I guess these two are celebrated simultaneously because if you spill milk on your white t-shirt then you’ll have nothing to cry over. However, if it’s chocolate milk, you’re screwed.
Today is supposed to be a day of optimism. Chin up! Life can be messy! White shirts get pit stains! Sh*t happens! I’m thinking the people who created these “catch phrases” never spent time on a children’s oncology unit watching their child be pumped full of poison that makes them sicker than you’ve ever seen them before.
Honestly, this is supposed to be a low dose of chemo for Ben, but this Irinotecan has made him sicker than anything he’s ever had. This drug is a menace. All I can say is that it better be doing what it’s supposed to be or I’m gonna… I’m gonna… I’m gonna… crap. I’m gonna do nothing. I’m so tired of feeling helpless when it comes to caring for Ben. Hugs and love and kisses just cannot compete with his questions of “WHY is this happening to me?” as he’s throwing up. I’m his mom. I’m supposed to protect him from icky stuff. Scare away the boogey man. Clear out monsters from underneath his bed. If only this were that easy.
So, I’m supposed to say (with a smile) “Well, I can’t change that my son has cancer! Might as well make the best of it! Yippee!” And I do try. I really do try to make the best of it. But it often feels like we get some of that spilled milk cleaned up only to drop a whole gallon of it all over a priceless silk oriental rug. Then it seeps down into the storage area holding album after album of precious photos that cannot be replaced. It’s wrecking so much. Taking too much.
I’m mad today. I know I’m not alone in this battle and I know I’m not the only one to have ever walked this road. I also know that we have an excellent prognosis but the steps to get there are slippery with lots of spilled milk. And I probably won’t cry about it today, but there are some days that I just can’t help it.