Moms

Moms. They come in lots of different varieties and we have all had one or more in our lives. Women that share a special love for us. Women that tell us the secrets of life. Women that let us know when we have crossed a line or push us across. Moms come in lots of shapes and forms and sizes and ages. (More than once I have held a very honest 3 year old that has gently probed my soft stomach and said " Your soft and Squishy") I always hope they remember that warm lap.

The Moms I have been meeting are a very special kind. They are on a mission like no others I have ever met. They have had their worlds attached by words like Liiukkemia, Neuro Blastoma, Ewings Sarcoma, Aplastic Anemia and more. They each have a tale. A moment when it all changed. A moment when all they could see ahead of them was slumping presidents, exploding space shuttles, burning towers. A moment that changes the world in a way that only a mother could imagine. The moment when they realize their child could be the subject of the "We need to think about focusing on making your child comfortable" discussion.

The Moms don't think about that conversation. They think about the Road Map, the protocol, The New experimental drug. They find cavernous pools of positive energy and mine it like moles in the center of the earth. They keep bringing it to the surface and focusing it on accomplishing the next task. Can they find the right drink that will help with hydration? Can they find the perfect food to counteract the calcium loss? Do Dip & Dots really raise ANC? Can their child tolerate one more vital sign check before they simply loose it? Is a bath a possibility?

The focus is intense.

So is the resentment.

Why is Fortune Magazine doing a cover story on how Prostate Cancer is being cured? Would childhood cancer be cured if Lance Armstrong's child was stricken?

What about the little girl whose mother holds and rocks her while she vomits endlessly post chemo. The mother who had to hear that the reason her darling 2.5 year old girl started to stumble was that she had a brain tumor the size of grapefruit that needed to come out. The little girl with the port at the top of her bald skull. The port that takes the chemo directly into her brain. What about the quiet yet frantic walk of the young freckled woman endlessly pushing her 18 month old on the lilypad while she waits in the hospital, on the floor 10, 20 sometimes 30 days for the ANC to come back from 0?

What about the never ending frantic guilt and resentment that comes from knowing the kids want their moms to be there all the time and knowing that at some point in time, Mom's need to leave, if only for a shower and a cup of coffee.

What about the resentment that comes from being out of the hospital and realizing the world has gone on without you? No even notices how haggard and tired you look , or how very very sad you are.

The only ones that truly know are the other Moms that rock the children, get the ice, search the snackcart for an acceptable treat, call the nurses, make up the sleeping chairs and fitfully wonder if they will ever have to have "The Conversation".

While the Cancer Mom's are dealing with their world crumbling, there are the MOM's that are getting us through. They call and do laundry. They bring us coffee and listen to our endless ramblings. They tell us stories that make us laugh. They remind us that even if the world has gone on without us it is waiting for your eventual return.

I certainly could not do this without all the help from everyone. Thank you one and all.