Scott & Sunny

Scott & Sunny

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Rest? No one rests.

I'm sitting here wide awake. I should be laid out and snoozing away. But it doesn't come some nights. After a couple of nights in the room with Scott and the ever-present nurse/doctor/technician/cleaning lady interruptions, one would think lying down at home would make sleep come easy.

It doesn't. Being tired? Sure. Stephanie and I are both tired most of the time. The endless worry of the situation ensures that aspect. Sleep? We sleep, but most times it is the "interrupted, catnap" type sleep. If you stay out for 2 hours, it is a minor miracle. Most married couples jokingly enjoy the odd night "alone" in the bed usually housing husband and wife. No knees in the back. No snoring inches away. No partner talking in a dream.

But it doesn't work that way. My son is lying in a cancer ward. I go for periods of time when I can someway compute that in my head with understanding. Then I turn around and it is like a city bus slams you in the chest - you have a son in a cancer ward. While Scott isn't in for a complication of the disease, he is still in the hospital because he is a cancer patient. Anyone not a cancer patient would never be admitted with a shingles episode on an area about the size of a Post-It note.

I lay there in the room with him last night. Dozing occasionally. Sneaking a peek at him about every 10 minutes. Making sure the nurse or tech gave me the temp each time they do their best to enter quietly and check things. Wondering if Stephanie was home sleeping to help her eye, or if she is just like I am right now. Unable to find sleep. Exhausted, tired - yet finding sleep impossible.

I miss my kid. He has to be locked away to prevent something somewhat "normal" from becoming a very serious threat to him. The times when he is "inpatient" are tough. He should be huddled away about 20 feet from me now, not 20 miles away from me in the cancer ward. I miss him. Derry misses him. I miss my wife, who suffers even more than I. One of us must be there, and one here.

Not much "message" or "point" in this entry, just a few thoughts on how, even coming up on 6 months since diagnosis, the phrase runs through your head - my son has cancer - and it still seems very "new".

I'd give anything in the world to swap places with him.

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