Punchy Mommy Believes in Life

Most the days between my diagnosis and last chemo cycle were spent in a fog. They were dark days for me. I spent all of my time in bed, either in mine or the hospital. I took Ativan during the day, which had the pleasant effects of easing the chemo induced nausea, making me drowsy, and taking the edge off all of this at the same time. So I slept during the day and then took Ambien at night because I couldn’t stop my brain from thinking, thinking, thinking.  When I wasn’t sleeping, I was laying around staring at the wall.  Sister2’s lovely boyfriend painted a picture of me as cat woman holding a whip in one hand and Little Man in the other. His caricature of me as a fit, fierce, buxom woman with flowing red hair, which was painted with bright and striking colors, proved itself as a nice focal point for my staring sessions. I felt like catwoman some time ago and I will feel like her again, I told myself. But for now, I am cat woman, hear me mew. I couldn’t read much because I was dizzy and nauseas.  I couldn’t use my phone or the computer for the same reason.  I tried to watch movies but even the funniest of comedies wasn’t that funny anymore. It felt like my innocence was taken from me. How could I laugh at such juvenile humor when I was fighting to kill a tumor that was in my heart. While in the hospital, I watched some reality TV but that too lost its appeal quickly. So there I lay, like a car who’s engine was too weak to get over the speed bump. I was stuck in a place of feeling terrible not only physically but emotionally. I felt sorry for myself and my family so I cried the days away.

Between Mom, Dad and the nanny we hired, Little Man was kept busy and given lots of love. I was too tired and sick to see him in the mornings when he woke up so I would stay in bed while he was readied for his day. Before my diagnosis, I signed him up for lots of fun activities so he would go out and have fun in the morning and came home for lunch. By the time he came home, I had a bit more sleep, and the next dose of anti-nausea medicine had kicked in so I was usually in a somewhat better place and eager to see him before his nap. Everyday from my bed, I could hear him outside as he came home, narrating what he saw on the way up the front steps. There’s a fan! There’s a doggy, hi doggy!, There’s a cat, meow meow. I hear a airplane. See it? What’s that? What’s that called? And then, on the way up the stairs, one, two, threeeeeeee, four, five, six, seven, nine, ten, five-teen, eighteen, nineteen… As he reached the top of the stairs he would day Mommy! Wanna see mommy! She’s resting. Mommy’s resting in the bed. She’s laying down. I loved listening to him. His innocence. His total lack of understanding of what was happening to me. His love and vigor for life was palpable. It was magical. Once inside, he would continue with, wanna see mommy! Go see mommy! I could hear him running across our hard wood floors and stop short right before he bumped into my closed door. Then, I would hear a loud bang and someone would let him him into my room. Mommy! He yelped teetering over to my side of the bed, wanna climb up! Wanna climb up and lay down to snuggle with mommy and blankie. And just like that, the color returned to my world.