Hope4Peyton

We’re breathing again…it is DONE.  We got to the hospital at 7:30 for Peyton’s surgery at 9 and the waiting was agonizing.

Peyton? Totally unaffected.

She did ask me several times if I would be able to stay with her and every time my heart puddled a wee bit more. She had her daddy at her side this time (the first time he was unable to be there because he had the joyous job of trying to explain to Nathaniel and Rachael where their baby sister was) and it changed the experience for both of us.

I didn’t have to lean on the wall for support.  I had Pete.  So much better, ya’ll.

(totally forgot my rockin’ camera, so all of these come from my Blackberry, but better than nothing!)

The whole thing took all of 25 minutes.  Seriously, it was done in a flash.  And this is what it looks like.

I’d managed to hold it together really well until the moment he put that jar…the one holding her port…in my hand.  We’d ask to keep it, but I didn’t think THAT would be the thing that threw me over the edge.

I know Doctor gave us instructions and told us things and said a bunch of doctorly blahblahfollowuppainanddrugs type things that I might have needed to understood…but every other sense shut down.  All I could register was sight. The sight of that plastic jar with the port inside.

I looked at the doctor as his lips moved.  I may or may not have nodded a few times to try to encourage him to LEAVE.ME.ALONE….and he continued to talk.

But I could feel my throat closing up and that throb in your nose that lets you know the jerky breathing and tears are about to start.

He finally left.

We had to wait another half an hour while Peyton woke up in recovery. Probably a good thing because Peter and I both lost it altogether and cried like two old ladies.

Or like two parents who realized their baby girl had finished cancer treatment.

WEPT.LIKE.BABIES, yo!

I would love to be able to tell you what it felt like because being able to define THAT level of happy would make the world a better place. But if I used every word ever uttered in the history of man, it would still fail to describe what I felt with that port in my hand.

I could fly. I could dance. I could walk on water.

My daughter beat cancer.

Thank you, Shannon, for being our friend, becoming a part of our family and for being there for all of us every day of this journey.  We love you!

And at the end of the day, all she cared about was butterfly tattoes and getting some food.

Yeah, it was JUST that good.

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I want to thank each and everyone of you personally and I will answer every comment, but just THANK YOU so much for all your prayers and love and support and encouragement.

I’m only going to say this once: I’m totally legal, I’m a citizen! No one’s getting deported.  What we’re doing is getting DE-ported.

This post is about Peyton.

July 14, 2006 saw us here

Peyton looking petrified and me trying my best not to.  That was the bed that she laid in as they wheeled her away to surgery…”We’ll take good care of her, Mrs. Mayhew.”

Ummm, what do you say to that?

“You freaking better!!”

“Thank you.”

“I have your first AND last name and I can find out where you live.”

“Would you mind just going ahead and cutting off my hand and taking it with you so that she can hold onto it?  No, no, it’s ok, I don’t need it. I don’t care about your sterile field….just TAKE IT!”

I don’t remember what I said.  I remember her holding onto the tips of my fingers until the last moment they pulled her away…her eyes locked on mine.  I stayed there and waved and smiled until the door swung shut and everything in me crumbled and wanted to die.

We’d known she had cancer for less than twenty-four hours at that point and there she went…off to be cut open…off to put in a contraption with a purpose I didn’t understand…off to the next staggering change in our lives.

At that moment, leaning against the wall so I wouldn’t fall to the floor, feeling like my chest might burst wide with the screams that wanted to come out, I couldn’t comprehend that we’d ever come to a day like this.

We’ll be in that same room today.

She’ll probably be in a nearly identical bed.

She’ll hold my fingertips until we can no longer reach.

I’ll wave and smile as she’s taken away.

And although I’ll feel a little sick, knowing what’s about to happen to her, I’ll know that the next time I see her she’ll just be Peyton…whole, healthy, port-free and a cancer survivor.

It truly doesn’t feel real.

THIS is the photo that was displayed at Peyton’s art class as the project of the day.

THIS is the picture that Peyton painted.

Do you hear that? That’s my heart overflowing with pride at her talent.

Girl’s got some MAD skills!

I hereby swear that I will not talk about the house unless I have an actual answer…on here.

Which leaves me free to whine, moan and basically be a big fat baby about it on Facebook, Twitter and any other possible method of communication.

But not here.

Instead, I will talk about something that everyone else did yesterday!

Did you know yesterday was Delurking Day ’09?

What does that really mean?

It means that yesterday all you readers that never comment were supposed to come out and actually comment…delurk.

Aaaaand, I missed it.

So, I’m declaring this the Was-Nearly-Delurking-Day ’09.

Now I truly love all of you that comment regularly!  In fact, I’ve made some really incredible friends through this blog.

But this day is for all the others who read and leave, those of you who filter me through a feed reader and never click through to comment….today, you MUST!  HA! I have a cute little graphic picture that says so.

I can’t wait to see some new names and see if maybe it’s not just my mom clicking on the site a few hundred times a day.

Delurk!

Guess who’s going to be the owner of a beautiful Barbie Dream House (no, not the Barbie meth house) in Georgia??

Do you want to know?

Do you REALLY want to know?

So do we. 

Contract FAIL.

NO no no, they didn’t reject it…we just don’t have an answer yet.

The seller’s broker’s dad went into the hospital…and while a very impatient part of me says “and that affects me HOW?”…the sensible part of me knows family crisis and is trying to soothe that other part of me that wants to chew through the arm of the couch waiting for the answer.

I’m a very complex person, I have a lot of parts.

The 5PM Sunday deadline came and went, no closer to knowing if the sellers were agreeable or willing to negotiate with us on it.

*weeps*

*and then eats an entire package of Kit Kats…the big jumbo package*

The waiting game continues and Peter and I are agonizing over the unknowing of it all. He’s sending me links to other great houses on the market in the area, in our price range and I just cannot look at them yet.

As much as my heart screams that this house is ours, I am also very firm that if it does not work out, it’s for the best and another house will come that is just as perfect.  We’ve been through enough stuff to know that things happen for a purpose, even the stuff that disappoints and often in retrospect we realize how much better off we were for it.

BUT

My four year old part is kicking the dirt around with her toe and mumbling under her breath “mine mine mine.”

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On a total unrelated tangent, I’d like to thank ALL OF YOU!! You, the awesome readers and friends and family and just all-out-rock-on-best people who take the time to read this blog, who go out of your way to leave comments that are snarky and funny and comforting and understanding and make my life a better place.

The blog rolled a million hits over the weekend. NO KIDDING.  And that blows my mind and tells me how awesome all of you are.

Thank you.

Which seems a wonderful time to share that I wouldn’t scream in shame if anyone wanted to leave a nomination for us over here, where they give away they give fame and fortune ($20.09, just in case you were wondering what I consider fortune..I’m buying a house here people! I won’t spit on a quarter) and bloggy love. So, feel free to nominate, as the nominations close Mon at 10..and I am a slacker for not having mentioned it earlier…but forgive me, I’ve been lost in the land of WHEN DO I GET MY HOUSE?