LOOK! The countdown ticker says the most glorious words--complete. Technically Emma's treatment is complete, and she will never get that poison we call chemotherapy again.
However, things don't always go as planned. I had a few goals this week, and none of them will be completed. First of all, it was my goal to go to Memphis and celebrate Emma's end of treatment. Instead we ended up in the hospital for 5 days for an ear infection (yes, you read that right). "But her treatment is complete, right?" you ask. Uh, maybe. Maybe not. Technically she is done. However, her doctors may choose to give her one last dose of chemo, since she missed it. They haven't decided yet.
Another plan I had this week was to finish the first draft of a manuscript I'm working on. I was right on schedule to finish it by the end of the week, but being in the hospital zaps your creativity. Besides that, there was lots of playing going on to keep up the patient's spirits :).
So, my two big goals went down the tubes. Will both goals be accomplished? Well, sure. Emma WILL finish, whether now or next week, and I WILL finish my manuscript, though I won't try to predict when.
The point? Things won't always go as planned, but you've got to keep chugging away. What about you ('cause I know we've ALL had plans go haywire)? What's messed up in your life lately (ha!)?
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Life By Paper
At the time of this writing, the countdown ticker at the top of the page reads 10 days until Emma's No Mo Chemo. Ten measly days (and as of today, the day I'm posting, only 5 days!).
Mostly I am excited. Overjoyed. Grateful.
However, there is also apprehension. My life has been lived according to a piece of paper for two years and seven months now. That's a long time to be controlled, and the thought of no longer having to live according to St. Jude Children's Research Hospital's guidelines is a little bit overwhelming.
You see, they have dictated what I do every single morning for more than 2 1/2 years--give Emma her antibiotic. They have dictated what I do every single night before I go to bed for over 2 1/2 years--give Emma her chemo. They have dictated what I do every single Tuesday--go to the clinic for much of the work day. They have told me what I must do every time Emma runs a temperature of over 100.4 degrees--make the hour drive to the children's ER. Not only that, but they've given me regular reminder calls, occasional out-of-town visits to the main hospital in Memphis, and stacks and stacks of paper work, blood draws, and measurements.
What will I do when I no longer have to live my life according to a piece of paper--a roadmap, as they call it?
I don't know. I guess I'll just try to enjoy it. Suggestions?
Mostly I am excited. Overjoyed. Grateful.
However, there is also apprehension. My life has been lived according to a piece of paper for two years and seven months now. That's a long time to be controlled, and the thought of no longer having to live according to St. Jude Children's Research Hospital's guidelines is a little bit overwhelming.
You see, they have dictated what I do every single morning for more than 2 1/2 years--give Emma her antibiotic. They have dictated what I do every single night before I go to bed for over 2 1/2 years--give Emma her chemo. They have dictated what I do every single Tuesday--go to the clinic for much of the work day. They have told me what I must do every time Emma runs a temperature of over 100.4 degrees--make the hour drive to the children's ER. Not only that, but they've given me regular reminder calls, occasional out-of-town visits to the main hospital in Memphis, and stacks and stacks of paper work, blood draws, and measurements.
What will I do when I no longer have to live my life according to a piece of paper--a roadmap, as they call it?
I don't know. I guess I'll just try to enjoy it. Suggestions?
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