As I was getting ready to leave this morning, Jack told me I looked beautiful. After all his antics and emotions about my obvious unavailability this week, that meant the world.
(Or maybe it was because I finally did my hair?)
Within the midst of 5-year-old thoughts he definitely has a lot of confusion and anger about my disease. Mainly because it disrupts his life and he doesn't understand why.
But my sweet boy is so adaptive, so loving, and knows just when to give a cuddle and kiss.
Last night I had a beautifully drugged sleep. More than 8 hours. Bliss. Thank you Ativan.
And today I am again alone in the infusion room. I am happy to sit with my journal and gum, and just take it all in.
From across the room, Hilda, my lovely nurse, noticed my new tattoo and inquired. I explained the meaning behind it - the strength and beauty of the feather, despite obvious imperfections. I wiped away a few tears as I told the story, and at that moment, felt so, so proud of myself. I am strong and I can do this.
I am feeling happy about taking prednisone (unless there is some serious withdrawal over the next few days, in which case, I take that back). My hearing has improved incredibly, my hand feels stronger, and the tingling has almost subsided. And just as I was wisely told - this may in fact boost my spirits. And you know what? For the meantime, I think it has.
I know it will probably happen again, and I know it could be worse next time, but - at this moment it's time just to think about now.
And for my funny of the day: A picture that a patient made for the infusion room.