Peace & Love: Day Seventy

It looked like a normal day in the life of post transplant. It was yesterday. A normal Tuesday.

He complained of a stomach ache. Bright and early. Not really wanting to eat, but you know the look you get from your Mom that wreaks "please eat buddy"- And so he ate.

About 15 bites of a bacon and egg sandwich, laced with avocado and cheese- A cup of juice to go along with the 19 pills he tosses back in between burps.

He chews. I watch. He swallows with everything in him. I imagine when I was pregnant and didn't want to eat, but knew I had to.

Before I even fired up the stove top I could see his pale face, and urgent need to puke. Only thing is, there's nothing to puke. So picture a cat hurling up a hair ball. He dry heaves, I talk him through. Towels come into play....and he settles down as he hears me say "breathe, bub....breathe...." and so he does...and the rhythm slows to calm.

He also started in about the anxious feeling that over comes him at times. I've read this is the total norm.

I guess you feel as though you can't settle in. You want to sleep, yet you want to get going. The bodies way of growing, yet resting. And so I sit at the end of his bed and begin to explain these articles and topics I've read. One, to settle him in. And two, to put my mind at ease. Anxiety is totally normal.

He said "so I guess I'll just sleep and lay here today"-

Yes, honey...you do that.

Our family friend Zack brought over a stationary bike. Kris loves it. The goal is to get on it every day.

Day Seventy showed us that we are moving in the direction that is normal. I linked up with another Mama Warrior going down the same path as us. Her son is Kris' age. Day 63 post transplant.

She's in London. She suggested we try Manuka Honey. My only concern was the raw factor. She also recommended carrot juice for his liver. And after swapping messages this morning, my final message to her was wishing her PEACE, in her country. These senseless acts from the a soul-less, cowardly mentally twisted and brainwashed species.

Day Seventy had bags and bags of TPN delivered. Along with tubes, syringes and all the preps for his hook-up Wednesday night.

Day Seventy looked like a normal day in our cozy home. A mom that still continues to wipe down like a ninja. She wipes down so fast, and so good. She hits all the spots that any human might come into contact with. She also wipes down his phone. His remote. His switches. His hands. She's crazy like that.

She moves in and out of that room, checking it all.

Day Seventy proved that a mama would wake, prep a day for him, head to work. Heading back at noon to feed and wake him up. Circling around him. Talking with him as he eats. Loading another load of laundry. Quickly folding. Usually towels. I won't use a towel twice right now. And blankets. Driving back to work to finish things off.

Day Seventy had lots of driving. Praying as I hold onto my wheel to and from. The urgent feeling when I walk into my home quietly whispering..."hey bub, you awake?"

Day Seventy was filled with returning as many text messages as she could. Rosa, a dear friend of ours from Havasu that sends one every couple of weeks. And from my Aunt and Uncle Wade and Ronda that know my broken heart, but they also know I am a warrior.

My cousin who celebrated a birthday - Happy Birthday Evelyn...thanks for the text back. Who woulda thought I'd be writing about "Day Seventy" and transplant...etc.

Shelley, whom we chatted back and forth because our girls are dining somewhere up in Malibu enjoying the view of the ocean and partially blown away by that wind.

And then there's the famous Beth Pepper. A friend I never knew would grow so deep into my soul.

A woman that knows the path. The meds. The body. The pain. The fatigue. ALL. OF. IT.

Day Seventy ended with a dinner, and more meds. It ended with a very tired mama. And very challenged mama with the full moon.

Day Seventy feels good. It feels scary, yet good. It feels overwhelming. It feels peaceful. It feels like so much.

The miracle of what's behind, and certainly what's ahead. She knows Day Seventy.

I hope and pray I can say we're at five thousand and seventy. This chapter book that I hope to put high on the shelf. Super high....and out of reach.

Only stepping on a ladder to pull it down if I need to share some wisdom and love to someone else--someday----

But only if I can help someone else.

Otherwise, that book will stay high up on the shelf.

Day Seventy.

Day Seventy ended with an email from my new fellow warrior mama in London. Expressing just how much we share in this, realizing as she read on my blog. Another reason it feels good to document this journey. The process of helping and sharing if I can.

Day Seventy. Thank you for being possible.

For my girl who spent the day with one of her best friends Madison-

In Malibu.

Sharing lunch and love. And life.