...which is good news. The Boy got home this afternoon at around 6 o'clock.
I got home from school around 4. Today was a tough day. Last night, at the hospital, he and I had a hard time at night. I finished up my computer work and tv watching at around 11-ish, which was good. I slept for a half hour until woken up by our night nurse, who came in to take The Boy's blood pressure.
For some reason, the night nurses give The Boy his medicine at, like, nine o'clock. That's frustrating, because we're trying to convince a sleepy, grumpy toddler to take gross-tasting medicine. Plus, this particular night nurse - who I had on Friday night when I stayed over - is as quiet and subtle as the oft-spoken bull in a china shop. That doesn't help.
But, I digress.
The rest of the night was spent alternating between a light doze, interrupted deep sleep and soothing a wet or recently changed baby. At 5 o'clock, I finally gave up and started packing up in the potentially vain hope that we'd be going home today.
The hardest thing about this whole cancer treatment is the arbitrary nature of time. Stuff happens when it feels darn good and ready to happen, not in any kind of logical or predictable manner. It makes life extremely difficult and puts a premium on flexibility. This is, of course, completely antithetical to the lifestyle of public school teachers and band directors in particular. Our lives depend on dependability, on schedule, on routine and predictability. I can tell you, to the minute, where I will be, with whom I will be and what I will be doing (within reason) at any point during the school day between now and the predicted end of The Boy's treatment.
So, here comes the cancer treatment, and suddenly EVERYTHING is thrown into doubt. At any given point, we have had to drop everything and rush him to the hospital for emergency treatment. At any given point, we have had to delay treatment or surgery or whatever for weeks. At any given point, we have stopped our discharge plans and settled back into the hospital. Very, very, very, very, very difficult for me in particular.
But, I digress.
I arrived at home at 7 o'clock to get my deodorant (particularly important because I hadn't showered in 48 hours) and my saxophone and my lunch, and I arrived at school at 7:15 as per usual on Thursdays. I practically fell asleep teaching a class at around 10:45AM, so I jacked myself up on coffee. That lasts until the end of lunchtime, when (of course) they stop making new pots of coffee and throw the old stuff out. Gotta get myself a coffee machine. Struggle and make it through my last period class by playing a lot of trombone and being excessively praising to the kids. They think I'm acting weirder than normal, but they were happy because we played beginning to end in most of our concert music and that's a change from normal. After school, I discussed marching band awards (thanks for the call, Band Guy, b/c I forgot entirely about the Marching Band Desert Friday night) for about 20 minutes, then I ran some photocopies of necessary stuff for tomorrow's lessons, cleaned up my stuff, then got word that The Boy was actually coming home. I got home at 4 o'clock and passed out cold.
At 6, I woke up and showered - a 15 minute shower, which is really long for a bald guy. They got home a few minutes later, and I snuggled The Boy for a minute before he started to play with all of HIS toys in HIS living room. Then I jacked myself into more caffeine and went to church choir practice, stopping for a Quick Chek sandwich and cookies on the way. Now, it's 11:20, the caffeine is worn off, and I'm still typing on this computer. Why? I dunno. Just trying to procrastinate going to bed, because tomorrow is another busy day, and after school I have to face the fact that my house looks horrendous.
I mean, it's not like we were just away from home for over a week, or anything like that, right?