Summer of Sweat

There are splatters and droplets of blood on my tennis shoes. I watch the sweat drip from my nose and fall on the dirty mat, mixing with the filth of the person before. I push harder. I grow stronger, I can feel it. That's what the burn means, the progress of pain.



We are on day 3 of Bootcamp. I close my eyes and lean my head involuntarily towards the sun. For the first week of July, the 70-80 degree low humitity weather is more than luck, its a sign. I can do it. I am doing it. I kick it up a notch and force my knees higher, squat lower, punch harder, jog faster.



Blood sweat and tears.

'The summer of sweat', my husband and I named it. I could cry now from being so happy and sad at the same time, blessed beyond believe my life has turned out the way it has. Stressed from the wearing down of the back to back to back doctors appointments, co pays and perscription refills all summer. We've spent more time packing, preparing, traveling, journeying through the labryth of hospital hallways and medical building bathrooms, waiting rooms, and parking garages than I ever cared to know about any of those thngs. After x-ray treats, surprise outpaitent toys and books and stickers.

Children's hospitals have got to be soem of the most depressing places in the world. They make you feel thankfukl the only thing wrong with your kids are a bone infection in Bryce's spine, Carly's thrush, and Alyssa's vesicourteral reflux, fancy medical terms for her urine flowing bacwards from her bladder back into her kidneys resulting in urinary tract infections.

Life is good today. Burn baby burn.