The Hard Stuff

Yesterday, John and I shaved Andrew's head.  His hair was falling out like a shedding dog.  It was hard to watch, and his hair was getting in his eyes, his clothes, and everywhere.  So I picked up his little two year old body from his hospital bed and carried him to the hospital bathroom, with John pushing Andrew's pole and chemo tubes behind him.  We sat him down on a towel, and I began to shave.  I think he actually kind of enjoyed it, because he didn't complain very much.  He didn't even ask questions, just sat there and let me shave.  It was emotional for me.  All of his sweet blonde hair falling from his sweet little head... so sad.   I gathered up all of the clumps of hair, and put them in a baggy, like I did with his "first haircut."  I stuffed it in my purse. 

This is real.  My son has become one of those bald little children everyone pities and fears...  and the pit in my stomach is here to stay, I'm afraid.

(But if I do say so myself, he is a cute little bald guy.) 

But, as if to prove my mourning wrong, Andrew with his new "haircut" proceeded to eat 5 bowls of Fruit Loops for breakfast,  macaroni and cheese for lunch, and grilled cheese for dinner.  There was some fruit thrown in there, but we are in a hospital people.  The most unhealthy food around.  (His hunger probably had something to do with the steroids they used to protect his stomach from the chemo, but after a few weeks of a very weak appetite, I was happy to oblige and gave him bowl after bowl.)

So far, he is taking well to this chemo, but I am still holding my breath.  Last time I thought he had sailed through, and then two days later he was in massive pain that lasted for a week.  But these are different meds, so I will hope.  I am encouraged that he seems to be doing well so far, and that next time we may be able to complete this five day ordeal AT HOME and in the clinic.  Which will  be a HUGE relief.

Later in the day, I celebrated the last day of Kindergarten with my oldest son.  We went to a party and he played in a blow-up waterslide and had a blast with his friends.  I brought my middle son along as well, and they both had a good time.  I was happy for such a nice celebration of life. Then we headed over to the hospital.  My oldest is having a hard time with all of this...and cries every night when he has to go home, and leave Andrew and me in the hospital. My middle son is a little more oblivious, thankfully, for his sake.

This is hard.  I want my old life back.  I want my happy healthy baby back.  I want to be able to write happy, joyful posts.  But every morning I wake up too early and can't go back to sleep.  These mornings in the hospital are the worst, because I am all alone.  Andrew is asleep, my family is at home, and I am stuck in a hospital room with my anxieties, crappy TV, and a shower down the hall.

I spend a lot of time in prayer these mornings, trying to cope.  God has the control, and no matter what I think about, or how much I worry, I have none.  It all comes down to trusting Him, and praying, and that is hard.  I know that God allows bad things to happen to people, everyday.  He allows death and disfigurement despite boundless numbers of prayers.  So I beg for mercy, that in the end, He will heal my Andrew.  That this will be a mere chapter in our lives, in which we learned the value of each moment.  That this will be the time where I learned to curb my worry-wort ways and began living for each day.  I pray that someday Andrew will be an adult and grow up and have his own children.  I pray for mercy and healing for all of us.  I pray for peace in my heart, and joy for my children.  I pray and pray and pray.