Just Wanted to Water the Garden

Wow. Did anyone get the name and license plate number of the horse I fell off of?  I think he was called the Neighhhhhh Sayer…

Incommunicado is where I’ve been. When shitty things happen it’s just so hard to talk about and, write about. It just makes you think about it more. Who wants that? But then I know people get concerned and start to talk to each other and I feel badly to go radio silent on a support system that has been so stalwart.

How many times can you say, “Yeah, the chemo didn’t work.  I have to do more. It sucks. I hope it works this time. The transplant’s postponed yet again. I’m completely freaked out”   

I have to thank Andy again for scraping me up off the floor as I’m rewriting our will in my head, writing good-bye letters to my kids and crying my eyes out.  It’s a big job for him.  He’s obviously freaked out too.  But he let me cry and I just needed to do that for about six days. Then a week to recover from that. And then finally I approached the thin edge of Ready. To Start another round.

This round was so much chemo it was disgusting. Small(ish) amounts of chemo diluted into large bags of fluid. But my lord, it was bag after bag after bag.  One drug was an antibody. One was derived from mustard gas as it was discovered during WW2 that soldiers and citizens exposed to it had become neutropenic. How awful. 

A friend sent me a link to an article about chemotherapy medicines derived from plants and animals from the coral reefs. One was Ara-C. I’ve taken it a number of times. So, you take care when you’re scuba diving.  Don't brush up against anything!

After this round, I stayed at home until this past Sunday and then I spiked the dreaded but expected fever. I was really angry because it just came on while I was in the garden potting violas with Ari.  Well, I was planting and he was scootering around waiting until he could water. He likes to water. We have a cool hose that has settings like Angle, Jet, and Rain.  So, regardless of the fact that it’s been raining here on and off for a month, he saw watering as necessary.  I feel bad he didn’t get to water. Instead, when I said I had to go back to the doctor, he said, “Mommy, how many days?” Broke my heart. 

I think when you add it together, I have probably spent a total of one year in the hospital. Maybe more,  I don’t feel like doing that math, but I think it’s about that much.  And that just sucks for my kids. I’m still here of course, on Earth, full of affection and opinions. But I think of the changes for a kid whose otherwise available and spunky parent becomes ill.  It’s a loss.  For Ari, being five, it’s part of how he sees me or knows me. I hate that. 

And for Isaac, starting middle school, the last thing you want to be is different in any way.  I think when you hit 13, the world opens up to you and it’s a time when kids start to not just think about themselves. It’s a great time because it's the beginning of true compassion. My fear is this has been forced on Isaac too soon. He’s incredibly supportive and kind and has never given me a single hard moment about my cancer treatment. He hugs me and rocks back and forth. It’s so nice. I hope he feels well enough taken care of.  Andy and I try so hard. Isaac is so ‘together' at home and perfectionist at school. I visualize a bubble of love around both my kids all the time. And I know other people do too.

So, don’t tell the doctors, but I’m hoping to fly this hospital coop by Saturday. If I’m feeling then as well as I am right now, I’d rather be enjoying my significantly less germ-laden home than this hospital. Clean as it might be, it’s still a hospital… Besides, Allison is coming on Friday and she hasn’t met my dog yet. Laila’s takes cute classes everyday and get's A+'s.