Thursday, October 03, 2013

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

The whole idea of watching my son lose his hair has terrified me from the very start, which was all of three weeks ago. Check it out: three weeks ago, at this very moment, we had NO IDEA that anything was wrong. How crazy is that?

Three weeks ago, Guy took Adi in for bloodwork in the morning, and caught up with Adi's school bus right afterwards. My main concern was how this change in our morning schedule meant that I had be back from my 5:30 am walk by 6:20.

Three weeks ago, my friends had just arrived from the states for their long-awaited visit, and I was full of plans for the days ahead. I was especially excited to have someone to pass the long hours of Yom Kippur with. I had even come up with a schedule that would give all the adults time to daven, time to rest, and time to care for the kids.

Three weeks ago, I was working on several large projects, juggling work and family and usually getting most of it mostly right.

And then everything kind of exploded in our faces, and all of a sudden, we were being offered tea in the emergency room, and learning that kids can have chemotherapy on an outpatient basis, and we were stuck in this bizarro-world place where bald children roamed the halls and the ghosts of their parents trailed them with IV poles.

Anyway, Adi was not really loving on the idea of losing his hair, either, and made a point of telling us, multiple times a day, that he didn't want to be bald. A couple of the nurses told us that a lot of people go for the early crew cut, to kind of ease the blow. When the hair falls out, it falls in clumps, which is scary, and it tends to fall into food, into the kid's eyes, and so on, which is annoying.

So we borrowed a shaver from a friend, and Adi -- along with Guy, Yoni, and Amit -- are all sporting shaved heads. And I was still kind of internalizing their new look, and trying to ignore the pile of hair on the floor when my parents called.

My mom has breast cancer.

Apparently, the universe subscribes to the "kick them when they're down" theory.

Let's take a moment and review, shall we? My developmentally disabled son has leukemia. And now my mom has breast cancer. So I can't go visit my mom, and she can't come here. We all have to muddle our way through this shit without the benefit of each other, which sucks. I have to tell my kids that another person they love is sick. And I have to figure out a way to keep getting up every morning and going through the motions of functioning as a mother, a daughter, a sibling, a friend.

It has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad year so far.

This is the part where I'm supposed to put something optimistic, or darkly funny, or I don't know what, but I can't. I cannot figure out where to go from here. I do not see any sense in what's happening to my family, to my world.

I am extremely hopeful that my son and my mom will be fine. That this will just be a crappy, crappy year, and then we can move on. I won't say something silly like, "I'm sure we can only go up from here!" because CLEARLY the universe has a SICK sense of humor. So, yeah. Nice, universe. If you don't have anything nice to say, SHUT THE HELL UP.

7 comments:

Crystal T. said...

I could not agree with you more. Last year after my son was diagnosed with cancer, it was like we were shoved into a shitstorm. It was awful - one thing after another.

I hate cancer. It feels like it sucks the life out of everything.

Crystal T. said...

Also, I'm sorry about your mom. That's a lot to deal with at one time!

Anonymous said...

I am so sorry that you are all going through such a painful time! I'm also sorry to hear that Irene has cancer. We pray for Adi's recovery, as well as your mother's recovery, and send our loving thoughts your way.

Judy and Jack Schnee

Dee said...

If there's one thing the universe can be, it's a cruel bitch. And I'm so very sorry that you've found that out for yourselves in this very trying and shitty year.

I have been praying for Adi and for your family. I will now add your mom to that and hope with all my heart that both of them come out the victors in their fights with this horrible disease.

Thinking of you. It sounds like so little when I see it in writing but I mean every word of it.

Chaia said...

Oh, Abbi, I'm so so sorry! I can't offer you anything other than hugs, and if you ever want to chat, let me know.

Lisa said...

Words are totally inadequate...seriously though universe, a break is in order.

technically said...

Disease is a human condition. It was never intended for us, but is a product of fallen man.

What an incredible time to drop all misconceptions and grudges and turn your eyes and heart to a loving God. A God who cares deeply for you, no matter how much you'd like to deny it.

I want to stand in agreement with you and your family in prayer, asking for strength, peace and hope in a hopeless situation. And maybe even a couple miracles. ;)