This week was really one of the hardest of my life, and that’s saying a lot, post dying-mother-lung-transplant-breast-cancer. Sick kid trumps everything.
Tomorrow morning we go back and find out if the platelets kept rising. please, if you pray, do so. We need for this to have worked. This kid needs to go to camp like planned.
In the mean time, I was pretty much a waste of a human being this week, so the village rallied around us. There was fish and rice from J., cookies and lemon squares from S., a full dinner and dessert from R. who lives down the street AND from R. who lives all the way in N.Y, the other J dropped off party sandwiches, which are my daughter’s favorite thing, along with the craziest water/disco iPod speakers AND wine for me. And then, today, R’s SIL, whom I have met but a couple of times, sent this over:
I know. I can’t even.
People ask me all the time how I keep going. Just yesterday someone at pick up (hi!) asked me what I was ‘on’. And I was going to write this long post about getting help to get through the bad stuff. But here is the truth: it’s not the Zoloft or the Effexor, it’s not the therapists, it’s the friends. And the kindness of people who barely know us. And send us wedding-worthy cake, just because our life sucks.