This will be the last today.  I promise.  Something about carrying laundry up the stairs reminded me…

My mom is taking The Chemo Pill.  I have to tell you that I don’t actually understand the whole of The Pill.  And, its not one pill, ducks.  It is minion.

The side effects should be lesser.  And, that is terrific, for sure.  She seems to be doing well on it, though it has only been this week.  We will see.  By “we” I mean “she”.

They gave her methodone for pain.  They being her oncologist.  When she told me this, I asked her if she had a heroin problem that we weren’t aware of.  I told her if I found her tapping her arm for a good vein, she’s in big trouble.  She found this mildly humorous.

Through this all, we kids have made numerous references to drugs.  Especially Rachael and I.  Rach is the youngest and mother to two of my neices and one nephew.  We’ve often asked if she’d like us to score some marijuana for her.  Not that I, at this point in my life, would even know how to score dope.  Nor, would I know who to look for to give it to me.  I’m sure I know People who know People.  Its been some time…

Mom, does not at all find these drug references the least bit amusing.  She looks at us with disgust in her eyeballs and tsks us.  As if!  The woman cannot take a joke.  Though?  If she wanted some pot?  I would find it for her.  Know this.

She refuses to get one of those daily drug receptacles.  You know the kind.  You throw all the medicines you take for the day in one little depository, and they are labeled “Monday A.M.”  or “Wednesday P.M.”

She has them in just some bin.  Like a little carry box or whatever.  Its irritating as hell.

“Jennifer.  I think I know when I’m suppose to take my own damn meds.”

This coming from a woman who opened the Tylenol bottle and couldn’t remember if she was going to take it, or if she already had taken it.

“Get a damn prescription thing, okay, Sue?”

“Yeah, whatever Jen.  If that would make YOU feel better.”

“Oh it will Mommy Dearest.  I will sleep better tonite.”

This is just normal banter though.  This is how we comminucate under non cancer circumstances.  Sometimes, the least bit of normalcy is better than none at all.  Sometimes seeing her with a little bit of hair is better than seeing her bald.  Or worse, in a head scarf.  Lately she’s just wearing baseball caps.  Which is fine by me.  I can see the wisps of hair from the back and sides.

She’s never been that mom who shares her feelings with us.  I cry all the time.  Over stupid stuff.  Commercials.  Holden’s feet.  I think I’ve seen her cry like three times and two of those were when we were in The Big House, and she was on SO MANNY drugs even she didn’t know who she was, or how she functioned.  I don’t know whats worse: knowing what she’s thinking, or NOT knowing what she’s thinking.  Or feeling.  Those weeks were amongst the worse I’ve ever had.  And, I know this is not about me.

Its just that we have roles.  I’m the Emotionally Idealic Realist (when I’m not being Super Apolitical Girl…).  She, the Stoic.  Rach, the Fuck Up; Mik the Do Gooder; Dad, the Gigantic Big Baby.  When Mom cries, or shows hardcore emotion?  Something is rotten in the house of Denmark.

Cancer is Rotten.

But, at least we have Methodone.  Everyone can’t say that.

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