But I wasn't productive at all. I was people watching.
This lobby is such a strange, strange mix of emotions. Here's a smattering of what I saw these last two hours.
- I see parents waiting for kids in surgery. For those of you who were long-time blog readers, you'll remember how we talked about this large screen TV that lists the status of surgeries, and how Amie was the first one to get started, and the last one going.....5 months ago now. I watched those parents worry and talk quietly to each other, like their words, if spoken with enough volume, were going to shatter the calm that they've carefully constructed. I remember that day, and how we tried to find humor and patience in that waiting process, and having absolutely no idea what kind of kid we were going to have left.
- I see parents walking through the lobby, on the way to the cafe. These are the parents who are like us, who are on a journey...and have been for a while. Some have kids with them, others are just couples, others are by themselves. They have a smile or a frown, but their level of emotion is tempered. They know the journey is far from over, and maybe a coffee or a muffin will help make today a little better.
- I see parents walking in the door, bursting with child. They are moments/hours/minutes/days/weeks from giving birth, but they are shooting forth energy and excitement and smiles for the adventure that is about to begin.
- I see relatives of those pregnant parents come in with gifts and balloons and other sorts of things that will act as a token of their affection. They're bursting with hopefulness, but also a little wary because they know that the future adventure doesn't always follow the path that people plan on Pinterest.
(Shelley and Amie arrived, flash forward 60 minutes)
We're now waiting for the MRI, and are waiting in the main waiting room. Amie is watching Diego and hopefully not thinking about how she hasn't eaten in a while. She keeps chanting "Bagel! Bagel!" on the way up here from the blood draws, and we just kept acting like she hadn't said anything. We figure an "ignore" is better than a "no", because the no will bring the "TEARS!".
As an aside, tears on a kid with no eyelashes, hair and eyebrows are way more pathetic. They don't pool on the eyelids, they just fly down the face. There's nothing to catch them. So, so much more pathetic. I personally would be willing to impale myself on a spear if it would help her not cry. Really. Provide the spear and I'll do it, if you can promise she'd be happy for a year. Takers? Guess not.
The MRI today is just to make sure that there's no new tumor growth. They don't anticipate any, at all. Provided that today goes as expected, they'll do a surgery to implant another port in her chest. Some of you are thinking, what the heck do they need that for? (I was thinking that too).
Well, right now they can only give her one type of liquid through the port at a time. If she needs platelets, they give her those, and then red blood cells. Then IV fluids, meds, or whatever else. Another port gives them more options. We like options.
What I've affectionately started calling the BIG NUKE CHEMO (always typed in caps, btw) will start on Saturday. This will be for an estimated 4 week hospitalization.
Shelley and I debated with how much information to share with y'all that they have told us, and decided there's a lot you don't need to know. Dr. Yanik said to Shelley yesterday that "If you aren't scared when I'm done telling you this, then I haven't done my job properly." We'll leave it at that.
Anya is at Grammie and Papa's house, and has been there since Saturday. It's a good thing that she likes being there, because she's going to be there or at Beth's place for a while.
More details when we have them!