–for the first time in a very long while.
Today I did laundry (2 loads) and made the bed. I opened all the mail and balanced the checkbook. I ran a few places where errands demanded and did some of the work that keeps money flowing in. But I am also reading blogs, and writing. It’s been a long time.
Thank you for the amazing support!
I swear I have felt it at my back when I was about to teeter over.
Because the problem is most immediately my child’s, I hesitate to give too many details and intrude on her privacy.
Suffice it to say that for the past month I have raced, galloped, crawled–clawed– my way through foreign territory. As a parent I expected to deal with mumps, chicken pox, colds, pneumonia, mono, horrible behavior, temper tantrums, drug experimentation, horribly uncomfortable moments– you struggle to keep your face serious while you deliver a short, terse lecture on appropriate behavior in school, demonstrate how to insert a tampon or don a condom, challenge the school board because there is not one single person of color in the school system–except the janitor. There’s the moment when you realize your daughter really should be allowed to play with Barbies even though you would prefer to let the Rottweilers eat the damn things. And the moment your son decides to marry Barbie.
I never dreamed I would face cancer. I wasn’t prepared for this job.
I like to be prepared.
This challenges EVERYTHING that is hard for me.
Security/Money: How the HELL will we pay for this?
Pride: I have to ask for help.
Even worse: I NEED help
Independence: I have to allow help.
Faith: The world will be safe again.
Procrastination–my greatest character defect absolutely can not be allowed to sneak in. There are too many balls in the air.
Trust: If I had thought this could happen, would happen, I’d picture myself researching carefully, conducting interviews, analyzing the literature, searching references for the perfect doctor, the perfect method of treatment. Instead, I trusted the pediatrician I picked years ago to do her job, resulting in one month from niggling concern to first treatment.
There’s more, but you get the picture. I’m frightened. I’m functioning. I’m feeling. I’m asking for what I need.
Supposedly we are dealing with a very treatable disease with expected positive outcomes and a phenomenal recovery rate, and very small likelihood of re occurrence. But she has 58 days of treatment hell ahead of her and I desperately need your good wishes.