you are enlightened.  

You learn at the end of the day your boy is antsy and a tad bit grumpy.  Because he's nervous but ready to get this going. 

You learn that his girlfriend is a rock and lighthouse for him. 

You learn that bringing him home will in fact be the scariest moments in my life, but worth getting through. 

Having a newborn at home with a monitor to make sure he's okay.  

You learn the path of this nasty fight has been 5 months, but if all goes as planned we might look back some day as the hardest year in our lives.  

You learn that prayer is working. 

You learn that family, people, friends, and neighbors have never meant more. Until now.

You learn that pushing, asking, going, doing, squirting oil in the squeeky wheel made things progress. 

You learn that getting car sick yet again on the way home is what this life is all about.  Making myself lay down and be thankful.  For the chance to sit in his back seat in traffic while they navigated their thought of the day, and you do what moms do and just sit quiet.  You get home and lay on your bed in silence after pulling your warrior pony tail out because your head is pounding, and your tummy is upside down. 

You sip gatorade, and begin to plead your thankfulness.  

For this chance.  To be in the backseat.  Car sick or not.  He's alive to drive me.

Today I will clean out my files from Kaiser.  I will switch my world over to City Of Hope. 

Bottom half Kaiser-Top half COH- All mandatory to keep around...

We have an admit date of January 4th.  For a new life.  And just like a new baby, there will be lessons.  Learning curves, with sick days and good days.  There will be dark days and bright days.  

That rollercoaster I stood in line for isn't over yet.  But for now, at least we are here.  He's feeling good.  

Just trying to fatten him up.  His daily duty of eating is a task in itself for all family members involved. 

You learn that The City Of Hope is that place I drove the very first weekend he was sick.  When I promised him I would do whatever I could do to save him. 

Until my last breath. 

 Because there is always HOPE----

 And worth mentioning here is this dude was starving. Very fidgety and beginning to lose his kindness beanie, so this shot is worth a million bucks.  He first stood in the middle and wasn't going to move. LOL

He did this for me. 

And for that.....Thank you Merkamer. Thank you.

Until my last breath bubby, Mama will keep her warrior boots pulled on tight.

Look where we are--

Happy Thursday lovers.  Be kind.  

 This Mama Warrior Lisa