The new drugs are supposed to settle her down, but she seems more hyper than ever. Maybe it has nothing to do with brain tumors or medications. Maybe it’s just a kid at age 11. She has a momentum that can wear you down. She’s always chattering. She’s always fidgeting. She’s always in the spot where you wish she wasn’t. Sometimes, Jeanette and I sound like the crankiest parents on planet earth. The beautiful part is that Jordan is oblivious to our crankiness. Once in awhile she’ll ask why we sound so annoyed. We grumble.
The truth is that Jordan is doing fantastic. She’s healthy. She’s spirited. And she’s always leaping forward into something that is likely to make us complain.
School is good. She’s still struggling on the learning front, and the education plan is not yet in full force at her new school. But she gets up ready to go every morning and she tries to do her homework.
The specter of surgery looms over us all. No one is pressing us, but Jordan falls an awful lot. She pushes the limits of her hobbled legs. Several times a day she splats down and one of us helps her back up. More often, we encourage her to get up on her own. She talks about surgery all the time, having reconciled herself that it is inevitable. She’s more ready for it than we are. Jeanette and I practice the Scarlett O’Hara strategy. We’ll think about it tomorrow. After the holidays. Some time later. Meanwhile, we throw up our hands every time we see Jordan’s messy room or have to tell her to slow down and “settle.”