Hope for a better tomorrow

As I sit here next to my mom, I watch her drift in and out of consciousness. She is receiving bags of blood and platelets.  She looks so peaceful, the feeling in her room is so peaceful. She is so tired, so weak, so frail. Everything is a huge effort. Everything is exhausting.

We are still waiting for results from the bone marrow biopsy she had done yesterday.  For now we continue to watch and wait. We are watching for her gall bladder, kidneys and liver to start working properly, and for her bone marrow to start producing good white blood cells. We are waiting for miracles to come, the miracle that her body will do what we want it to, for her to start feeling better.

We are on about day 33 of this journey.  It seems like forever ago when the blue Christmas tree adorned these halls. Now we look at the numerous cards that fill the walls of her room. Those cards are special, they bring hope and joy to my mom.  When mom first got here she was sick. When they started the chemo we knew she would be even more sick. But, even knowing that, I don't think that we were prepared for this horrific journey. Mom has really been through the ringer. Her belly is black and blue from all of the shots of various medications. Her mouth is so dry and full of sores.  Her feet are swollen and covered in rashes. Her head is bald. Her skin is so thin it is painful to touch. You name the side effect, it seems as if mom has had it. It's pretty heart wrenching to see someone you love in so much pain. Even with all of that, my mom is still here, she is still fighting and she is always so gracious when we come to visit.

Each time I come, I send my dad home to rest.  Before he leaves my mom and dad share a very tender moment. I have noticed it each and every time. This moment where they say goodby for the night with a sweet kiss and a look that I am sure means hope for a better tomorrow.  This is a memory I will cherish forever.
Liza