Friday, February 13, 2009

Jacob had his last chemo on January 16th. That was the last time we were at the clinic and the last time they accessed his port. While he has a port (which will likely come out in May/June), it needs to be "flushed" once a month. Jacob was also scheduled for his end of treatment scans. I knew this wouldn't be the funnest day ever. It was so nice drifting away from the weekly clinic appointments.

First on the list was the CT scan - chest, pelvic, & abdomen. Jacob had to go fasting which just adds to the fact that he doesn't want to go. We arrived at the hospital to check in at 9 a.m. and then went to the waiting area. I taught Jacob how to play Rook. He caught on quickly and started racking up the points. He was delighted to drink his "orange drink."

Sometimes I'd like to tell the person who who puts in the needle to put a cork in it :) Jacob gets real emotional. It's how he deals with the fear and anxiety. This time was no different. I believe sobbing was involved with heavy bouncing of his caved over shoulders. The guy kept saying that Jacob had good veins and it only hurts a little bit like a pinch. Then he goes on pinching his arm and asking if THAT hurt because the needle will be just like that. SERIOUSLY!!! My kid has been having needles stuck in him weekly for months - he just doesn't like it, so get it over already.

I think the guy was fishing for the vein a bit too. That didn't help - especially about all his talk about how big and easy Jacob's veins are. But once the IV was taped and installed and a toy car was handed to him, Jacob moved on. "Let's go finish our game."

We were taken down to the basement and told to walk the halls. They wanted Jacob to get the orange drink circulating. His turn came along soon after that. Jacob lies down on a moving board with his arms resting overhead. But before the contrasted is hooked into the IV or the scanning starts, I'm invited to exit the room to wait in the hall.

I was tucked in a corner on a rolling chair (there's not really a waiting area in the basement and with the construction going on they wanted me out of the way). My mind is wandering through the past several months. My heart is hoping that there's nothing for them to see in my little boy's body. My body is fatigued, yet tense.

I was the hero for packing S'mores Pop Tarts. We sat in the car eating and making small talk. We still had 45 minutes before our Dr. appointment. Seems that his mind turned to that fact and he got upset. I told him we didn't have to go yet. The pep talk went something like this:

Jake, it's really only FIVE minutes that yucky. Just remember that. It's not bad when Dr. Matthias exams you. Is it?

No.

It doesn't hurt to wear the blood pressure cuff or to stand on the scale. It's not bad when we sit in the waiting room and play cards. Right?

Yeah.

It takes less than five minutes to access the port and they aren't putting any chemo in, so you won't feel sick. The numbing cream helps so it doesn't hurt. Right? I know you don't like the heprin, but let's not worry about those five minutes. The rest of the day is pretty great.

I eventually convinced him to head over, so we could continue our Rook game. He wasn't in a rush or anything. He always walks slowly through the doors and quickly on the way out.

He totally whipped me on Rook. I didn't have a chance. Playing cards or Life board game is something we do together. The points kept adding up in his favor. Then the nurse called us back. He seized up a bit, but I reminded him - height, weight, say hi to Dr. Matthias...

Going to the clinic has been hard on him EVERY week. It's exhausting to walk him through it. I'm torn between being compassionate for him and his feelings and needing to be strong enough so when he pushes against me I help him move forward. I make the nurses wait on us and I make Jacob sit up and do it.

It's exhausting for me to see my long lanky son curled up in the fetal position in hallway. He dreads walking through the door to the exam room where they access his port. The nurse asked if he was ready. I wonder why they still ask him that. He'll never be ready. He just has to do it. Jacob chose for the nurse to continue on to another patient and come back - prolonging.

There was crying and dripping tears. Every motherly instinct tells me to pull out the claws and bare my teeth to subdue the enemy preying on my cub. But that's not how it works for my boy. I have to figure out how to walk him through the door, sit up tall, push his chest out, and be still.

I suggested we continue our game in the room. He faced with his back to the procedure area. He won more points.

It took great coaxing to get Jacob to turn around, remove his shirt, and stop whimpering. He asked for the garbage can and we waited for every last bite of his PopTart breakfast to be purged from his system. Then he was able to do it. He feels so much better once he's purged all his anxiety.

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I told myself to wait until the doctor had all the results from the tests that day and the following Wednesday. Part of me longed to know the CT results. I expected them to be clear. I told myself that if the unexpected was coming I should give myself a few days before I had to face it.

I was particularly calm on Sunday. Many friends inquired about his tests. The spirit spoke peace to me. I find that it's important to savor the calm. It doesn't always last long.

We ran into Jake's doctor at the hospital the following Wednesday. She asked, "you got my message?" I said, "no." Apparently she had called on Friday to let me know that the scan looked good. I never have found where that message was left - not on my home or cell nor Jon's. I guess sometimes it's better getting the news straight from Heavenly Father.