Blogging about life and living it to the fullest. Pretend princess/mermaid. Actual basic southern millennial trophy wife.
Childhood Cancer

Sometimes It’s Okay to Cry

Y’all. This is not a light-hearted post. This is deep. It’s raw, and it’s real, so if you don’t feel like reading it, then please don’t.

I’m writing tonight because I need to let these feelings out. I’m not seeking pity or attention, just FYI. But someone, somewhere out there in the world will read this, and she will feel like she’s not alone. She’s not crazy. And that’s why I write.

Today was a completely normal day for Matt, Reese, and me. Or as normal as it gets when you’re living in another town that’s not home– separated from your oldest child who is being taken care of by loving grandparents. With one parent staying overnight in the hospital room with Reese, and the other staying at the Ronald McDonald House a couple blocks away because only one parent is allowed to stay in the room at a time. Today, I woke up at the Ronald McDonald House– because I slept in the hospital for the last two nights in a row, so Matt could have a break because he does so much during the day as far as chasing Reese all around the hospital goes– making sure none of his lines becomes twisted or tangled or disconnected from the IV pole. It’s exhausting, and this pregnant momma can’t exactly run all over the place right now because (1) my hips and back are killing me because this child is getting huge, and (2) I’m exhausted. Emotionally, mentally, and physically.

That being said, I woke up at the Ronald McDonald House. I slept in (which was probably selfish, but I needed it), and I walked over to the hospital (which is actually quite a walk– probably half a mile, and that’s harder than you think when you’re pregnant and carrying all of your crap with you). I got over to the hospital around 11. I had told Matt I was going to be there by 10. It took me a little longer because I had to change outfits. It was 80 degrees yesterday, and I walked outside this morning to a crisp and misty 60 degrees. Brrr. That’s pretty cold for a South Carolinian (I know some of y’all are dying laughing, but that’s just how we roll). So I had to switch from a vest to a jacket and beanie. Because, you know, fashion. But I got to the hospital late, and Matt was annoyed. Understandable.

We hung out with Reese in the playroom for a little bit. We got the whole place to ourselves during closed hours because Reese is post-transplant, so he’s only allowed to play in there when no one else is there. The child life specialist offered to watch Reese in the playroom so Matt and I could grab lunch for a couple minutes. This was the first time we had been alone together in days. We enjoyed ourselves in the cafeteria for 30ish minutes, and it was great to get to talk for a little bit. I miss that.

Back to the hospital room to watch some more movies with Reese. I played around on my phone (social media…#bloggerlife), while Matt and Reese sat in the chair and watched Air Bud (total 90s throwback). Such a nice change from Brave and Finding Dory and Moana– those have been on repeat for days, and it’s gotten really old. When Reese got bored of the movie, Matt took him on some laps around the halls in one of the ride-on cars for a change of scenery.

Reese hasn’t been taking naps because his sleep schedule is all screwed up and has been since we’ve been at the hospital. And it’s not like it’s easy to sleep when people are constantly coming in and out of your room to clean, change your sheets, adjust your meds, check vitals, and ask questions. So at this point Matt hasn’t really gotten a break or any time for himself (other than the time he’s gotten to spend at the Ronald McDonald House for the past few nights).

I go upstairs to bring dinner back down to our room. Because some volunteers had made Thanksgiving dinner for families with kids in the hospital. SO YUMMY. Matt told me before I left that he would just go up and get his own food when I came back, and I kind of heard him say that, but I didn’t really think anything of it. So when I get up to the food room, I grab two plates– one for me and one for him– because I figured it would be nice for us to eat together, and it would save him a trip up the stairs and risking the food being gone when he got there. I was trying to do a nice thing for my husband because I know how stressed out he is and how difficult things are for us right now.

When I got back down to the room with both plates, Matt started asking me why I got his food. He told me he wanted to get his own food. He didn’t want me to bring him anything because he wanted to get out of the room and get it himself. I just stand there in shock.

Shocked because I thought I was doing something nice. Shocked because I think he’s being petty. Shocked because I’ve never had this difficult of a time connecting with my husband. And, you know what? I’m pregnant. So that’s not exactly going to help things. I burst into tears. I don’t even know why I’m crying. Actually, I do know why I’m crying.

I’m crying because I’m hormonal. I’m crying because I’m so pissed at my husband for taking out his stress and frustration over this situation on his wife. I’m crying because my son has cancer, and my whole life has been flipped upside down this year, and I have to be away from my three-year-old, and the f*****g loan officer screwed us over and delayed everything– buying a car that we need and getting our house built in a timely manner. I’m so angry at my husband for not understanding all of the things I’m thinking about. I’m crying because he can’t possibly understand because he’s not a woman, and he’s not a mother, and he’s not pregnant, and he has decided to go rogue and enter survival mode. He is going to be angry too. His life has gotten flipped upside down too. He wants to be working. He wants to be putting everything into his residency. He wants to be a doctor. But he wants to be a dad too. And a husband. He is struggling just as much as I am, and there’s just nothing I can do about it. So I cry.

I walked out of the hospital room to get away from him because I just couldn’t take it. I cried the entire walk back to the Ronald McDonald House. And I’m pretty sure the five people I passed on the walk back were extremely uncomfortable walking by me because I was obviously sobbing, and I probably looked like a crazy person. But I made it back here, and I made it back to write this.

I am so angry. And I’m sad. And I just don’t know how people do this. I need to get through a few more days before we get to go home for about a week. Then we have to do it again. I just don’t know how people do it.

Tomorrow will be better. It has to be.


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