Yesterday’s blood counts were:
WBC (white blood count) 0.3
AGC (absolute granulocyte count) 287
Today they are:
WBC (white blood count) 0.6
AGC (absolute granulocyte) count 500
His bone marrow is recovering, making new blood cells and there are no cancer cells.
My dry mouth droops open towards the paper in my hand.
“Is it good Mom?” He’s just put on his shoes. Even his feet have lost weight, I didn’t know that was possible. Skinny long feet dangle, pointing down to the floor, his shoes are close to slipping off his feet. Muellers, our friends from Olds, are coming to pick us up for a drive.
“It’s good baby.” I smile.
A Good Dog on a Good Day
Frankie and his dad called from home last night. The horses have been moved off our property for the winter. Miss Daisy Dog has been with Carol and she wants Sam our silly black lab/ malamute (Sam I Am with the yellow eyes) to stay with her as well. He’s such a mild and good boy. He allows a bike helmet on his head for a photograph with many wags of his tail. He never wanders. He has a heated water dish and a brand new bed for his dog house. He can stay at home, look after the place and keep Richard the cat company. People will randomly drop in, passing through to Nelson or back, they check up on our place.
The autumn weather in Calgary is all gold and red laced sunshine, warm through the glass of the truck. Inside his windowless hospital room is another world on a monotone planet that doesn’t have night or day, or seasons. Muellers make small talk, or we sit in comfortable silence. Nicholas looks out his window.
We drive around Calgary; past the Saddle Dome and Spruce Meadows. It’s getting near time to have something to eat. Larry tells Nick if he sees something he wants we’ll stop, but we can take it back to the Ronald McDonald House. People stare at Nick, with sympathy or curiosity or a mixture of both. It really bothers him. Nick sees a Taco Bell so Donna and I go inside and buy supper for us all.
We bring it back to the truck. Nick takes one whiff and heaves a minute amount of what looks like tap water onto the pavement in the parking lot. He didn’t want to eat. He just wanted to please us. Larry drives to the hospital with the bag of food in the box of the truck so Nick can’t smell it.
The covers tucked around his chin, I kiss him on the forehead.
“It was a good day, Mom,” Nick says. Then he falls asleep with his empty tummy.
Monday, October 4, 1999
I remember stopping at a MacDonalds on the way from a cancer center to home. My daughter had a high fever developing. It crept up so high, so fast that we had to find a hospital right away. This so reminds me of those times when the right blood counts meant we could go home or could feel “safe” for a moment. As scary and crazy as it was, I loved those times. I never questioned who I was or what I should be doing. I just kept doing the best I could for my daughter. And that meant I was doing the best I could for myself. Sigh.
Yes. The best that we could do. Big sigh.
So hard. I have a similar story of my daughter wanting a Big Mac while in the hospital. We were trying to get her to eat anything. I watched her eat that big mac. It looked so good that I was salivating myself. It went down–it came back up a few minutes later. I try to think about how she did enjoy it if not for long. BUT – these are the memories that haunt. I am so sorry for your loss. Mary
Thank you for visiting and commenting Mary. We are kin you and I, I’m also sorry for your loss.