A Hair Day

Got up early after another night of interrupted sleep, showered and threw on some clothes, make-up, packed up the diaper-bag, and after ensuring the carseat was properly installed, the baby and I headed off to Owen Sound hospital for a day of tests, bone scans, waiting and more waiting.

It wasn't until I arrived and we were walking towards the hospital that I caught sight of my reflection in the window of the vehicle parked near us.
Talk about a scary-hair day.

I sighed, tried to smooth down the now-crazy curly waves into something that might pass as more than a retro-frazzled-housewife-do, and continued on my way, toddler exclaiming loudly that he wanted DOWN to walk, PLEEEEEEASE.

After registration, we waited for awhile before enduring the process of his porto-catheter being accessed. A not-fun time where a nurse and I hold the little guy down so another nurse can stick a needle into the catheter inserted under his right nipple.
This allows for blood to be taken, I.V. to be given, and for today; for a dye to be injected into his body in order for his bones to be scanned for any further cancer or problems.
The nurse is so wonderfully kind. Remembering him from the past months of scans and knows how much he has gone through. She gives him 2 stickers and 2 tic-tacs for his bravery.

Then, a 3 hour wait so the dye can fully circulate in his little body.

We went out for lunch.
Sitting in the restaurant, suddenly the baby begins screaming.
Everyone in the restaurant wonders who is abusing their child.
I quickly carry him into the bathroom so he can finish having the bowel movement that causes him so much pain these days.
The antibiotic medication he is on to stop the 3+ months of diarrhea is causing him to experience significant discomfort in his bowel.

Lunch finally over, we went shopping for a bit. This went well. He loved pushing the cart and picking out a new ball-cap to cover his bald head.
Then, the screams fill the air again, and another trip to the bathroom to change another painfully produced bowel movement.
Going from 7-12 soiled diapers (soiled bedding, soiled clothes, sometimes literally head to toe) a day without pain, to 3 or 4 with pain...I wonder if the trade-off is worth it

Back at the hospital, I have a coffee and the baby lays against me, sucking his bottle of water and eating a gingerbread cookie.
He's so tired, but I try to keep him awake.

Pretty soon, we're ready for his turn on the table....fear fills his eyes and we talk and chatter and soothe enough to get him to lay as still as possible while the huge machine takes several pictures of his body.
Each picture takes about 5 minutes.
During this time he is to remain as still as possible.
He is not quite two years old.

We are doing well, until it is time for the last picture.
His skull.
The machine comes down, making him look like a rather unfortunate piece of meat sandwiched between two huge steel slices of bread.
The machine is stopped just short of actually pressing against him.
Terror rises up, he cries... my face is only inches away from his face, I'm holding his hand and grasping at any exciting things to talk about to distract him for an agonizing five minutes.

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... and I talk about the kittys at home, and the stripey one and the black one and how they are cute and fuzzy and their mama is black and she has a spot on her head and they like to play with you, don't they? and they like to chase the ball and go for walks with you in the stroller, and what sound do they make? mew, mew mew! yes! and, my goodness! you found such a nice hat at the store, and you liked it because it had a puppy driving a truck on it didn't it? and it is red and blue and what else is red and blue? is your shirt red? it is! and when we go home we will have to tell Papa all about the store where you bought your cool hat and tell him about drinking chocolate milk out of a straw at the restaurant we went to and remember the nice lady at the restaurant who let us colour on the table with crayons? they were red, and yellow and blue! like your hat, but we don't colour on the table at home, unless it has paper on it just like the paper at the restaurant, and the crayons were the same colour as your hat! and...

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...never seemed so long.

He did it! The nurses and technicians and I cheer!
The scan is good enough and more goodies are doled out on our brave little soldier.

We wait again in the waiting room to make sure everything is a 'go' before we pack up and head home. He falls asleep before my parking ticket has even been scanned.
Seven hours from when we left home, we arrive again.
He is sporting his new red and blue hat. He picked it out at Wal-mart because it has a truck and puppy on it. (his pronunciation of TRUCK is not quite accurate...)

As we had bought the hat at the Wal-mart, the cashier asked innocently,
"Has he never had any hair?"

I had replied,
"Well, he is just finished seven months of chemotherapy so, usually he has a full head of dark beautiful curls and long dark eyelashes...they'll grow back soon."

She was embarrassed for asking and I smiled alot and said, really, it's okay to ask.
We talked about his situation and she wished us the best as we left the store, new hat firmly placed on bald headed baby.

Now, I'm unloading the car, carrying a very tired toddler into the house.
I catch sight of my crazy hair in the mirror of the car.
It really doesn't matter.
It so doesn't.

Lord, keep me grateful.
Keep me focused on what is important.
Keep me, in You.