I sat in Ohio and waited for my mother to either get better or pass. She didn’t do either. So I ran back to Colorado to get ready for Ben’s next round of antibody therapy. I packed. Got to the airport. Got through security with all of Ben’s liquid medications (they make me open all of them just in case I’ve got something explosive in there – like I have time to be a terrorist on top of everything else). We settled in at the gate only to be told that our flight would be delayed. No big deal. Waiting is my hobby. I LOVE to wait*. Then we waited some more. And a bit more. And then they made the announcement of all flights into NYC were canceled due to severe weather. What? Awwww, man!
So we had to rebook. Reschedule scans. Recall our bags from wherever they were. I was stymied when asked what our bags looked like. What? They’re suitcases. They look like everyone else’s bag. I mean, isn’t that the announcement that you make at the baggage claim? “Many bags look alike, please check that it’s truly your bag before absconding with someone else’s luggage”. Seriously. Like I want someone else’s baggage. I’ve got enough of my own.
The kind woman working the counter encouraged me to consider leaving my bags at the airport until we flew out the following day but I figured that would be flirting with disaster. Plus, I had the Wii packed in there. We actually ended up flying out three days later since all his scans were cancelled. Had I left my bags at the airport I would have been looking like a worn out hobo by day three seeing how all of my beauty products were packed away.
We flew out Saturday, chilled at the Ronald yesterday and today, Ben and I are sitting in the waiting room at MSKCC. Ben is playing a game on his computer and I’m trying to post an entry on mine. The clowns come through every so often to entertain us, but mostly I just sit and watch all these families coming through with their critically ill children. We are “second bed” today which means we have to wait for a kiddo to finish up before we can even start. Mondays are already long and tedious – with all the blood work and accessing of his port and seeing his treatment team – but this just makes it all the longer. There’s no telling when we’ll get out of here.
He tries so hard to not be anxious. So do I. And unless those clowns are dispensing some anti-anxiety meds along with their “humor” I’m really not interested in their antics.
Writing is not making me feel any better. I’m sad that my outlet isn’t bringing me any comfort. There are a lot of babies here today. It makes me so sad. Parents trying to hold their children. Comfort them. Cradle them amidst all the IV’s and feeding tubes and catheters. The simple joy of being in their mother’s arms has been taken from them. I’m just so angry.
I’m thinking I might go punch that clown*.