A Day in the Life

We spend a lot of time in the hospital.  I am sure that is one thing you will never forget when you are looking back. You miss a lot of school, and birthday parties, and hanging out with your buddies.  Maybe this year will seem like a blur of chemo, shots, and crafts. But you should  know, if you ever forget, that there are a lot of good days at the hospital.  More often than not, thus far, the hospital has brought lots of laughs, happiness, and graditude our way. 

When you are in for a chemo visit, your day usally begins with a heard of doctors waking us from a deep sleep.  I jump up, hair in my face, morning breath, tangled in my covers, trying to act like I had been awake all along as I scramble to pull myself together enough to ask and answer important questions, when in my brain I'm still in sleep mode.  You, of course, pop right up, being used to having people wake you in the middle of the night, and are chipper as can be. 

We hardly ever order breakfast anymore, because you perfer imported (and by imported I mean anything that was not produced or sold within the walls of the hospital) food, so we pour ourselves a bowl of whatever cereal you are craving for the moment and just about then, the hospital school teacher pops her head in the door to see if you want to go to school.  You zip around and get dressed for the day because most Hem/Onc (Hemotology/Oncology) kids wear their own clothes all the time at the hospital. Mrs. Robinson helps you with your schoolwork, plays games, and usually the hospital's resident artist has a fun art project for everyone. 

After school is done you head to Camp Wanna Play, for a craft or a board game.  Then, riding your IV pole like a skateboard you head back to the room, a place you usually don't stay too long.  When one of your friends is getting chemo then you are often busy visiting and playing in each other's rooms.  Miss Amanda, the chlid life specialist, usually stops by to let you try your hand at accessing the port doll or lets you tape her up for a dance party. Volunteers come by throughout the day with games and toys for you to choose from. Being there pretty much feels like a lot of kids being kids, despite what circumstances have thrown their way.  That is one thing that kids are really good at. 

We both know, that it's not all easy.  There are times when we are at the hospital when you just don't feel good.  Those are times when you've been done with your chemo for about a week, and it's doing its job of killing every quickly growing cell in your body leaving your blood empty of all that keeps your body going.  Those are the hard hospital trips.  They are trips we were blessed to never have experinced last year, but this year, like many parents we meet on this journey, it is a commonplace occurance. In fact up until the middle of October we spent time in the hospital every week since we started chemo in the middle of July. We rush into the ER with a fever, and shock all the doctors and lab techs with how off-the-charts low all of you blood counts are (though to us it's nothing new), and then we check in for an unknown amount of time to wait, until things make a turn around and your counts go back up. Its these visits that ground me as to what we are really doing here.  They are the times when I can't help mourning the loss of the childhood you are missing out on.  

It is at these times I feel like this is so hard. I feel frustrated that they aren't making chemotherapy better, they are coming up with better ways to keep the body going through this therapy longer.  And while, I am truly grateful for those medical advancements, that are providing great results in curing cancer patients, It tears me up to watch you, who days before had so much energy, glued to the bed for days upon days.  You see, parents feel like they're so experienced in life and can offer some sort of wisdom to our kids.  But this is something I can offer little wisdom on. Having no real exerience of what you are feeling and going through, is really hard on a mom.  While I have lots of love and comfort, I don't know what it's like to be a kid with cancer.  But as I was reading my scriptures I found this great wisdom in a Father (Lehi) speaking to his son (Jacob):

"And now Jacob, I speak unto you: Thou art my first-born in the days of my tribulation in the wilderness.  And behold, in thy childhood though has suffered afflictions and much sorrow{. . .}Nevertheless, Jacob, my first-born in the wilderness, thou knowest the greatness of God, and he shall consecrate thine afflictions for thy gain{. . .}And thou hast beheld in thy youth his glory; wherefore, thou art blessed even as they unto whom He shall minister in the flesh; for the Spirit is the same, yesterday, today, and forever."

(2Nephi 2:1-2&4)

 Kaylee, I am constantly amazed at what a wonderfully complex bodies we are all blessed with. Bodies that don't need two kidneys, that can be cut open and sewed back good as new, and that have other systems step in to action (along with loads of IV antibiotics) when your body struggles to get it's immune system back on track.  I know that even though last year, and this year you aren't running around the school yard never knowing sickness or sorrow, that you, my dear, are being blessed by God himself even as those whom he ministered to in the flesh. That will forever benefit you. And that, sweet Kaylee, is something you will never want to change.