Chemo Day #4

Deb Dekoff
Oct 29, 2016
3 min read

Chemo Day.

Tuesday.

"Thirds" day, as I am a third of the way finished with twelve Taxol treatments.

Today, as my husband drove me to the Huntsman, I needed strength. I have found Tuesdays begin with a sleepless night, a stomach that does not want to be filled with food, and plenty of anxiety.

I do not want to go.

I recalled a day when my oldest son, Zev, did not want to go to DPK - his preschool in South Florida.

He knew, at the age of four, that in order to attend school, a few things had to happen, and he had the power to control his destiny.

Any parent who has to first deliver a child to daycare prior to going to work herself knows that keeping on schedule is pertinent to a more successful morning. Routines are key - predictable and easy: Clothes are selected the night before and laid out; breakfast is simple and child friendly; backpack, containing the school lunch is premade and ready to go.

But Zev had other plans. He absolutely positively did not want to go to school that day.

First he hid the car keys. I searched. He lied. I searched some more. He stood, defiant, and said, "I'm not telling." I panicked. He had to go to school, I had to go to my school, and time was running out.

My brother, who worked late shifts and was staying with us for a brief time, would have to drive us. Hesitantly, I woke him. Michael, a formidable 6'7', was no match for little Zev. "Where are the keys?" his stern voice demanded. Zev stood his ground. He was not telling Michael, either.

Zev, however, must have flinched towards the location - and in that brief nano-second, Michael caught it. They were in the toy box, buried deep.

Problem two: Zev was not dressed, and refused to get dressed beyond his Star Wars themed underwear. Michael had a clear and simple logical solution: "Take him to school in his underwear. He'll get dressed when you arrive."

Undeterred, and without time, Michael helped deliver a petulant Zev to my "mom mini van", and strapped him into the car seat. With shouts of, "Mean Mommy", tears, howling, and kicks to the back of my seat, I drove Zev, relentless in his mission, to preschool.

Upon arrival, I pulled aside, telling Zev to get dressed. He refused. So, I did the only thing I could, with no time and a class of my own soon waiting: I picked him up, grabbed his clothes, and brought him to his room attendant while he writhed and screamed.

And I left. This mean mommy dropped her son off to school wearing only his underwear.

And what was left in Zev's mind was the indelible imprint of a mom who wasn't going to play games by his rules. We never had a morning like that again.

So, I posted on Facebook, to give me a thumbs up - I needed the strength of others to boost me while I was delivered to the Huntsman.

Within seconds, photos of friends and strangers streamed on my feed with thumbs up. My phone "dinged" constantly, and I continuously smiled as over two hundred people supported me through Chemo Day #4.

Thank you for making the day easier.