Friday I go to get my port inplanted so I can begin my chemo treatments that afternoon. Looks like the research study is not going to be what I sign up for since I don't want to be on a placebo, and 1/2 the participants are. Steve will go with me and I am sure he is as scared as I am-he always sends me up the ladder first when it comes to heights. He is a good man and trying very hard to help in any way possible, but it is so hard to know what to do.
I found that regressing to childhood thoughts is helpful. When Sean was a baby he was colicy and I would bounce him all around, set him on top of the washing machine, or put him in the car just to drive him around the block. He gets a smile on his face when I remind him of how squirmy and fussy he was, but he also, quite charmingly, wants to recipricate the love and help to his squirmy fussy mom. I lay on the bathroom floor the other night unable to releave myself of surgery gasses, nor take any further pills by mouth for fear of losing it. Steve lay in bed exhausted by the daylite hours and my night vigil came to the door. "Knock, knock, can I come in?" "Sure if you can find room" (there is barely room in our bathroom for shower and toilet and I was gonna need the entire floor...)Sean slowly with out questions began talking me through breathing techniques I have learned in yoga and childbirth, and gently massaging my back (he gets massages 2x/daily when he is swimming-he must miss that since he has retired his suit). "What can I do, Mom?" "Just hold my hair."Finally, clutching my pillow for suppot, I was able to retch until I could do so no longer and then retire to the comfort of my bed. USC did teach him something, and a Mom could be no more blessed.