Update: 3:30 AM.
This chemo got me a little worse than the last, although it may have been the cupcakes. I don't usually pay much attention to what I mangia (eat!) before bed, especially with all the antiemetics, but that frosting may have been too rich. What a way to go though, right? When I say it got me a little I mean some vomiting, and a whole lot of nausea. I woke up with my new requisite night sweats, despite the A/C at 69 degrees, just one sheet, and the fan on. Don't worry, I put Jack in warm jammies when it's cold like this. On top of that, I'm doing that nauseous thing, the kind where you can't get it to go back down and you do the "oh shit," shuffle between sitting and lying down, between the bathroom and bed. You don't want to be sick, but you kinda do? In this case, getting sick does not feel better. Just FYI. In case you're ever here.
Sometime in there Jack woke up and as Jim went to make him a bottle he screamed and screamed of course. Nothing is a worse feeling than your child being in pain or discomfort, no matter how mild; especially when you can't fix it. I might bring a box of rubber gloves up here, just to help in situations like this. I could rub his belly or even change him with the gloves with no real contact.
Last week, Jim told me he's afraid he's being poisoned by the chemo. Both him and the baby. This naturally made me feel petrified that its true (the medical staff make it seem like it isn't, but are also pretty vague, they don't seem to know much.) But it also made me feel like an awful mother for it not occurring to me sooner. It was during a day he wasn't feeling well, teething, throwing up a lot. I kept thinking to myself well why didn't I think of that? And, lets get this kid to the emergency room stat and run bloodwork and every test known to man and figure it out!!!! NOW!!
Ever have a parental moment like that? I'm guessing its actually pretty common. Phew. So after all of those feelings subsided I'm left with what I'm feeling now, which is fear and sadness, and more confusion than before. So, about the same feelings. Coupled with guilt when I think "it's just not worth it to expose him by hugging or picking him up right now."
So, I'll update this blog through a sheet of tears on my eyes. The toxic kind. Dripping onto the sheets with no one to wipe them away because they could kill you. Or at least hurt your liver, right? Who knows. God damn Vincristine. Stupid fucking cancer. You know what this is? It's a thief in the night that comes and tries to take away the things that matter the most to you. It pushes you completely to the edge of the Grand Canyon, then mocks at you from the other side, hands on hips, defiant: "nah nee nah nee boo boo, you can't get me! And even if you do, you're going to live the rest of your life in fear that I will be coming back. Even if you have a good day, just one good day, I will be there for the bad ones that inevitably slip in. I will be the stuff of nightmares that keeps you awake and nags at the corners of your deepest subconscious. I'm the one who tells you you're nothing, no good, weakling. I know the power of the words "what if you can't?" I'm the one who says, don't make plans, they might not work out. And ha ha ha to those fond fantasies about your son: his first words, steps, foods, dropping him off at kindergarten, college, toasting on his wedding day. I'm the reason you're lying on the bathroom floor at 4 am, with your cheeks pressed to the tile, thanking heaven and earth for the blessed coolness on your skin. I'm the one who brings sores to your mouth, bubbling and cracking at the surface, mocking that summer tomato harvest because who on earth would eat that much acid with mouth sores like that. Or heartburn from the steroids you have to take to counteract my toxic effects. I'm the one who causes the searing belly pain that 5mg of Valium and a healthy dose of hydromorphone barely takes the edge off of, the constant feeling of vague seasickness no matter where you are, even on dry land. I took your hair, ha ha, how does it feel? I made you ugly. I taught you things about taking life for granted, thinking you were safe, young, healthy. And I'm bigger than you."
But the thing is, you know cancer? You're not bigger than me. You're tiny and wimpy and useless. You're talking smack and half the shit you're trying to take credit for belongs to the chemo and Lord knows, I need and love that chemo. You're impotent and unintelligent. You try to act like you went to finishing school and got all classy, but really you're just trailer park trash! A wolf in sheep's clothing. You're spineless and spiteful and not at all very nice. I wouldn't share a cupcake with you, even if I had a dozen or more. And I always share cupcakes. I wouldn't share anything with you, including the delusion that anything you try to make me believe about not beating this is true. Not today, not tomorrow, and not 30 years from now when I'm toasting Jack and his beautiful bride. Or groom. Whichever he wants. (Please, no cyborgs.)
That's all for tonight folks. I'm going to have a romantic moment with a bottle of tums, maybe a homeopathic sleep aid (sidebar, calms forte, really works, lets talk homeopathy another day mmmkay?.) Then, hopefully sleep. Sleep well or have a great day, depending on which side of the globe you're on when you read this. And if you can spare the time, tell me which side. I am so curious about my readers. Anybody out there??