It’s been almost a week since Derek came home from the hospital. He has done really well at home, and we have been careful to do everything we can to keep it that way. There are moments in the day when it could almost seem as though nothing at all has happened and we are back to life as usual. Sometimes it still seems as though this is just a very long dream and nothing really has changed. But then there are the things that pull us back to reality and remind us that indeed very much has changed. We are changed, and the life we are living is no dream. It’s a nightmare.
The most obvious change is Derek’s rapidly thinning hair and the facemask he has to wear any time he goes outdoors. He knows his hair will all fall out, and he will have a bald head just like a little friend he made in the hospital. He’s o.k. with that. He doesn’t complain about the facemasks any more, either. The host of medications I dispense morning and evening make me feel like an apothecary. He dutifully takes the medicines all by himself. He has to be on a low-sodium diet with no concentrated sweets. He doesn’t complain if his peas or potatoes don’t have salt on them. Instead, he won’t eat food that he thinks is too salty for what he should have. He asks if pie or dates or cookies are concentrated sweets. Yes, he says those words. My little Mr. Sweet Tooth wants to make sure he isn’t getting too much!
Then there are the frequent tummy aches that make him lie down for a while. Sometimes he experiences such intense pain in his legs that he can’t walk. Sometime it even awakens him from sleep. Tylenol doesn’t touch the pain he feels, and he cries or groans or grunts. He’s not o.k. with that, and neither am I. I feel completely helpless as I lie beside him holding his hand and attempting to comfort him. I wish I could bear the pain for him, but I can’t. I lie there, praying for him, and claiming the promise that God will not give him anything he cannot bear but will give him the strength he needs. I pray he finds God’s promise true for himself through all of this. As he drifts back to sleep, I wonder how much rest he will get before the pain awakens him again.
Then there’s tomorrow. A doctor’s appointment. Another dose of chemo. Another sedation for a bone marrow sample. More blood work.
No, it’s not a dream. This is all too real.
