Today I’m joining Lisa-Jo Baker and the Five-Minute Friday crowd for the prompt of the week: True. Writing for five minutes without editing or backtracking–Go!
I’m glad my son re-broke his nose and his rib might be broken as well.
What kind of sick mother am I? What sort of woman is OK with her son getting injured while playing football in PE class?
I’ll tell you. This kind.
The kind who wasn’t sure, for days…nope…
The kind who wasn’t sure for weeks…no…
The kind who wasn’t sure for over three years whether or not her son was going to beat Leukemia. The kind who wondered if cancer was going to change the number of children I had living.
The kind who watched him become unable to bend his foot at a normal angle as the neuropathy set in. The kind who watched a boy who was too tired to even fnish a game of dominoes. The kind who took a boy to physical therapy for most of a year just so he could rebuild atrophied and chemo-laden muscles. The kind who kept her boy home from a friend’s birthday party because he was too neutropenic to attend with all the other children from our neighborhood. The kind who worried about germs he might get in school. The kind who had to tell uncles and cousins to leave him out of the fun-loving-wrestling, because his port could not be touched.
It’s true. I’m glad my son was playing rough with other boys. He can play football, basketball and soccer. He’s not the best in his class but he loves to play and before he told me why he was sniffling through a slightly crooked nose, he told me he recovered the ball.
Yesterday he got hurt in basketball. Today he got his nose smacked with the ball and when he dove on it, someone landed on his back. He might have a broken rib. He has the beginnings of a black eye.
And I feel slightly smug about that. My boy has beat cancer. My boy loves boyish sports. He might have a broken rib.
And I’m OK with that.