My baby boy starts big-time chemo today. He had a bone marrow biopsy yesterday, and his doctor thinks this is transitioning into AML, another type of leukemia–more common but certainly not better. In fact, we’ve seen over the course of just a couple of days that it’s very aggressive. She had tears in her eyes when she spoke with us yesterday. She told us she was worried. J and I both choked up, and seeing us do this, she did too. After all, she’s a mom, and you know when you’re a mom it’s pretty easy to feel the pain of other parents going through these things. Anyway, our doc wants to bring out the big guns now. We’re starting aggressive chemo today.
Today our boy starts a continuous infusion of poison, and right now, I’m sitting in a house eight blocks away from the hospital. J and I have started alternating nights here so that we can get some rest. Most mornings I cannot wait to go back. Today, I feel like such a coward because I just want to curl up under the covers and go to sleep for a week, for a year–until my baby is better.
It’s funny; I’ve been walking around kind of okay. He’s been responding to that last round of chemo pretty well, and mostly our days are filled with keeping him from getting bored, even laughing. He got released from his quarantine, so we’ve been able to leave the room. It’s been a kind of happy time for us in the hospital. Then two days ago, he couldn’t move his head from side to side, and he started hurting, and suddenly he looks really sick again. With this, the waves of anxiety started to return, and now I can’t shake it again. I can’t help being terrified. I want to be positive. I want to know things are going to be okay, and this not knowing, this ever-present terror of knowing there is a monster eating my boy from the inside out is so much bigger than I can handle. I’m also just really scared of what this chemo is going to do to him. I’m so scared that it’s going to dim his beautiful spark, that soon we’ll scarcely recognize him. And normally I’m so strong about all this. I have to be. But I’m starting to give under the weight of all today. Somehow, I’ve got to muster the strength to get in the shower, get ready to go, and walk those blocks back up to the hospital because my boy and my wife need me.
I need about ten thousand hugs to get me through this right now, ten thousand more for my wife, a million for my boy. This is just too fucking much.