I am going through old bits and scraps of writing stored on my phone, trying to make room for more photos, and found myself laughing and crying a bit at this list. There are so many things one forgets. I'm glad I wrote it down, because it reminds me that even though I don't remember laughing about the small stuff, I obviously did.
You have made another person vomit with an odor emanating from your own body.
You have ever "mined" someone else's vomit for traces of very important meds.
You wish your kid could be bald all the time. Bath time was so easy.
You use cancer as your excuse to be antisocial. You need you time.
You use cancer as an excuse to demand a moms night out. You deserve this.
You ruin moms night out by checking in with your child's caregivers approximately fifteen times in three hours.
You have put masks on yourself and your kid not because you necessarily need them, but because if people think you are contagious they tend to not get close enough to breathe on you.
You have feigned a dramatic coughing fit while wearing said mask to clear the produce aisle, making grocery shopping so much easier.
You have used an emesis pan in ways never intended.
The entire oncology staff has seen you topless.
Your friends smuggle wine to you like drug lords.
You can make a gourmet meal by combining the foods found in the patients-only snack cabinet and fridge.
You say "Sulfamethoxazole-Trimethoprim" without stuttering.
You casually identify the chemical burn on your leg as chemo pee.
You describe your child's poop by likening it to foods, barely noticing you may currently be eating those very foods: hummus, mashed potatoes, fruit cocktail, tapioca pudding, melted milkshake, Raisinettes, Almond Joy.
You have made a customer service agent of an insurance company regret the very day they were born.
You have turned a pair of dirty underwear inside out, rubbed hand sanitizer on your armpits, and called yourself refreshed.
You have decided using hand sanitizer on other body parts to replace the need for a shower goes a little too far, because the burn.
You have strong opinions about different styles of hospital bed rails and aren't afraid to share them.
You know the value of a good dry erase marker.
You find yourself secretly, shamefully attracted to your child's doctor, a man you probably wouldn't notice outside the hospital. (Those low, swiveling stools, though. Don't look down...aaaand you looked down...)
You find yourself greatly relieved that you are also even more attracted to the father of your child once you've seen him covered in vomit and chemo pee.
They say "procedure under full sedation" and you hear "Enough time to get a burrito".
You know that while call lights have unproven response times, flatulence will bring a whole team of caregivers to your child's room within seconds.
You have ever blamed flatulence on a kid with cancer.
You have ever flipped off a kid with cancer behind their back for being a little jerk.
You have ever realized your little jerk is the person you most admire in the whole world.
You have literally begged the universe for cancer if it means your child not having it.
You plan birthday parties on Pinterest, but if you're honest, you have a few secret ideas you've pinned in a dark corner of your brain for the practically nonexistent chance that you ever have to plan a funeral.
You've seen another parent lose a kid with the same prognosis your kid has and still don't actually, truly believe it could ever possibly be you.
You aren't sure if you are okay, but you are speaking in coherent sentences and cracking lame jokes, so you are feeling pretty darn good about your chances today. Granted, it's only 2am rounds and nothing completely falls apart until shift change.
