I can't sleep.
This isn't unusual, and when it is the night before going into the hospital, it's a given. But tonight, rather than being awake because of sadness that we're going in, or stress that I haven't packed the right things or worry that I'm forgetting something that needs to be taken care of here at home ... rather than any of that kind of wakefulness, it is a different sort.
Excitement. Happy excitement.
Tomorrow is Little Warrior's last scheduled chemo hospitalization.
(Didja notice how I put in that word "scheduled" as kind of a mitigating sort of thing, so that I wouldn't have to go through the whole list of my superstitious ramblings, in fear of setting off some kind of bad luck? Ah what the hell ...)
PLEASE GOD, KNOCK WOOD, THANKYEWJESUS!
Now, there are certainly things that could change this, like if her counts suddenly nosedived, or they don't have a room, or ... well, that last "or" is one we don't want to think about, isn't it?
But hopefully, all will be well. Her counts will be up, a room will be available ...
And cancer will be over.
Little Warrior has been talking about this, nearly since we started. "On Halloween, cancer will be over."
If all goes well, we'll get out of the hospital on Friday. Halloween.
This week, my dad looked at her, running around like your average jet-propelled 3 year old and said, "You know, maybe we should just believe her. On Halloween, cancer will be over."
I have had the occasion recently of worrying about the baby of one of my blogfriends. Her situation is different from mine; I can offer no wisdom, no tips, only, "I am thinking of you."
So you see, I've had a taste of what you have had. For six months now, you have cared. And 2 years before that.
Thank you. I know how your heart can hurt for someone you've never actually met.
I know that even in the absolute best case scenario, nothing will be clean cut. I will not come home, unpack the bags I've been hauling for 6 months, have a good shake, and get back to normal life.
There are things to be processed. Questions to be answered. Little Warrior's immune system won't be up to snuff for about a month. I know it will take my emotional immunity longer to regain its strength.
LW has scans the week before Thanksgiving. Her first "off-treatment" scans. And if those are clear, then every 3 months.
But now, tonight, I am allowing myself to be hopeful.
Still and all, though ... I really need to get to sleep.
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11 comments:
Continuing to pray that all will go well and truly cancer will be over.
Blessed Samhain
MoonMystic
Praying too and loving you all.
I am also sending prayers your way! I think about LW and you often. I hope this is the last of the cancer.
It is time to celebrate! Hurrah for last chemo. Hurrah for "cancer's over at Halloween." Hurrah for optimism - even when it's tempered by fear. I send you my prayers and hopefulness.
I'm with LW - on Halloween cancer is over. Sometimes we just have to believe - even when we aren't sure.
On Halloween... you get to say "Go away, big green monster!"
(If you're not familiar with that kid's book, look into it... it might have appeal...)
Boo!
Things will be better.
They won't be perfect--this is life. And you, as you're well aware, will be worrying about the monsters under the bed. Sometimes they are real.
And yet... there's such power in saying "go away!" and looking under the bed and finding that there's nothing there.
Keeping you all in my thoughts!
You have my continuing prayers.
And oh, when you wrote this:
"(Didja notice how I put in that word "scheduled" as kind of a mitigating sort of thing, so that I wouldn't have to go through the whole list of my superstitious ramblings, in fear of setting off some kind of bad luck? Ah what the hell ...)"
...it was so familiar. When my son was with us before his adoption, and now with my foster-daughter while we wait to finalize her adoption (after a huge 2 year emotionally roller coaster), I say stuff like that all the time. And oh, yes, had major superstitions. Of course, the situation was not at all the same (and of course I would never compare them either), but I totally understood the sentiment.
I am hoping with you and will be thinking about you guys as I hang the last of the mall Christmas display the night you all come home. I hope that this is a great holiday season for you all. with love and prayers
Prayers and love and hope for health and celebration that this second trip down cancer road will be the last one and the future will be bright for the whole family. Your little one has a great attitude and I hope all goes well this week for you.
Cinci mom
My thumbs are fiercely clenched for y'all.
Ditto to all of the above.
And this Sunday, when we sing "For All the Saints, Who From Their Labors Rest" as we always do, it will be heartwarming to be thinking of Lizard Eater, the living mom whose daughter lives, rather than of the usual dearly departed.
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