There is certainly something to be said for expecting the worst. These past two days have been so much better than I was anticipating. So much better. Now, it’s only two days and many of the effects of chemo are cumulative and therefore get worse as time goes on, but so far, it hasn’t been bad at all.

Austin feels totally fine. He’s eating and sleeping and playing like his regular little self. Mark and I have spent most of the past forty-eight hours wheeling the IV pole around behind him as he zooms his ride-on car around the nurses’ station, lap after lap. He’s eaten big hefty meals and has been peeing and pooping like a champ. Radiation is our one “outing” each day, requiring a trip to sedation and then a quick (I mean ten-minute!) visit to radiation before heading back to our regular space. Every time one of us goes home for a few hours, Austin sends numerous requests for additional toys, so his room now looks like a Toys R Us ad book. He chases the nurses with his remote control cars and is often found wearing his goggles in bed, chain saw in hand, ready for anything.

Oh, and before I forget, I deeply apologize for any rapid heart rates or spikes in blood pressure I caused by last week’s post that referred to “18 to 30 MONTHS of chemo.” As I think most of you figured out, my sleep-deprived self meant to write 18 to 30 weeks. It is, at times, understandably hard to think straight. I used to blame this on “mommy brain” but am finding that “chemo fog” affects more than just the immediate patient.

In other news, we pulled our house off the market last week as we can’t have strangers dragging their germs throughout it during showings. (Plus we can’t devote time and energy we simply don’t have to preparing it for showings.) We do need to keep it super-clean but not necessarily super-neat. Plus, we’re unable to move into the new house until the construction is completely finished and any unfinished portions are safely sealed off. This decision, of course, means a major mind shift for me, who was excitedly planning every new inch of our space. But we’ve decided that such a drastic change in our everyday surroundings probably isn’t wise right now, so will likely stay here until treatment ends. Both boys feel safe and secure here, they know their way around, the routines feel normal. It would be a shame for Austin’s first weeks and months in the new house (and all of our first weeks and months in the new house) to be tainted by cancer treatment.

If we wait until this is over, the move can be all the more symbolic. We will be moving into that new house as a new beginning, with a new lease on life, happy and together and alive, and we will not bring any cancer with us.

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