No coffee. No pie. Just a whole lot of mouth sores :(

No coffee today.  It might have been dangerous.

See, I think I need to guard myself from ever expressing my positive thoughts and happy emotions because whenever I express them, BAM WHAM SLAM God knocks me to the ground, pounces on my stomach and dares me to get up.  At least, that is what it feels like.

Happiness, positivity MUST BE SQUASHED.  I am not allowed.

Spent these last three nights in the hospital.

Friday Andrew was kind of lethargic, like he tends to get the ninth or tenth day after chemo.  So I expected it, and took it in stride. 

Saturday he was really lethargic, and was on my lap almost all day.  I felt kinda sick too, so we both watched lots and lots and lots of cartoons.  (There are a lot of weird kids' shows out there!) He was running a low fever, about 100 degrees most of the day, but that is normal too, so I just thought we would ride it out.

However, about 8:30 pm he spiked a fever of at least 102.  I knew that he had no white blood cells in his body (the ones that fight off infection) because of the chemo.  And then I noticed his mouth was starting to look swollen.  Within seconds I began to think that perhaps he had a bad infection in there that had been spreading all day and was continuing to spread while I stood there holding the thermometer. 

So I panicked.  Starting throwing clothes all over my bedroom trying to pack my bag for the hospital, threw my credit cards all over the counter looking for the clinic phone number (which is on my phone...duh).  I was literally shaking and hysterical. 

So, lets just say the bag of clothes I packed was not thought out, or even matching.  There were some tops and some bottoms, and that was about it.  I forgot my computer, and my phone charger, and ran off to the hospital in a panic. (I never made it back home during those three days, so I got some new undies from Walgreens, and Andrew and I were mismatched and disheveled the whole time.  oh well.)

On the ride over, I was thankful that my lethargic son still had enough energy to sing along (and perhaps even make a few sad punching maneuvers) to "Eye of the Tiger"  while we drove to the hospital.  His amazing attempts to keep moving through the pain make me very emotional.

Turned out he did not have an infection.  I am so relieved.  But he had horrendous mouth sores, and still has them (but not as badly).  This was the worst chemo reaction he has had yet.  One of the most powerful of his medicines had not been given to him for three months because it interacts with radiation.  So he had a three month break, and when it was recently reintroduced, his body took it hard.  At least, that's my theory.

It was awful.  He was so hungry, but he couldn't eat.  He sat hugging his turkey sandwich for an hour before he gave up.  He fell asleep clutching a green frosted cupcake, which he had been bravely licking every now and then.  He stared at a chocolate chip cookie for 24 hours before he withstood the pain and slowly and agonizingly maneuvered it down his sore-infested throat.  It was horrific to watch.

Sunday morning he woke up with blood dripping out of the corners of his mouth.

And then while I'm in the hospital (after my mom brought me my phone charger) I get emails asking which "cancer support network" I want to donate to.  Do I want to support one that gives trophies and doodads to the siblings of cancer patients?  or how about art classes for cancer patients?  They all seemed to be trivial ways to donate.

HOW ABOUT...I tried to reply to the email but of course it was a noreply@ email. 

But what I wanted to say was SPEND THE MONEY ON RESEARCH.  EVERY LAST PENNY.  Don't spend it on cheesy trophies.  FIND A BETTER CURE.

I get so mad because it seems a nice charitable game to some of these people. 

I start to feel rage at the whole cancer community.  Are you so entrenched in doing what you do that your livelihood is at risk if alternatives were actually found?  I start becoming a very angry skeptic when I see blood dripping out of my baby son's mouth.

I have absolutely NO INTEREST in donating to any cancer organization that does not put the money DIRECTLY and EFFECTIVELY into the hands of those doing the research to find SOMETHING BETTER.  I need to find one like that, if there is one.

DISGUSTING. DISGUSTING. DISGUSTING. DISGUSTING.

I wish I had more faith.  I wish I had more trust.  I wish I were more positive.  But when you wake up to find bloody drool all over your son's pillow and he can't talk or eat and his cheeks are swollen up like a chipmunks because of "medicine..."  Well, it is damn hard to be positive.  And then I feel guilty for complaining.  Because really, my choice is bloody awful mouth sores or death.  Its a no-brainer, but still horrific.

People say we can hope because God is in control.  God was "in control" before Andrew got cancer.  I find very little solace in that statement.  It is hard to believe that God cares one bit.  It is hard to believe that anything God says about "calling on him" is real.  It all starts to feel like one big fat rationalized lie when you see the newborn baby in the room next to you, in the oncology ward, and his sad mother in a blanketed heap on the bed. 

And out of the other side of my mouth I beg and plead for faith and trust.   I pray that I will feel his presence and his hope and that he will heal Andrew.

And I was just feeling so peaceful and my mind had been cleared from the obsessing I had been doing!!!  I had relaxed and hoped and BAM WHAM SLAM onto the ground.  Pounced on.  How dare I relax?

I need to take up boxing.  Or Karate.  Or something where I can hit things and scream.

Too bad my back hurts like hell and I keep having to sleep on hospital beds.

Physical therapy first.  Then Karate.

So no pie today.  And no coffee.  No positive thoughts.

Maybe tomorrow...