Back to Boston

 We never made it back to Boston last week. We had a series of rough days. Blood was shed in more than just the Riverside parking lot. Vomit was a factor. Diarrhea. Hours spent in latex gloves on my hands and knees scrubbing with bleach and antiseptic. It’s still in my lungs. Bleach burns. 

But, we pushed through. 

Matt had gone without treatment. He had not been healthy enough. His blood counts wouldn’t cooperate. Then Wednesday, after a text where he asked me to come get him because he was sure they again would delay treatment, they proceeded. 

This was a rough week. They’re all rough. Chemotherapy and immunotherapy are awful. 

But, because he had gone without them for the longest since we started treatments, it hit hard. He was pacing in pain, crying, sick and tired. What’s so different about that you ask? Well, instead of telling me he doesn’t feel good a few times day, he told me hundreds. Every time I looked over I had to watch him sitting with a half whining expression mouthing he doesn’t feel good. I would sometimes respond with “I know you don’t”. That got old. So I switched it up and started thinking of odd things to say to distract him. That got old too. 

He finished treatment, only too feel worse. The usual post-chemo crazy set in. 

He’s exhausted, I’m exhausted. The kids are not sure why their parents are geriatric. 

I love my husband, and my girls. 

Doesn’t mean I’m not tired. So as I pack Couraira’s lunch, book bag and dance bag for tomorrow (so my mom can take her in my absence) I stifle a yawn. The baby is crying because she needs to be held to fall asleep. I explain to her like she understands that I need to lay out diapers, wipes bottles and applesauce for my mother-in-law tomorrow in my absence. I rub my eyes. 

I lay out their outfits, pick up the toys, rattles and stuff scattered everywhere in the living room and dining room. Spray the air and surfaces with Lysol. Wipe the tables and the sectional quickly. I turn out the lights. I prepare for the car rides both ways to Boston. The waiting rooms and the smells. The girls are nestled in their beds, it took a fight to get each one down. We crawl into our bed, and fight the dogs to get back our respective spots. I lay here typing. I have a ton more on my mind.I’d love to spill it out onto my phone screen. But, for now I need sleep. Because it’s rare these days. 

We’re headed back to Boston, this time no baseball. Just business. Here’s to hoping.