My first surgery: I now have a port

I felt quite fragile today. Weepy at times like I haven’t been/felt since that first week of diagnosis-haze. The day started with me keeping my cool but with Harrison’s continued negativity and contrarian attitude weighing on me. I’m trying to be compassionate, trying to giving him the benefit of the doubt, though I do wonder whether he’d be acting this way regardless of the circumstances—is this what a 3rd grader looks like? It was a heavy walk to school, with him several feet ahead and “very upset” with me once again, this time because I said I wanted him to notice how much he’s been focusing on and talking about “the bad stuff” lately and rarely “the good.”

I felt my first watery eyes in weeks after dropping him and Sophie at school and walking back in the beautiful, gray drizzle.

“Maybe it’s just because of Harrison, wanting things to be easier with him,” I thought. But then insurance battles and more teary eyes, and the chemo information session during which, among other things, I registered for the first time that I would also be losiImageng my eyebrows and eyelashes. And then Annie, my godmother, drove me to the place where I was getting the port put in, and sitting in the waiting room, all I wanted to do was cry. But instead, I kept holding it together, holding it together, not wanting to let my guard down so completely.

I didn’t feel anything during the procedure. I came out groggy, exhausted, feeling fragile and embracing my fragility more publically. Moving slowly. Quietly. Gently.

I’m quite sore. And quite vulnerable. And quite wonderfully safe-feeling in my bed now, where I’ve spent most of the late afternoon and evening, except for going downstairs to eat. We had a lovely “Chanukah” dinner, for which I am very grateful (Chanukah in quotes because it is weeks before Chanukah, but we always celebrate it when Annie comes to visit this time of year).

I’m also grateful for the time spent reading to Sophie in my bed, and especially grateful for the time spent with Harrison, when he crawled into my bed a bit before 9pm and I didn’t turn him away. We snuggled and talked and I let him fall asleep next to me. A gift a gift a gift that makes everything feel better.

Here we go. Tomorrow: Chemo.

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