They jacked up Aria's chemo a couple of weeks ago. It killed her white cells, made her barf, and knocked the poor kid on her ass. There was a good chance today's chemo shot to the brain (via the spine) would be postponed if her white cells continued to plummet, as they should have.
But as is her M.O., she bounced back like a Valkyrie warrior. Her white count doubled. My Heroic Princess of Badassness. I'll get working on her Halloween costume shortly. (Except she actually wants to be a "Flying Unicorn!")
For now, here's an older post that I never published. It's not grins, giggles and gratitude, but it's how mama keeps from getting PTSD:
I read
this great piece by a woman who survived kidnapping when she was a girl. Her bravery and defiance were stunning. But this is the part that connected with me:
Ask me to outwit a 200-pound monster who’s making things up as he goes along, and I’ll eventually do so.
But afterward, plop me back into my life and tell me it’s all back to normal, and while I will believe you and largely act normal myself, I’ll still be fighting the monster internally, on my own, with no end in sight.
I'd read them after someone remarked that my post after Aria's birthday "didn't sound like (me)." My writing was too negative. It was missing my humor and irony. I didn't convey to how much I appreciated and enjoyed Aria's awesome birthday. It was suggested I write a follow-up post to communicate all my gratitude for my daughter and for all those who made the day special.
It's true: I
am so thankful. Thankful that moms took time to escort their preschoolers to my daughter's party. And yes, that my daughter was alive to have a party. For the spectacular cake that was donated to us and for the Wonderworks employees who coordinated crafts and facepainting. For the home and yard I had to host the party, and for all the tiny princesses and their fairy queens who shared it with us.
I am thankful the event was so normal. So normal, that one
might forget it was so contrived. It was conceived and designed to insert some Normal into the otherwise Abnormal.
But I didn't forget. My post-party blog was about that cognitive dissonance. There's the What's happening, the What's
really happening, and the What
seems to be happening, inside and out.
Leukemia is my 200-pound monster.
It should probably be
Aria's monster, but thankfully she's young enough to earn a reprieve from most of this trauma's psychological effects (I hope).
But when the monster got nowhere with Aria around, he loped over to me.
Facebook is packed with cute pictures of my cute kids to illustrate their cute anecdotes. Hey look, here's one now:
On Facebook, you can find my Happy and Go-lucky moments. There I inject the funny, the quips, and the one-liners. The "moments" that get me through the days. Here you can find more of me.
"Experts say" that Facebook depresses people who obsessively compare the totality of their own lives with the 1% happyhappyjoyjoy snapshots and anecdotes posted by others.
This is my other 99%.
In my head, I am essentially awkward. My not-fun post-birthday blog was written by that Me.
Yes, I hosted a lovely party on that lovely day. I didn't over-prepare, over-structure, over-spend or overstress. I tried not to expect everyone to look 100% entertained 100% of the time. I even reined in my freak out when I noticed that Photos of A Momentous Occasion were not happening.
I made a fruit bowl and called it a day.
I managed to do most of the things I usually promise myself to do the Next Time I Throw A Party. To Focus on What's Important. Except, I couldn't focus.
I didn't just Watch My Kids Play. They were scattered outside, and I was scattered inside.
The 200-pound monster took a seat in my head and dominated my internal conversation, so I couldn't really chat with anyone else.
I
was acting like Me. Inside Me. Who happens to be an collage of personas. Isn't everyone's Myself like that?
No?
Oh. Well, shit.
Am I depressed? I don't think so. Am I coping? Yes, I am. Am I more socially awkward lately. Very likely.
Aria's white count forced her to stay home from her big sister's birthday party last week.
At the "after party" that day, I was an automaton. I offered guests a bottle of wine from a paper bag. Classy. And I even teared up. I hardly ever cry these days. This is all too much too cry over.
But I'm I'm not sure how to Be the Expected Version of Myself in the New Normal.
Going to School? Party? Friends? Playdates? Park? That's living on the edge at my house these days. Sometimes it makes me resentful, negative and not quite funny enough. Others, it makes me brilliant and amusing (insert ironic self-loathing remark here to keep everyone else comfortable with my brashness).
In the end, I looked at the day as such: I wanted that party, I had it. She liked it, I survived it. And despite how easy it was, it wasn't easy at all.
As for the 200-pound monster, I'm defying him every day because Aria deserves life and joy and activity and nature, and I'm going to give it to her.
Sometimes I'm pissed off when the Monster talks over me, especially when I'm trying to talk to my friends or hug my kids. But he isn't going anywhere. Maybe I need to ask Aria to kick his ass for me. She's hardcore.
