Hello, March

Today we welcomed March with sunshine, blue skies, warm breezes…and a trip to chemo.

A good day, Drew took it like a champ (as he always does) and is doing well.

But it was an unusual visit in that I fell flat asleep during his treatment.
Kid you not. Sitting straight up in a plastic chair, I conked out.
I have no idea what that was all about.

It could be because we were at the hospital for four hours before his treatment even began and I was exhausted. It’s a tough environment to absorb – especially when you pay too much attention to the people around you. This little girl represents countless children we saw today. Some wore masks over their noses and mouths, many were without hair, many had visible, gnarly scars left behind by unspeakable surgeries, all were hooked up to tubes, monitors and wires.

But above all, most children were just that…children.
In spite of the tubes and wires, they did what kids do — they played.
I don’t know why I found that to be so fascinating. These kids have been — and continue to be — subjected to so much, yet they just go about their business of following their imaginations wherever the closest toys can lead them. I’ve said this before, but they never ask why.

The parents were also fascinating, but for entirely different reasons. They were much less laid back than their offspring. Nervous, tense, anxious, jumpy, fussy…there are so many adjectives that come to mind. But mostly, they wanted to help. Are you hungry? How about chips? Salty or cheesy? I can go to the cafeteria — do you want something different? Are you cold? There’s a blanket over there. Are you hot? I’ll take your sweatshirt. Are you hurting? I’ll get the nurse. Do you…are you..what do you…what can I…question upon question upon question.

And yes, I do it, too.

I guess we do this because we are helpless and want so badly to be able to do something to make things better for our kids. Anything. When your child is sick, your protective instincts go into overdrive, yet you are utterly powerless. Efforts to control the situation are laughable. You start with the biggest problem (my child is sick), realize that you can’t protect him, so you move to the next biggest problem (my child needs treatment). Nope, can’t protect him from that either…next? My child’s treatment hurts. Nope, not my expertise either…next? My child is sick, sitting in treatment that hurts…but he’s bored and hungry. Bingo! I can help with that. Food? Name it, it’s yours. Bored? Name it, I’ll buy it. Thirsty? Name it, I can make a drink run. I’m sure Drew gets tired of my fussing, but it’s not likely to change any time soon. Because the least that I can do also happens to be the most that I can do.

2 Comments Add yours

  1. Amy says:

    Beautifully written.

    Like

  2. Thank you, Amy! 🙂

    Like

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