Enough is enough. I am tired, tired, tired of the heartbreak from hearing Gideon screaming “OOOOWWWIE!” in the middle of his deep sleep. I don't want to run into his room and see him in a ball-like fetus rocking from side to side anymore. I have had enough of him waking up every morning saying that his tummy is on fire, and not wanting to leave mommy's side to go to school while tears stream down his face. “I just need to lay down, mommy.” I have had enough of him picking at his food, and only eating soft pretzels. Mostly, I am tired of feeling like I am overdosing him on antacids that seem to be placebo and nothing more. I need something to stop the pain. If it's not the cancer causing the pain, let's battle the pain itself. No one should be so uncomfortable, and I am tired of knowing that my baby is hurting. That was a momma bear rant. But, I need all of this to stop.
Gideon still has a cough leftover from a loooong time ago, and a few nights this week I lay awake listening to it while tuning my ear in order to hear even a faint hint of a pneumonia rattle. Last year, we dealt with that beast a ton. This year, I know not to physically push him while he is getting over a cold. I got even more worried when Gideon coughed so hard in the car that he threw-up (thus making us late for Brody's hockey). Gideon has been coming into my classroom during his recess time (which happens to by my lunch time), and lays on my bean bags to rest. Due to all of the discomfort this week, he has welcomed the rest time. That breaks my heart: the way he doesn't beg to go outside to play with his friends. He says he just needs “to lay down.” He's five. I want my baby to act it, please.
Thankfully, last weekend we all lived within the inner compounds of emotional shagri-la. Truly. On Friday, Brody, Gideon and I went on an “Owl Prowl.” We learned how to make owl calls, saw a Great Horned Owl up close, and then went on a night hike without flashlights or any other artificial lights at all. Our eyes had to go back to their prehistoric need to adjust to darkness. We were instructed to be as quiet as we could. I held the gloved hands of two silent boys as we walked heel-toe through the woods. Their voices didn't make a sound, except to gasp softly at the far-away owl hoots. They squeezed my hands every time they heard an owl, and that became our only form of communication – excited hand squeezes. The tree limbs were ink etches against hole-punctured carbon since the stars were sparkling in all of their glory. It was a timeless walk without light of fire or bulb, and my heart felt so free. I loved the way my nose was cold and the way each breath filled my lungs with life. This felt like life, this walk with my boys in silence and all senses acute. I think you can tell we found a new favorite hobby. The way my boys got so into the magic of nature made me so proud to be their mommy, once again.
On Saturday, we went to the Air Zoo to visit Santa and to ride the rides. Then I was awed by my boys again. They wanted to spend more time in the WWII section. They wanted to know about every gun, every artifact, everything. Those who really know me know that I was doubly in my glory! My boys shared my love of nature, and now HISTORY?! Oh. I soaked it UP.
More than anything, I am in awe with the way Gideon can ignore pain for as long as he can to enjoy life. I don't know if I could ever be as strong as him. He hiked as far as he could, and I carried him the rest of the way during our hike. He stood and walked at the museum as much as he could until he could not stand anymore. Instead of crying and pouting and feeling sorry for himself like I would (along with most everyone else), he whispers, “Mommy, I can't hold down the hurt anymore and I need you to carry me or I need to rest.” Mister Gideon, we will conquer this pain so that your love of life and adventure is no longer squelched. His next chemo-at-the-hospital visit is Tuesday. I will keep you all posted. I pray they can help my boy.