So, like most people with a horrible disease, we have a Caring Bridge site. And I love it. It's an addiction, really. Every time Lindsay is deep in a benadryl or demerol coma, I log on and see how many people have read and who has signed the guestbook. Some days, the guest book is filled with annoying self help style advice - Take Care of Yourself, Trust Your Doctors, Don't Forget About the Other Child. What, I have another child? Shit.
Which brings me to this blog. Which I've neglected. I started it because I wanted to be able to write about cancer. Whatever the hell I felt like saying. About being a mom, about being tired, about being scared as hell. Yes, hell, is a word I have censored in my Caring Bridge posts. Also "fuck". As in the following, which I chose not to post:
When Lindsay was first diagnosed with AML, all I could do was to walk through the halls of the oncology unit saying 'FUCK' to myself. I would try to think of another word, try to articulate my feelings and fears into a well-phrased, four-letter-word-free statement. But there was no other word. Fuck. That summed it up. I remember the advice of my college professor, Doug Fry. "Foul language" he said "is for people who don't have a vocabulary that is advanced enough to state what they really mean. I think I have a decent vocabulary, but it fails me now. Fuck.