They say whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger. But what do they know? Despite the fact that at this point I can probably lift a Hummer over my head, I still think I'd just rather lay down and die, dagnabbit.
Alright, maybe not die. But sleep would be nice. A really, really deep sleep, for a really, really long time. Or at least more than the four hours a night I typically get before my eleven year-old appears at my bedside shaking and mumbling, "Another bad one, mom," as he scrambles into his favorite spot between me and his dad, a.k.a. the man of his dreams.
Or, more accurately, the man of his bad dreams.
Almost every night, the poor kid has nightmares about his dad. He dreams his dad never gets better. He dreams his dad dies. And then, as if that's not enough to make him afraid to close his mischievous blue-grey eyes for the rest of his little life, he dreams I die and there's no one to take care of him and his big brother. Or keep them in cookies.
This, of course, leads me to one of the other things they say. And that's that when someone in your family has cancer, the whole family has cancer.
They got that right.