Hey gang...thanks for the well wishes. Saw doc today...no change. I'm day four now on the latest round of antibiotics. It's not necessarily a bad thing theres been no change, at least it's not gotten worse, and there didn't seem to be any dead tissue in or around the wound itself. So that's sort of back door encouragement. The big test is going to be over the next 72 hours. If it continues to not imrpove, it's hospital time for me for sure. So I'm praying this thing takes a positive turn. I mean it's been over one solid month now. And today it's still bleeding and slightly pus ridden. I have never dealt with something like this personally. Pretty scary shit. I mean you read about infections killing people every day, but you sometimes don't realize just how fragile we really are, or susceptible to something like this until it happens.
And Tick.....
I've never shared this on this site before...ever. And after I type what I'm about to type, I probably won't want to ever talk about it again. Going there is far too painful.
But, I have a son from when I was really young who was diagnosed with cancer before his second birthday. It was the most devastating thing ever. Talk about being hopeless. I prayed to take his place so many times, I can't tell you. He spent most of his young life dealing with that. Chemo, surgeries, raditation. He survived. Barely. As extremely young parents, we especially were not equipped to deal with all of that. Hell, at the time, we were still in high school. We would meet other families in treatment whose child had the same form of cancer as my son, and not only would the kids become hospital friends, but we also developed a bond with the parents. Often times it seemed the kids would even have good days and bad days together--then one day you'd show up at clinic to get chemo and the other kid wouldn't be there. He or she would have died. And you would wonder...How is my kid still alive? Is the finger of death going to find my child next time?
There is and was no reason for any of it.
His cancer came back a few times, and each time it was as emotionally devastating as the initial diagnosis. Your whole world was just shattered. And as a parent--you want to do anything to take the pain from your child. And you can do nearly nothing but comfort them as best you can....and pray. I remember he was back in the hospital when he was about 5, and had been diagnosed with a metastases in his lung and had just had surgery a couple of days before to remove the cancerous tissue. He was sleeping, and hooked up in his room to a bunch of crazy shit. I took a break from sitting by his bed and holding the one tiny hand that wasn't hooked to an IV or a monitor; and I walked to the end of the hall where they had some chairs there. I sat down next to a father whose daughter was there for her final round of tests to be declared cured from leukemia. It was late at night, and the hallway was lit only by one dim lamp on an end table. It was only the two of us there. With the exception of the distant mechanical sounds of the various IV pumps up and down the hallway, and the beeps from various heart monitors and such, the unit was relatively quiet. But that area was like a sanctuary at that monent in time, and only he and I shared in it's space. I recall being soooo damn jealous. I would have sold my soul for my son to trade places with his daughter. I have prayed to God many times and begged for his forgiveness over how I felt that night. I remember thinking how unfair it all was. I was pissed at the world, and at God, and at everything. We chatted briefly and I told him the bad news that my sons cancer had come back, and he shared with me that his daughter was walking out of the hospiatl the next day, hopefully never to return. We didn't know each other, but shared a common experience, only his was infinitely better at that moment than mine. You can imagine--I was more than a bit of a prick to him, so our conversation was brief. I think he felt sorry for me more than anything, and his pity pissed me off even more. As he got up from his chair and started to walk away, he said to me.. "Don't give up hope." And I asked, "Yeah, right...what's that?" And he replied..."Don't ever forget, that as long as your kid is alive...there is always hope." Now of course that's true, but I needed to hear that; and I never forgot it.
So tell your friend...from someone who has walked in those shoes..."As long as his daughter is alive...no matter how bad it might get...never, never, never, never, never give up hope.
Topic: The sick and diseased thread (Read 20905 times)
