Today is the 5th anniversary of #2 being diagnosed with stage 4 Hodgkin's Lymphoma. He was 9 years old. i allow myself this one day every year to stop everything i can and be 'in the moment' with my memories and emotions. Welcome to my day...
8:30-10:30 am: i am sitting in Nuclear Medicine at the hospital holding #2's hand while he lays very still. This is our second time here so we know the routine. The scans are done 48 & 72 hrs after the nuclear agent is injected (through the broviac catheter that was placed in his vena cava, during the same surgery they took his right clavicular lymph gland for analysis three days before.) A huge machine moves silently around him. i'm talking to #2 (endless prattle really, he's not supposed to move) and simultaneously watching a screen light up with glowing spots i can't interpret in roughly the shape of my child, while John the nuclear med tech has his computer on for news of the towers.
i'm in a different world from John, but both of us are in our own state of shock. i don't understand his. Never will.
10:30 comes and we're done. Securely wrapping the catheter to his chest, i take him back home. School isn't an option until we know what's wrong. It makes #2 angry and he misses his friends. my family has rallied around us but my friends don't know yet. He wants his peers and the normalcy he knew a few days ago. Can i ever sympathize.
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