Cancer..........How I really feel

The following words were written during our stay on the BMT floor at St. Jude Childrens hospital during Aug. 2010...............these are the days I pray she never remembers.......

The wretched smell of chemo. The grotesque, colorful world of vomit- A thin naked body, bones laying in wait under the skin-waiting for muscles to wear away exposing their pointy surfaces, like faces under a mask--Panty hosed bandits with noses- smashed against skin the color of brown nylon fabric - (another affect of the chemo). another reminder of the drugs she must endure.

Limbs so tiny- its like holding the thinnest of glass. Her body convulses with dramatic bursts, as her insides erupt forward like burning lava--it burns as it passes upward past the open oozing sores of her throat and mouth.

The white thickness of their molten pores spilling into her mouth cluttering her voice with spittle. The harsh gagging sound of the suction- she puts it in her pursed lips- clears a path for air and voice.

As I hold her to me- vomit runs down my back and into my hair. She gently pushes my hair from my neck- so she can rest her face there- her favorite spot. A dark place-hidden from light and staring faces. A place of shelter from the maddening world of cancer.

Today she doesn't lift her face and smile and say "mama, you smell good." Today the only smells we smell are of cancer, chemo and stem cells.

They look like something from a sci-fi movie. Cush-sh-sh-sh the silver canister seems to say as it opens it's mouth; bringing forth the red frozen body parts. A popsicle of cells, stilled in growth ready...........as they are submerged in a warm bath- their frozen state begins to be replaced by the revival of life. Jellylike, they are ready to be returned to their donor.

As they are infused their odor is subtle. But gradually it becomes overwhelming- rusted tomatoes she begins to cry and get angry. As the tiny cells invade her taste buds-her lungs- her every pore. Even her now rapid breath reaks of the horrid smell of iron. Every cell now stained by the very thing meant to save her.

I'm so tired....tired of blood counts, masks, and everything cancer. I'm so tired of blood, vomit and crap.......My body and mind have aged millions of years- I see the stress on my face; I feel it in my body. The soul of my 5 year old is that of an elderly woman. My baby is no longer a baby- she is a survivor!

As I gently raise her from the tub she rests her body on mine and says "Mama, I'm sick." I just want to scream, to throw-up, to hit something or someone!! As she sits naked on the edge of the tub- holding my hand her spirit- that strongwilled spirit still shines through. "barking orders" telling me the 'correct way' to hold the vomit pail- still fragile- I am proud of her spirit of the fight in her. God please never let her lose her fight.

Those eyes- big, blue- from the moment she was born- Alli has always had the ability to stare right through you with them. A sea of bright blue that can charm, deceive and laugh- all at the same time.
But today there is no charm no laughter; that bright blue sea has turned to a black cauldron of nothingness. They stare at you but it is as if they have no soul. of all the things cancer has done; this is one of the worst. The blackness in her eyes is a reminder of the monster within..........