A Lesson in Worrying

I worked myself up into a frenzy yesterday.  A serious frenzy.  Andrew's runny nose and the the toothpick situation wasted about 10 hours of my brain space, not to mention the discomfort it caused my anxious nerves and angry stomach.  My impending roommate situation took up at least another 5 hours, as I called every hospital in town hoping they had individual rooms for pediatric oncology patients. (I was ready to switch doctors; I was ready to switch everything, just to have my own room where I could actually use the bathroom in the room, and wouldn't have to brush my teeth down the hall.)  There are plenty of hospitals with individual rooms.  In fact, most of them.  But none of them service pediatric oncology.  So, after a euphoric hour of thinking perhaps I had my ticket out of my youth hostel surroundings, I realized I was stuck.

This morning I was SO angry, anxious and upset.  I thought Andrew would be scared to come to the hospital.  I knew those toothpicks were coming; I knew my roommate was going to be a nightmare; I knew he would be stuck in his bed on the contagious third floor with no chance of parole; and I knew my doctor and nurses would be rigid and rule-oriented. 

So now I'm eating crow.  Andrew was happy to come to the hospital, and was hanging out by the garage door fifteen minutes before I was ready to put him in the car.  No toothpicks. My roommate may cry tonight, but I may cry with him.  Three and a half months old with a tumor in his brain.  His parents have been here for three weeks and expect to stay at least another two.  And then come back again for another two weeks after a small sanity break.  They have a little two year old daughter at home with grandparents and they will be spending most of the first year of his little life here in the hospital.  He is vomiting.  He is crying.  He is in pain.  Cards congratulating them on his birth litter their tiny window sill.

(In comparison, Andrew is watching Cinderella and ordering me around like the wicked step-mother.  "Get in bed with me Mama!!  I want my pillow Mama!! I want some juice Mama!!" No wonder he likes the hospital.  "Mama" is counting her blessings.  We are by far the more obnoxious roommate.)

We are on the second floor oncology unit.  Playroom access.  We can walk around.  His runny nose is still slightly runny, but the flexible doctor allowed us to bypass the dreaded "cell scraping" and give Andrew's snot the benefit of the doubt.  None of my nasty one-liners needed!  The doctor listened to my concerns and may make it possible for Andrew to do ALL of his chemo outpatient!  We will see.  There may be additional risk to his heart with that, so if that is the case, it is not worth it.  But the doctor listened! He heard my concerns.  And I am wondering what in the world I had myself so worked up about...

Today was much better than I worried it would be!

Now I'm hoping the side effects of this chemo round are as unworthy of my worry and anxiety.