*** BREAKING NEWS ***

Just received MRI results from Dr. O:

Nathan's tumor has shrunk!!  After only two months!!  It has gone from 18 x 14 cc to 14 x 13 cc!!  We were told that shrinkage was probably not in the cards, that the goal was to keep it from growing, and yet - IT SHRUNK!!

Who has two thumbs and and wishes she could hug the stuffing out of every single one of you?  Yeah, this girl.

For a Libra, I'm pretty lame at this.

One of the hardest things about being the mom of a kid with cancer (besides introducing that particular phrase into your vocabulary) is figuring out how to balance treating him like a kid and treating him like a kid with cancer.  From Day 1 my battle cry has been, "This is not the story of his life.  This is the story of 18 months of his life." As such, he has gotten precious little in the way of special treatment around the house and at school.  Unconsciously, I think I wanted him to get the message that while this is a crappy situation, it is not the end of the world - kind of like when you're in the hospital, the signal to panic is when everyone you know shows up at your bedside.  It's the "If you don't get much special treatment, you must not be too bad off" line of thinking.

Of course, allowances have been made.  If he doesn't like the looks of dinner, Nathan chugs an Ensure shake to keep his weight up.  If he's tired, we pry Clare off of him and let him sneak off to bed early.  He has a whole list of accommodations at school including being able to wear a hat or have a snack in class or take a rest in the clinic.  But I have tried my best to keep things as normal as possible and to keep bringing the wicked and evil back to stepmothering.

For Nathan, this means that he still has kitchen clean-up every other day, two rooms to clean on Saturday morning, and weekly laundry duty split with Matt.  He still gets fussed at for chewing with his mouth open and for spending too much time on video games. And with apologies to Erich Segal, chemo does not mean never having to do your homework.  He is still being held accountable at home and at school, and that's as it should be.

Until, of course, it isn't.  Tonight, the Teflon Kid is plumb wore out physically, emotionally, and every other kind of -ly you got.  Tonight, the stress is not rolling off his back, it's seeping into his pores, and it's insidious.  Tonight, he's a seabird covered in oil, looking at Dan and me and asking why we let this happen. Tonight, he's got a pass because there are zombies to slay, chicken fingers to chew like a cow, and a movie to watch - and that damn homework will just have to get to the end of the line.

Are we there yet?

I was diagnosed with ADD about 12 years ago.  Not ADHD, mind you.  There is no hyperactivity component whatsoever, just a attention system that is out of whack.  And I think this is why I am an incredibly useful person in an acute crisis situation. Funerals are my specialty.  I cowboy up, I do what has to be done, I do not cry, I am goal-oriented - I dare say I am Cylon-esque in my focus.  I can be Wonder Woman successfully for about a month, and then I am ready for something else. Long haul?  Yeah, not so much.

Guess what?  A month of this crap was up a month ago.  I'm not so useful anymore.  I'm damn sure not as entertaining.  I am bitter and angry and tired and hateful and SO ready for this to be over.  If self-pity were an Olympic sport, I could medal for the USA.  I am in control of absolutely nothing, and I hate that.  And if one more person tells me that God only sends us what we can handle and that He knows what big shoulders I have, I am going to point out in no uncertain terms that She has me confused with someone else - I am the one with the big ASS.

Nathan is struggling.  Here's what I unloaded on Hope via email yesterday:

N had a horrible day at chemo yesterday - Dan called me at 10:30, and they were both wrecks.  First off, N had lost just over 3 pounds in a week.  Then, his port was blocked, so they had to stick his finger for the blood draw, and he was dehydrated, so that was awful.  Then he showed them the enormous canker sore inside his mouth, and they scraped it for a tissue sample to make sure it's not the cold sore type of herpes - TWICE.  Then while they did the physical exam, they noticed that not only does his left eyelid not close all the way anymore due to the tumor, his eyes were pink and gunky, so they diagnosed pinkeye.  He had cried three times by the time Dan called me. 

As it turns out, it's not herpes, the pinkeye antibiotic is working, and N is learning to drink water like I drink Diet Coke.

It just sucks right now, and I HATE telling you all that because you all have been some every kind of wonderful, and we get tangible and intangible reminders of your love and concern and support every week, and I need to focus on all the good that has come out of this.  It's just that lately, I have not been able to do that.  I am considering putting up posters around town that say "Have you seen my sh*t?  'Cause I have lost it.  Call 1-800-THIS-SUX."

This poster is pretty awesome, too.

I think I need to have dinner with some friends.  Maybe Ben and Jerry or Big Olaf.