brain no workee

Bzzzzzzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzz. BZZZZZZZZ!!!!

I hear you. I’m just ignoring you. Maybe that buzzing is the start of an ear infection? Perhaps a bug has moved in? Or maybe I have ear cancer? I’ll have to have an ear-ectomy. Buzz buzz buzz. Please, for the love of the Pete, please stop with the buzzing already. I have no remedy for the horrible sound you’re making inside my head.

Ha! I just said For The Love of The Pete. Ben used to say that when he was a toddler. Actually, it was with a “W” sounding “L”, so he actually said “for da wuv of da Pete.” He had a tough time with L’s like I have a tough time with R’s. Madewin. Wegos. Wadies. When Ben was first diagnosed with NB and we basically lived in the hospital, he often would take charge of small tasks like telling the nurses when his infusion of chemo was complete. The machine would make this horrible beeping noise that could only be stopped by a nurse. Honestly, I thought the machine should make a happier noise, perhaps something like the “Mexican Hat Dance” when chemo was complete. After all, isn’t that a moment worthy of a happy song? Chemo is done! Let’s party! But no. The beeping was similar to an annoying car alarm that could only be stopped by the owner, who had unfortunately left the country on walkabout. The battery would have to die before it would stop. Now, I, as a parent, had the power to push the snooze button, but I could not stop it. Only a professional could do that. So, when the beeping would start, Ben would call the nurses on the intercom. With his sweet toddler voice he’d say something like “Wadies, my ma-chine is beeping.” He said machine as if it were two separate words and didn’t give the “ch” an “s” sound. He said the “ch” like chain. Combined with his W for L in the Ladies, it made for a heart-melting sentence.

He is so freaking cute. He makes my heart melt all the time. A couple of days ago we went to see his pediatrician to discuss his ADHD medication increase. He has a hard time focusing at school so he takes ritalin only on school days. However, given the new course that cancer has charted for us, the ritalin issue was not what we discussed. Ben’s pediatrician is a very sweet lady. She was asking him questions about his relapse – wanting it in his own words. I had to bite my tongue to keep from answering questions for him in adult terms, whatever that sounds like. So, as he said it, “The cancer is back. I have to fight again.” Matter-of-fact. Not much emotion. He’s sad but he knows that complaining about it isn’t going to make it go away. As we were getting ready to leave, she asked him if she could give him some money to buy a video game for his DS. He said, “No, I have my own savings account. I can get something for myself.”

MELT. Melty, melty, melt.

So, this good kid, this wonderful child who has a heart of gold, has to battle again. But he just keeps at life with the same tenacity as usual. Cancer is his bully. Cancer is jealous of the light and love that this sweet boy exhibits. Cancer is only black and awful and hateful and destructive. And while it knows no bounds of who it attacks I hate it for attacking the sweetest kid in the world. I know I’m biased. But I think 9.8 out of 10 people agree that Ben is nothing short of amazing. I sure do hope he gets to grow up. He’ll make an incredible adult. I want to be just like him when I finally reach maturity.

Life is to be lived. Things happen that will throw us off course. Sometimes violently. But the fact is that we have to keep moving. Time waits for no one. So, get out there and make the most of today, friends. However, while you’re doing that, I’m going to sit in my dark corner and listen to my buzzing brain and NOT do laundry.

Taking my own advice is obviously something I’m not good at.

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