There have been surprisingly few cancer-related calamities lately. So few that in an upcoming post, I may be tempted to write about the humdrum of regular old life with three kids and two careers. Before that, probably, a post or two about all the help and good will that comes our way every day.
Tonight, however, a very brief post, good for a chuckle (albeit dark). Zander didn't talk much until he was well past his third birthday, so I have never been one to post on Facebook or other outlets cute, tender utterances from my kids. But you know the kind I'm talking about, where little Johnny tells his Mom--who never speaks about politics-- with earnest just how much he hates Donald Trump. Or little Jenny, who spontaneously tells Daddy that he sees all kinds of Daddies at the park, and his Daddy is the best. Aww, we all say with a sheepish grin and a warm heart (at least to the latter...to the former, maybe a "yahoo, Johnny" would be in order). Or even little Vicky, who demanded to know why the local paper was so egregious to misspel "condominium!" "Condom," Mom, can you believe that's what they wrote in print?! (I remember being pretty embarrassed and decidedly not cute hearing the response to that one.) Anyway, you get the drift, which is that little people say the sweetest, funniest, most ridiculous things.
Tonight in our house:
[Setting: Sissy is laying ready for bed (in "Mama's bed"), waiting for her medication. Zander, pulling out every trick in the book to avoid bedtime, is running around telling his father and me how essential...absolutely essential...it is for him to give Sissy her syringes tonight. Okay, fine. Brian pulls out the daily dose of 6-mercaptopurine into two syringes and puts them in a cup for Zander to take to Sissy.}
"Here you go, Sissy."--Z with a proud smile;
"Thank you, Ssan."--A, grabbing first syringe with right hand, holding it in her teeth, and pushing the medicine into her mouth without ever engaging her left hand. (I was horrified the first time I saw her do this.)
"What's that medsin, Sissy?" --Z
"6-MP!" --A, with her own proud smile and a puff on the p
"6-MP-poopy?!" --Z, laughing out loud with a huge smile.
"Hahahaha....I want bird bar" ---A, indicating that she would like her nightly post-chemotherapy snack, tonight requesting an overpriced bird granola bar that they insist we buy them at Whole Foods
[Mom and Zander retreat to gather bird bar and write in Aila's log her daily medicine intake. While doing so, Mom realizes that today is Tuesday...methotrexate day! Good god, we almost forgot! This happens every week, but we never forget because I make 5 million lists and schedules that someone is bound to notice at some point before we go to bed. Methrotrexate requires crushing and syringing out crushed pills combined with water, so Brian prepares. Although I have not tasted it, it must taste like sweaty feet or smelly underwear, given how much she resists it every week. Zander and I revisit Sissy with another cup of syringes.]
"Sissee! This is nother medsin! You don't like this medsin, Sissy!" --Z, with a proud smile.
"Show Zan how good you are at taking your medsin, Aila." --Mom, anticipating struggle.
[Aila takes first of two syringes with methotrexate. Grimaces, like she's eating pig intestines, as it goes down. Mom hands her second syringe. She clenches her teeth. I attempt to discuss calmly, which does not work. Situation escalates. Zander stands holding his cup with one empty syringe, confused at what is happening. Mom pulls Aila into her lap and manhandles the syringe and Aila. Aila struggles against Mom, tries to spit out medicine.]
"Aila! You need to take this! Now!" --Mom, exacerbated. Pushes 1ml into her mouth, half of which drips out of the corner
"AILA! This is so important! You will die if you don't take this!" --Mom, during maybe not her finest moment
"Mmmumm, mmumm." --A, clenches teeth more fiercely
"SWALLOW, AILA, SWALLOW!" --Mom, finally managing to get the drebs down her throat, yelling to Brian that probably only 5% was lost, wondering immediately whether this would make or break a relapse
Meanwhile, Zander had continued to stand idly, wearing a confused look on his face, holding his syringe cup gingerly. I looked at him, feeling guilty that he'd watched our sideshow. But oddly proud, that he was still standing, holding that nonessential syringe cup, if that makes sense?
"Mom?" --Z, with urgency
"What Zan?" --Mom, with curiosity
"Sissy has to take her medsin, otherwise she gonna get dead. Right, Mom?" --Z, fiercely and with conviction
"Well, Zan, yes, the medicine is really important." --Mom, hiding a smile, slightly horrified at the fact that she's laughing, but oddly glad at the same time?
"SISSY, you're gonna get dead if you don't take the medsin, OK SISSY, OK? You're gonna go to the hospil for a long time and not come back. Right, Mom?" --Z, with such immense pride
What can I possibly say to that? I mean...yes, Zan, kind of? How do you know that, Zan? Is it horrible that I'm chuckling at your intelligence and sincerity, my dear boy? After all, I'm so very grateful for it. Could the outside world possibly understand why I'm laughing? Cancer humor. Words that don't fit together. But humor, well it's simply been essential for our survival.
Thanks, Z.
Comments
vk 8 years, 5 months ago
Scatalogical humor to the rescue! Apparently this phase will last for several years/forever. Hugs to your troop of cuties.
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