A few days ago I said that the slow and trudging journey to a functioning immune system had finally begun with Jayne's being fully depleted after this round of chemotherapy had finished. Well today the struggle toward a healthy happy baby has, yet again, truly started to take shape.
When a body is put through the rigors of chemotherapy, it's like a forest undergoing proscribed burns. Sure, there is a specific target in mind when the first fires are lit with the water trolleys encircled and at the ready but you can't tell the fire to target a specific number of trees or to favor pines vs junipers. You can only unleash it and attempt to contain it until it has successfully done what you set out to do. Chemo drugs target cells which tend to replicate rapidly because cancer, as you may have guessed, is a collection of cells which replicate rapidly. Unfortunately it is indiscriminate in its chemical barrage hence the reason cancer patients undergoing chemotherapy also lose their hair and ability to heal easily along with the part of their body which is actively trying to get a disease named after them. There isn't really much anyone can do about that at this juncture. Maybe after a few more decades of intense research, clinical trials, testing, and testing again will a better form of treatment arise.
Jayne spiked a bit of a fever today. He most likely isn't sick, just like the last time he spiked a fever. His body is in the very demanding process of rebuilding those cells which it has lost. He is, in other words, healing. But this will cause him, over the next few days, to run a fever, experience a bit of nausea, and generally feel pretty crappy. As they say, you've got to break a few eggs to make an omelette. Of course, they never mention the cow that you have to milk for the cheese, the pig you have to kill for the bacon, nor the horse whose dung you will have to filch to grow the mushrooms. And, not to nitpick on colloquialisms, but they also never even bring a bowl into the equation. So really, it should just say, "You've got to break a few eggs to make a mess." Which, on the face of it, isn't entirely without merit, especially in our given situation.
Jayne, as one can imagine, is not happy with this situation. He's transformed from the cheery, happy, squawking baby that he usually is to a loud, grumpy bald fellow with a chip on his shoulder and a severe desire for your life to be all about him. Rupert Murdoch, he is slowly becoming Rupert Murdoch. Thankfully, this window into what other peoples' lives are like when munchkins invade their happy marriage/life will only be open long enough for the pies to cool and then it's on to our just desserts. We can't do much to help him, other than guess which part of his body is hurting him more, what is keeping him awake, and generally try and address his need for snuggling. The last part is not very difficult, which you might understand, if you've ever held the wee lad.
All we have left to us is really the same thing that we have had throughout this entire predicament: trust.
We brought him to one of the most capable facilities that we could ever find with some of the most experienced, competent, and caring personnel we could ask for. Biology and medical science have come a long way due to the diligence of people like the ones we deal with on a daily basis and others we would have no reason to be in contact with. The amount of research that has gone into effectively treating cancer, and all of the side effects of that treatments, truly shows when you look at the rates of survival over the past few decades. The years of peoples' lives that have gone into saving this one baby, among millions and millions of others diagnosed with cancer, is really something to give you pause. These people, the people who devote themselves tirelessly to, essentially, keeping families whole and saving lives, are heroes. They've earned my respect because Jayne will get to grow up to be a (fairly) normal child, doing things that he, otherwise, has no right to do. Sure, he's miserable now but, let's face it, in a few years he will be a teenager and then he'll always be miserable. At least now he's actually doing something, kicking cancer's ass and stealing nurse's hearts.
Now for something completely different.
As most of you are aware, if you aren't trapped in a time vortex disguised as a children's hospital, it is April. Time sure does fly when it's strapped to a bird. Not only is tax season but it is rapidly approaching what we in the know like to call Jayne's Day. If you're not entirely sure when or what this is, come, follow me and let me show you. Or tell you, at least; I could never draw very well and one stick figure looks pretty much like another. Jayne's Day, as it has been dubbed, is on June 11th for no other reason than mere happenstance. This is the date for the Super Hero Mayhem in Pima, brought to us by the fantastic Cherla Ramsey, and the concert to benefit Jayne and Skye in Show Low, largely coordinated by Kristen Denbow and facilitated a bit by my very good friend, Burt Bradford. I have very little details on these two events, one of them has an event page on Facebook (Mayhem), the other is being hammered out furiously, akin to those plastic gophers infesting boardwalks and arcades everywhere. If you are in either of these areas and would like to help or attend either, feel free to get in touch with either of them and offer your time, your ideas, your heckling and cajoling, if you're so inclined. I will try to keep you up to date as soon as I am.
Also, last time we were out of the hospital, we were visited by Anthony and Bryna McCormack, who are renowned and celebrated for their culinary and hospitality acumen. They told Shay and I, after much cuddling and exclaiming over our handsome boy, that they had been talking to their rep with Shamrock Foods and that they would like to donate foodstuffs to our little family unit. This, as can be expected, floored the two of us with its unsolicited generosity. It just goes to show how amazingly selfless and charitable people can be without promise of recompense, in any form. I would like to thank the above named for their tireless support for the three of us, along with all of you. Yes, you. Even you, in the back there. You guys have made is bearable living with this disease, watching our little guy suffer through something so terrible even adults balk at the idea of it. I realize that everyone has their own way of looking at things, including said moral support. While I may not agree with everyone's perceived method, I do appreciate each and every one of you for the simple reason that I love my son very much. He's probably the greatest thing I have every contributed to this world and it warms my heart, cold as it is, when I think on just how many people have come to fall in love with this small boy with the big brown eyes and charming, toothless smile.
One day I will tell him of all the heroes that came to his aid, who watched him in, what should have been, his darkest hour grow and despite it, live and laugh. These heroes who didn't give up on him because he gave them strength by being strong himself. These heroes who were just people showing support for a baby with leukemia because, deep down, regardless of belief, color, or creed, people love to love. No matter whether they want to admit it to themselves or not. And, hopefully, he will love that.
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