The Mom

First, let me say thanks again. I'm overwhelmed by how many of you are reading the blog. My heart is full of gratitude for your support. As we had much company today and Jace was awake most of the day, I've neglected the computer. Needless to say I was shocked to see the Visitor Counter at almost 1800 in one day! (I added that counter with the post this morning).

We've had a good day over-all. The doctors actually decided to start the chemotherapy tomorrow, as Jace was in quite a bit of pain and shock from his surgery. He gradually improved, and he just fell asleep (11:48 PM). We enjoyed those of you who came to our rescue today with treats of support, hugs, M&Ms, magazines, SoBes, slippers, a blanket, Red Robin food, an air matress for the floor...and again so many messages.

I feel your strength. I was actually able to carry on a few conversations today, and although they inevitably contained a few strained, ugly crying faces, you'll be proud to know I kept the mascara on my top eyelashes all day. For a long time in my life I wondered if people really knew how to take care of people. I no longer wonder. I know. You are incredible people, and you are taking care of us. We are so blessed.

A few people asked me today, "Does he understand what is happening?" Hmmm. Good question. He's 6. I'm not even sure what is happening, and a really dark, ugly reality keeps throwing the facts in my face. While I was blogging early this morning, Matt tackled the stacks of information about treatment and Chemotherapy we've been given by the doctors and nurses. He read and highlighted and highlighted and read. At one point he started to read to me the side-effects of Chemo which my Jace might experience. I started crying, so Matt stopped. He knew I wasn't there yet. Not our baby. Not Jace.

So, Matt diligently proceeded reading without me, and when Randal and Wayne (our fathers, who we adore) arrived, the three counseled together. As so many times before, these men rescued me and allowed me to just be the mom-- to kiss Jace's forehead and tell him how amazing he is-- to whisper in his ear that the pain is going to go away, to rub his feet with lotion and ignore the stack of papers, and the signatures, and consents for treatment.


Even though I don't know it yet, many of you tell me it is going to be ok. When I look at this incredible little boy on a hospital bed and know that he is fevering again...and see the tubes and the monitors... and hear the beeps of a heartrate that is too low and then too high...and watch the pain filled eyes of the hairless children in our halls, I don't know.

Being the mom really, really hurts today...but I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.