I saw the sun rise and set over the Ringling Bridge today. It was nice to get out there twice, with sweet friends, logging miles for Alex’s Million Mile and exhaling into the salty air.
Benji was awake when I came home this morning. He was on the computer, checking an assignment he’d completed last night. After he got dressed for school, he sat right down at the dining room table and started in on more homework. He was excited to go to school for his only full day this week. I dropped Banyan off at his bus stop, then walked Benji to class. I scheduled a meeting with his teacher for next week and kissed Benji goodbye, much to his embarrassment. Today was the first day he’s been at school since diagnosis that I haven’t texted his teacher. I knew he’d be just fine.
During the hours when my children were at school, I was relatively productive. I took the dog to the vet, I ran errands, I worked a while, I grabbed groceries…but I felt fragmented again. Scattered. Unable to focus. I know that this will resolve with time. With long term maintenance on the horizon, my days will slowly begin to fill with things other than caring for Benji. That is at once liberating, and terrifying. My solution remains the same. One moment at a time. I don’t have to figure it all out right now.
Bedtime was rough again tonight. Benji feels pain in his tummy when he lies down to rest. It isn’t nausea. I think it’s just everything.
Tomorrow morning, both boys will go to school, then I’ll pick Benji up at lunch again for his second round of Erwinia shots in this phase. Because of the crazy scheduling puzzle Dr. Oshrine and I pieced together, his third round of shots will be this Sunday. Since the Infusion Center will be closed, we’ll consult with the nurses tomorrow about the best way to get Benji admitted. We would like to get him in and out as quickly as we can.
I will go to sleep tonight with thoughts of sweet Hudson in my mind. He is in pain. The palliative radiation isn’t working. He’s spiking fevers of 104+. His mama is doing everything she can to make him comfortable. She is afraid the pain is rapid disease progression. I am holding Hudson and his family in the highest light. May love wash over them in great big waves and take the pain away.