Nobody asked me but.. Cancer

The night

Finally, Bean and I arrive upstairs to the pediatric floor. I can start to see the intraop medications fade away and my child's pain increases. Listen, I saw this happen before. Rather recently too. You see the last time we were admitted we had a biopsy followed by night chemotherapy. Well, last treatment we had no adequate pain control from the biopsy. My baby girl was thrashing in pain receiving her first treatment. I swore to her that this would not happen again. I made sure of it. The moment Bean's tears started flowing, I was letting the nurses know Momma bear was out in full force. I even wagered with a nurse who was about to end her shift. I simply stated that if my child didn't have the medicine by a certain time, I was going to page the oncall hematologist/oncologist and make them aware we need pain meds. I was quite happy that Louise took the hint. I was not communicating in an ugly manner, just stating the facts and what my role was if my child's pain wasn't under control. I was a fierce mother to be reckoned with. Because of how I acted and advocated for my girl, her pain was kicked down a notch and she was able to rest. I love that I was responsible to make my baby's tears fade away and now she felt ok. The love only a mother can bring. You see, as a chronic pain sufferer due to my spine I get it. I can easily recognize when someone is at their highest pain threshold. Something I don't want to see in my child when we have medication aka tools in our toolbox to help. So here I sit in this dad chair, you know the dad sleep when a child is born chair. I hear the clock on the wall tick with every second, the gentle hum of the air purification system, and the steady sounds of my child sleeping peacefully. Bean's breaths are slow and steady. This is a rare hospital zen moment that doesn't last long. Just when you start dozing off, someone from the hospital staff comes in to poke or prod you. If you can score four or more hours of shut eye, it's like you won the olympics.  Luckily this won't last forever. The next day we were slowly shuffled on our way. The last injection was given before departure, and away we went. It was physically exhausting to walk back to where I parked. My Bean in the wheel chair and all 5 bags. No amount of wheaties could have prepared me for that workout, but I handled it anyways. I had to, I'm a mom, it's my job not for anyone else to do. Of course, I had this. Functioning on four hours of sleep was rough but I got us safely home and situated. But before home, we stopped for food as we were both starving. Then home to have a food coma nap. My kiddo napped well, me the brain just would not shut off. I figured I needed to be quietly productive around the house as she slept. That evening was rough. My bean had gas, headache and just felt like crap. Something told me chemotherapy at the chest port was going to be much harder then an arm picc line.