Tuesday, April 29, 2014

What These Boys Know

When Quinn was born, more than one of the labor and delivery nurses declared that he was an "old soul." You could see it in his eyes, they said. There was wisdom there. Look for yourself:
I remember so vividly the feel of his velvety baby skin, covered in soft downy fuzz that I swore was in the shape of angel wings across his back. (When your eyes return from rolling to the back of your head, I'm still here...with even more eye-roll inducing stuff.) As corny as it sounds, I believed he'd come to guide me, teach me, deliver me. Babies are capable of that, you know.

***

I have a scan again next week, although I've graduated from a PET scan to a CT scan. (It causes too much radiation exposure to continue doing PETs every 3 months). Still, a scan is a scan when it comes to anxiety about what they could show, how life could screech to a halt again, how I could come fully unzipped.

I try to keep my panic attacks to a minimum during the day, try not to snap too often about things like bath-time delays and mud on the floor. I try to maintain some semblance of normalcy, even in the week before my scan. But it's been difficult this week, and I'm pretty sure I won't be nominated for an Oscar for my abilities (or lack thereof) to mask my angst anytime soon. I wish I could hide all of this from Quinn, spare him this stress. He chewed his fingernails down to the bloody quick over the weekend, so I fear I'm not doing enough.

Another family member was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer last week. We are still waiting on results of his PET scan, which will determine next steps--most likely intense, high-dose chemo. Maybe surgery. Certainly a horrible next couple of months, especially for those closest to him. Cancer is a fucker.

Last week was also a rough week in the breast cancer community. One woman in my circle died at the age of 30--thirty!--from this godforsaken disease. Another, a friend of mine, died the next day. Her teenage son posted a selfie in which he was wearing a pink shirt and a smile on his face. He said: Got my pink on for you mom. I love you and miss you already. I'm smiling cause no matter what you were going through you always smiled. That's one thing I'll never forget, and that's one hell of an example of strength, what you always had. And shared with many others. You'll always be a fighter! So of course I bawled my eyes out, more than once. 

I'm scared about next week. I always am, and I don't know if there's any way around it. No matter that my last two scans have been clean and nothing in my treatment regimen has changed. No matter that my weight is up, that I feel strong, that I believe I'm healthy. Cancer is wily and unpredictable, and I'll never be able to let my guard completely down. I miss that, but that's for another post.

***

Last night, as I was putting Quinn to bed, lying in the dark with him just after books, he said, "I'm scared, Mom." "Scared of what?" I asked. I was expecting him to say the dark, or the shadows on the walls (which he calls ghosts). He thought a minute, then said, "Um, nevermind. I'm not scared anymore." He paused. "I don't want you to be scared, either, Mom." And then I did my best to muffle my sobs in the pillow, gritting my teeth together because that's what steroids and scans and cancer make you do--lose your shit when you realize your little boy probably knows more than he should. 

Then I rubbed Quinn's back--my little angel--until he fell asleep. 

12 comments:

  1. dear Jen,

    well, you sure have had a week that was...so sorry for every last bit of it. oh, those photos of your baby Quinn! sometimes I think when we first touch down here, when we are born into this life, there is a veil of remembering where we've come from, which may simply be pure love, and we get to keep just the most important remnants, a sketchy scaffolding of that love, embedded in the essence of just whom we are meant to be. could it be during the early hours and days of new life, babies are sizing up their new existence with a deeply internal instinct to keep that love close at hand, to give, to receive, and to live it. maybe that's why infants sometimes appear as old souls - perhaps their tiny hearts and minds know they have a mission - but it must be quite a job to acclimate to all the distractions; and thus the pondering expression some present with. old souls indeed. inclined towards uncanny (to us) perceptions that amaze us, and make us realize that they do know more than we think. it's a good thing that you and your Sweet Quinn find yourselves on the same wave lengths, often just when you both need it.. though I know it must hurt your momma's heart at time like this, when you are scared, but it also seems like a blessing that Quinn in his precious baby-boy way can express or at least hint at what he feels, and perhaps even what you are feeling, and you can both give and receive such tender mercies of reassurance and love.

    I am holding you both close to my heart along with BIG hope that all will turn out just fine with the scan.

    much love,

    Karen xoxo

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    1. How wonderfully stated! I love that idea, that these little beings come into our lives with a mission. And I will certainly keep you posted on the scan. Fingers and everything crossed. xoxo

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  2. An old soul indeed.. what a precious gift to have Quinn in your life. I am sending every good wish to you for good scan results next week. You are very much in my thoughts and prayers x

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    1. I appreciate your thoughts and prayers so much, my friend. And yep, Quinn is every bit a gift to me.

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  3. First of all, your son is beautiful, and your pictures are beautiful. It's so normal to be scared of upcoming scans. I'm sorry about all that has happened to you and am hoping that your scans have good results.

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    1. Thank you, Beth. And I think he's beautiful, too.

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  4. You write beautifully and your post moved me deeply. I have carried such guilt about the impact of my cancer of my children but they have become fine people I suspect in part because of it. Ido hope your scans go well. Your son is beautiful and sensitive, what a precious gift. Thinking of you. Audrey x

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    1. I can't tell you how much comfort this brings me, to know of others who have been down this path--with their children--and come out on the other end okay, or even better than okay. Thank you.

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  5. So beautiful, Jen. Very moving- thinking of you this week. -Serena (JT's sister in law)

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    1. Glad you enjoyed it, Serena, and thank you for keeping me in your thoughts.

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  6. I'm thinking of you as you approach your scan and the results. May they be good, good and oh so good.

    Catherine

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    1. I will certainly keep you posted! Lesson learned: Never again will I schedule my follow-up appointment so far out after my scan. Good God, the waiting.

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