Fine. I admit It.


I told our main oncologist yesterday that I agreed to talk to a psychologist.

I did talk to two in Dayton Children’s, but I felt I was just humoring them so they could feel like they were helping me. Sort of like me validating their expertise in making people feel “better” about Cancer. I really don’t see THAT happening. I have had plenty of therapy in my life, and embraced it, Hell, I probably could have used a little more in the last few years but I’m all talked out. If I DO need to talk, I have people who will listen without paying them. However, my loved ones cannot prescribe. Well, only one and she is across state lines. Our doctor here said that most parents are on an anti-depressant because kids here are very sick. I’ve been doing this show with no props. I don’t even think that stuff works anyway. Then again,

I still sleep in my clothes.

It is an honest effort to shower.

Sleep is generally elusive.

I look like shit. It looks like my face is about to explode. Dark circles cannot even remotely be concealed with make-up.

Exercise? ha! I had a stint last week. If one cannot muster up the fortitude to shower, need I elaborate?

The thing is, I do care about my body, my mind, as a rule. I just can’t seem to care about anything right now except survival on two or three levels. I care about Ashton’s survival. And I care about being awake and alert and entertaining him and preserving his quality of life in the hospital. We have a lot of help with that. But I worry. We all get to go home and have a ” break” from these walls, but he does not. And he isn’t going to get one until near Christmas. That’s freaking harsh for an adult, much less a five year old boy. I worry constantly about my older children and miss them horribly.

It literally breaks my heart and I cannot stand when someone uses that word, “literally” because it rarely applies. I think it does, in this particular case.

I am disappointed in myself. My breaks from the hospital feel scary, though I know I need to leave. Then, I go home and sort of sleep and anxiety gets the better of me. I barely leave the house when I could be using that time to enjoy life. I wouldn’t feel right, enjoying life for more than a few minutes.

I drag myself to the shower when I am home because in the midst of all this I am trying to continue a friendship and relationship that was very young when Ashton got sick. I did not expect him to still be around by this time but he is proving to be very loyal, even when I doubted. Even when HE doubted. He cares for us. And he makes me get off the couch. And he gets up with me at 330am at the hospital to go to the vending machine and makes me laugh.

As for Ashton, for the first time in a while he had no reaction to platelets yesterday. I was so anxious about it. He just now pee’d all over the bathroom (damned fluids round the clock) and we both got sprayed. Housekeeping!

Now, he plays xbox at 5:52 am.

We go to transplant in 3 weeks, no matter what. Whether his counts are up or down or sideways, we are going for it.

Stupid fucking CANCER.