Dreams and Dresses

Little dude has come into my room the past couple of nights upset and needing to sleep with me. Which is strange after such happy days, and they are happy days, he loves camp more than I can say and his afternoons are peaceful and happy. But after only a few minutes trying to get to sleep he comes into my room almost in tears. Last night saying “whenever I close my eyes I think I’m going to fall asleep and wake up somewhere else and not know where I am.” I wonder if this is his deep down inside unspoken, unknowing fear that I will die and that everything will change and he won’t know where he is. More than you should worry about at 11, more than you should worry about when you have the biggest, sweetest, tender heart. I can’t even think about what their lives will be like should that happen, cause yeah, things will change and there’s nothing I can do about it. I let my mind go there a few times, too many times and it was so painful and gut wrenching I had to stop, and now I consciously disallow myself from going there, those thoughts are banished to the forgidden forest. Not because I’m in denial but because there’s no point going somewhere until you really have to. His fear, my fear, is so unbearable that tomorrow, they may indeed talk me into radiation, because I have to do everything possible.

While there’s nothing sweeter or more endearing than his sleepy head on my shoulder it’s its’ own kind of torture because that kid is a small nuclear power plant and night brings me relentless hot flashes in weather already hot, air already stiff. Having hot flesh pressed against me, no matter how beloved is difficult, so I don’t sleep well. I’ve had to crank up the A.C. and then I wake up cold because he’s a notorious and unrepentant blanket thief.

Last night I had a dream I’ve had before where I’m getting ready to go to a fancy party and I have a whole closet full of amazing, tailored for cleavage, vintage dresses. Spectacular dresses. I try them on one after another and they are gorgeous and fit perfectly except that I have nothing to fill the top part with, no outstanding cleavage, nothing, and hence I have nothing to wear and I'm really sad. Don’t have to go to far to analyze that.

Since my surgery I find myself oggling women’s breasts, not in a sexual way at all, but with a sense of awe and appreciation. I constantly find myself thinking “wow, those are so beautiful.” At times I want to reach out and touch them, put my face against them, which is something I’ve never, ever, even remotely desired before. It’s as if I knew I was losing something that brought comfort to others, but I never realized that in some weird way, they brought comfort to me. It’s kind of bizarro and really, really unexpected. But don't worry, I'm controlling these urges.

I wrote this post today while sitting in the chemo chair. I was so sleepy afterwards I called a nearby friend to pick me up, she was there quick-time and I went right to bed. Another friend picked up J at camp and brought him home at six. It was tough getting up, but now I feel fine, just fine. While making dinner I completely forgot it had been a chemo day. Maybe I needed to give in to that nap all along, I must say it was heavenly, the deepest sleep I can recall in some time and yeah, I needed to get the heck away from the car. The effects of the double chemo are lightening up and with just taxol and shots this week, I think it's going to be a good week and may the four week countdown begin.