Back to the hospital today, for the next round of chemo. My little guy was zipping about the halls on his tricycle all afternoon, a sight completely incongruous with his balding head and IV line. But typical Austin, nonetheless.
This week includes the third of his three new drugs, one we’ve never had before that’s supposed to be the worst of the bunch. So far, he’s fine but we’ve barely begun so we’ll see. He only gets that one twice, today and tomorrow, and the other one he’ll get through Wednesday and then we’re home again.
Speaking of home . . . listen to this one: You know how we thought we’d stay in this house until the end of treatment and then make our big move into our big house? Well, have you ever heard me say that things do not always go according to plan? Our furnace, the one here in our current house, is on its last legs, a little fact we discovered on Friday. And it definitely needs to be replaced (I do have a recurrent fantasy that involves some random new homeowners complaining to their friends, “Can you believe it? We just bought this house and the furnace needs to be replaced already?!”). But no, this is our responsibility and it needs to happen sooner rather than later. The big problem is the amount of dust and asbestos (yes, asbestos) and unsafe air it’s going to kick up into Austin’s breathing space. It is possible to do it in a more contained way but considerably more difficult and, duh, expensive.
So we looked carefully at our situation and realized it was just plain silly to stay here: our house is ready (or will be in two weeks’ time), it’s clean and safe (or will be in two weeks’ time) and it’s where we want to be. So, it’s where we’ll be . . . in about two weeks’ time.
They do say the three most stressful events in life are 1) serious illness/death (which — hello! — should really be two separate things), 2) divorce and 3) moving. Good thing Mark and I are doing fine!
But, really, we’re excited for this. I’d been wanting to move anyway, not fully sold on our decision to wait. It’ll be a crazy few weeks, there’s no doubt, but then we’ll be there in our new space, the home we’ve created, and we’ll be happy. Those fears Mark and I had about whether Austin would always associate the new house with feeling lousy seem unfounded — he likes the hospital after all. What more proof do I need that he can be happy anywhere?