Perspective

carseat Lucy Jo is this little ball of energy and smiles. She crawls and giggles and jabbers. She’s the most amazing little baby. She vomits. Deep breath. Yes, vomits. Her antibiotics for the infected incision are harsh on her tummy, so she vomits. Before I can clean her mouth off, she smiles up at me.

She says, “I’m okay mommy,” with her eyes.

I started Cycle #2 with Lucy Jo invigorated. I was ready to get the show on the road and kill the monster. We have been blessed with so many generous family, friends, a few anonymous people and a few strangers who have opened their hearts and their wallets to LJ. Marc and I felt like sharing the blessings and bought two platters of Chick-Fil-A chicken nuggets for the “cancer floor” midweek. We hope that you are okay with our purchase.

As the days passed, the more difficult the days became. She was in pain and she vomited. I was exhausted – physically and emotionally. My eyelids became numb and my patience was tested. I got inside my head too much. I became jealous of moms who don’t have to deal with monsters inside their children.

During the last evening we camped out in LJ’s room, my mom came into the room looking down at the floor as she handed me my ice water. She said that a woman was crying by the elevator. She said it was a different kind of cry. It wasn’t a cry that came from tears and a quivering lip. It was a cry that came from down deep in her gut. It was a “mourning” cry. The next morning we found out that that woman lost her child at 5:30 a.m.

A few hours later I rode home… exhausted… with perspective… without jealousy… with my baby girl.