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When The Lights Go Out

My baby has cancer. I can type it, but I can’t say it yet. Facebook followers say that I’m being strong. I don’t feel that strong – at least not when the lights go out.

It doesn’t take long to get in a hospital routine. I get LJ settled down and then I put on my pajamas. Marc and I fluff our plastic covered pillows, grab our throw blankets and say good night to each other. Then the lights go out.

I see the flashing lights on her monitors in the dark and wonder, “is this really happening?”

The resource nurse gave us a binder full of information about cancer, chemotherapy, broviacs, etc. I searched for a manual of what to do when you feel like the tiny little cancer patient could be, in fact, stronger than her healthy mama when the lights go out.

Her body is tolerating the chemo beautifully. She smiles ALL of the time. She doesn’t feel sorry for herself. She doesn’t wonder if this is real. She takes one day at a time and climbs this mountain one step at a time.

I admire her.

She sleeps when the lights go out.


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