I'll Be In My Bunk

Last night was Jayne’s first night with his broviac line and with the first dose of chemo coursing through him.  Not only did he sleep through the night with nary a complaint but he and his mother are still sleeping, which is not an easy thing to do on what hospitals pass for stone slabs.  As a the sun begins to shine on just another day, several thing begin to dawn on me.

Yesterday we started a gofundme, and when I say we, I really mean Kristen, who put a lot of work into starting that up and getting it to the point where is was really must a matter of pointing and clicking.  I was, and still am, very appreciative of the effort that she, like dozens of other people, are putting forth for the sake of our wee boy.  More shocking than the offers and acts of kindness is that, on further inspection of the donations towards Jayne, we’re already twenty percent to our goal of $5000.  Shay and I are incredibly lucky to have friends and family with such wonderful hearts and minds.  

Also yesterday was a little rougher than it maybe had to be on the part of the parents of the boy with the knit hat.  Part of our consultation before and after Jayne was to receive his first chemo shot, as a preventitive measure, was that Shay would not be able to breast feed him.  Jayne has never been very good with a bottle, he doesn’t understand why he should have to lower himself by allowing this rubber nipple intrude his personal space, even if it is carrying infant ambrosia within it’s mysterious confines.  He, like most red blooded males, prefers the real deal and, since that’s all we’ve ever really needed to give him, he didn’t eat much from four in the morning until well after he shook of the anesthesia.  Jayne didn’t seem to mind too much, he was higher than Jerry Garcia at Woodstock, but it did take an unforeseen toll on the other half.

There is a certain bond that a mother and child share just after the child is born.  Part of that bond, especially in this case, is breastfeeding.  Between the contact, the closeness, the feeling of safety, and the idea that the mother is providing a conduit to the child for the best possible growth and development possible.  It’s comfort food, for Jayne and for Shay.  It’s bonding time, eye contact time, the very occasional I-bite-your-nipple-and-then-smirk-at-you-playfully time.  That last one was starting to occur a little more often as Jayne’s mischievous nature starts to show through the facade of innocent baby he’s been fooling everyone with.

And it was taken away.

Because, we were told, there was a likely chance that the chemo drugs in his saliva might transfer to Shay thereby making her feel the effects, even if just slightly, she couldn’t participate in this bond which has been angering old restaurant goers for decades.  It was hard, as one can imagine, like being told that you wouldn’t be able to take your child to a baseball game anymore because foul balls might develop a complex society and begin targetting children and their parents.  Understandably, it didn’t go over well.  Jayne was asleep for most of this time but every substantial chunk of consciousness, we would try to give him his bottle.  Which he promptly disdained and offered up scowls to any nearby.  I would guess that between the time he got out of his procedure, 11:30, to about 4:30 he ate less than a half ounce.  It was a little devastating for Shay, told that her most important function as a mother, in her view, was now defunct.  One can imagine what followed.

Thankfully, nurses are badasses.

At around quarter to 5, one of the duty nurses came in to talk to Shay.  She didn’t care what the doctors had told us, she had never heard of any adverse effects from a mother feeding a baby on chemo.  “Not in thirty years,” she intoned.  She wanted to Shay to do exactly what Shay wanted to do: feed her baby boy.  And she promised us that she was going to hunt down our doctor and set him straight.  Come to think of it now, I haven’t seen him in more than twelve hours, so maybe I shouldn’t be putting this into (digital) print.  Since, Jayne has eaten and eaten well, and thus was able to sleep throughout the entire night, luckily for us.  As was his mother, for the most part, without the mental weight of failing at one of the major duties of motherhood.  

When he wakes up, he has a P.E.T scan at 11, a few more blood tests, and whatever else the day might offer up to us.  Until then, he’s pretty content in his bunk.