I’m giving myself some props today in light of yesterday. A reminder (again) that you NEVER know how the day will end, even if you “planned it.”
The last 24 hours was one to remember. Not sure how it will be remembered. But remembered it will be.
I write it to remember. Remember that I not only survived but thrived (well kinda thrived, but didn’t bug out).
It started with cancer mom taking her son in for a COVID test, where after the test is done (yep! That’s the catcher. After. Not before.) He flips out in sheer fury. So angry for what just took place.
He digs nails into you.
He grunts like a dragon.
Oh it’s fun. And cancer mom does it all alone. Thanks COVID.
Next. Cancer mom got to go home to her NYC apartment for the first time in 4 months. Loads of emotion. Cancer mom got to see lots of sick stuff. Loads of syringes, prayers on the wall, the months of hunkering there replaying in her mind. But it did include her bed. She liked that.
But Jacob got to sleep in her bed because he is getting accessed and immunotherapy the next day. That’s the deal. The deal of so many deals. Deal after deal to get Jacob to play along with cancer.
So I end up sleeping in his bed as he kicked me off the bed. I found myself sleeping with all the freaking stuffed animals. You know the ones that were for days he had “sleepy medicine.“ Part of the deal to walking into a room where they will cut you open, stuffed animal waiting on the other end. And there are a lot of them. I sat up trying to remember which pet went with which procedure but couldn’t remember. All a blur of trauma.
Only to wake up and take him to the hospital for immunotherapy AND oh yeah the launch of Mind the Gap’s first program. Two years of blood, sweat and tears, launching. And Jacob has one of the roughest rounds. He couldn’t get the pain meds due to his blood pressure.
We finish and head back to Westhampton. I get to work! And then I see Jacob shivering. We call the hospital. We don’t have time to make it back to city so we rush to ER out here. Jacob has a 104.1 by the time we get there. While it can be from the immunotherapy, he hasn’t had a reaction quite like this in months so we are scared he has a line infection. He has a central line directly to his heart from his port. This is deadly. So off we go with our child in treatment for cancer to the ER in the middle of COVID.
That was 24 hours.
That was 24 hours.
Not once did I cry. Not once did I panic. Just an average day for cancer mom.
Jacob is fine. Jacob of course rebounded like the champ he is and today he plays.
Only to repeat it all tomorrow…