Drop the Pills and Let's Head for the Hills

It was last year when the doctor confirmed my worst nightmare. Mando had Chronic Myeloid Leukemia. Knowing that is one thing. Watching then administer chemotherapy for the first time is quite another. The medical staff cleverly arranged to begin the infusion while I was out of the room. I returned to the horrible site of this toxic substance pouring into my baby's body. I could scarcely breathe. My mind screamed STOP. I trembled for I knew this was for the best. I couldn't stop a thing if I wanted to. I hated every single solitary millisecond of what was happening. I was helpless to do anything about it. In my heart of hearts, I wanted to rip every IV, port, catheter, and tube from his frail little body with my bare hands. I wanted to snatch him up as fast as I could and head for the hills, where no one would ever find us again... I didn't. I stood. I watched. I cried. I prayed.

Mando just started the second week of his third chemotherapy. The last two drugs did not do as we hoped. Mando takes his chemo twice a day. He must fast for 3 hours with each dose. He is supposed to take this for the rest of his life. Mando does not complain. He is so utterly NOT  bothered by it that you would swear he was taking a couple of aspirin. I still hate it. Every day in my mind I throw those pills as far as I can and grab Mando and head for the hills. Every day I know we run but we could not hide because Leukemia would follow us. Instead, I stand by. I watch. I cry. I pray.

Chemotherapy if you must inhabit my little boy's body then I beg you, please to do your job, fight as hard as Mando does and once and for all kick that leukemia's ass.