BULLING THROUGH

January 16, 2010 Saturday

It's been a few days since my last post, but what a past few days they have been. Sick is the word in the house. Me, just getting over the viruses that have plagued my body for the past weeks, my chemo effects wearing off, and the exhaustion beginning to lift from me. Ed coming down finally with the virus I carried, folding to the never ending stream of things he had to do above and beyond, such as driving me everywhere because it was so cold outside and I was so sick he didn't want me exposed to the elements, fearful of the common virus turning into major infection. So there he'd sit in the car, in the cold, waiting for me or looking for the precious as gold parking spot, wearing down his immune system. Then there is Ian. Ian who wears the bare minimum to go out in the Polar Icecap of last week. Teenagers! I'd beg for him to wear an extra hooded jacket, a scarf, a hat, gloves. Right! As if that did anything. Well, now he regrets it, because this past week has been spent nursing him back to health and we aren't near it. Ian started with, "I think I'm coming down with what you have, Mom." So I kept him home from school, low grade temp, scratchy throat. He did great! By evening, no temp. 3am was another story. "MOM! I have a 102.8 temperature!" The feeling is a kin to a car bomb going off next to your head. Stumbling through the darkness, bleary eyed, confused and dazed I fed him Advil and sent him to bed, but not before he emailed his teacher that he was sick and please don't fail him for not being there in the morning to do his PBA for English. (not an exam, but something like it)

The morning came with a 101.3 fever, more Advil administered and an hour later, the temp had gone up to 102.3. Crap! Opening night for Ian's showcase, and Ian decides this is a good time to get super sick. So the old hospital pediatric trick. Advil, wait 4 hours, Tylenol, wait 2 hours and back and forth you go until the fever comes into check. Phone calls galore with the director, the stage manager, a trip to the school to drop off papers due that day. Meeting with his English teacher to pick up his "purple" class schedule for the next two weeks because this is PBA time and you need that schedule or the world comes to an end. And once more there is Ed, not feeling well chauffeuring me in the car to do this and that, while he sits in the cold.

When a household is sick, everybody is sick, who takes care of the sick? The least sick person, that's who. So me, with cancer treatments, the virus that won't let go and the delicate immune system is tending to a boy who could quite possibly make her super sick. But Mom's do what they must. After hours of tender hooks, Ian's fever broke and he, the trouper that he is, insisted on doing the show. The show went on, and Ian did a terrific job, and everyone was relieved. We returned home and Ian fell into bed, and in the morning Ian got "The Grip" My poor son moaned and screamed his way through most of the day. I could do little for him except to say, "I'm so sorry, drink some water." He made it to the show last night, but as I sat in the audience near the end of the show, only I could make out the struggle Ian was going through. Pale, and fighting the cramps, he made it work. Thank God his last scene was a dramatic one, what would he have done if it was comedy, one can only guess.

This morning he lies on the couch, sprawled in what looks to be peaceful slumber, so I leave him there, hopeful that the cramping has passed and the fever has broken, and all will begin to be right with Universe once again. What a tough boy I have. Bulling through so no one was let down. I sit here in the quiet of the kitchen with only the sound of the clock ticking away and the tip-tapping of the keys on the computer and think to myself, what a crazy week. But we bulled through, all of us, and somehow we made it.

Then I think of those in Haiti and the crisis here seems somehow farcical now. I spent the week watching the horror unfold and the children who are so afraid and lost, confused and hungry, and I am helpless to hold them and tell them they will be alright, soon, safety will come to them and loving arms will protect them. But the days have turned into a week with little or no relief for them, and the food and water and protection of a blanket sits on a landing strip waiting to be delivered. HELP THEM!!! How do we, as human beings allow this to happen all over again? Why must there be a plan? Just get the food and water out there already. We open our pocketbooks and give, and watch from a far hoping the relief comes soon, but none really comes. Like a carrot dangled in front of an ass do the tons of food and water sit there on the tarmac. For me I close my eyes and picture holding children of Haiti, cradling them, singing them a lullaby, stroking there beautiful faces and whispering calming words to chase away the living nightmare. I hope they sense that somehow, that there are millions of mothers out there doing the same thing. A week of BULLING THROUGH. That's what this week has been. Small scale, catastrophic scale, bulling through. Pray for the people of Haiti. They need it the most.

As for us? We made it through our crisis this week. Tired and sore, but we go on. Life isn't so bad really when you think about it. Somewhere in the world there is someone who has it worse than you, so don't feel sorry for yourself, pray for that person to have a better day. And just Bull Through!

Nite!

Light and Love!

Melissa