Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Punch to the gut

I've been walking around in a daze for the last 12 hours. It's funny - you'd think, with this being the 3rd time that I've been told that my kid has cancer, that I'd be used to this by now. Nope. Doesn't get easier the second or third time.

I keep thinking: what did I do? What did I do to deserve this? How was I such a terrible person, that I deserve to have my beautiful, smart, charming son go through this hell?

The next person that tells me that "G-d only gives us what we can handle," is going to get punched. Bullsh&t. I can't handle this. My wife can't handle this. I'm sitting in an empty house by myself with ten gallons of paint; I'm not in a position to handle this. I've been away from my family for two weeks; there's no WAY to handle this at 360 miles apart.

I'm dizzy, headachy, exhausted, wired, in desperate need of sleep, but knowing that there isn't a chance in hell that I'm going to GET to sleep tonight. I'm starving, but I have no desire to eat. I want to keep busy, but I don't want to do anything. I would really like to drink a lot of Jack Daniels right now, or to take some of the oxycodon that I have left over from my surgery in April, but I won't do either. I know that I've got an addictive personality, and the last thing that The Boy needs is a strung-out father.

Tuesday is going to be the day. I'm going to get done whatever I get done this weekend, and whatever is left over will be left over. My brother has graciously offered to pay for professional help in finishing the house, which I appreciate greatly. I don't think that there will be much left over to do: get rid of (donate / sell / throw away) some shelves, the crib & toddler bed, and a couple of items like that; polish the hardwood floors; remediate the bathroom walls upstairs; fix the caulking in the bathtub (should be under warranty with Bathfitters); and clean the bathroom downstairs. Honestly, it's not that much.

I want to be with my son. I want to be around him, to see him running around, and climbing around, and being a two-year old before the next round of surgeries and chemotherapies and radiations and whatever they're going to do to end his childhood.

4 comments:

The Reluctant Crunchy Mama said...

I know people mean well. But I'd love to punch them too. What an insensitive thing to say. Clearly, they have no clue whatsoever what you are going through. Punch them and then kick them on my behalf, please! I am sure tonight will be one of the longest nights of your life. I hope that it goes as fast as it can go and that, somehow, you and Molly can get some sleep. Hoping that you find out whatever is going on in the morning, rather than waiting until late in the afternoon. I am sure every minute counts right now.

Michelle said...

I say punch them. They deserve it. The other one that pisses me off is 'I know how you feel'. Bullshit.

Rachel said...

I am so sorry to hear this news. I guess that there really isn't too much more to say other than that you and your family are in prayers.

Shay said...

Nothing I say will make your pain any less. I continue to pray for your son.