More Oomph!

William hasn't been very interested in talking with us about cancer. We try to talk openly with him and explain what is going on, but it's always in terms he can understand. He does not associate cancer with death (for which we are grateful) and his primary concern remains his hair. Oh, and the fact that he won't be attending school this next year and won't be able to walk to and from school on his own. He had to wait until the 3rd grade and has been anxiously counting down since Kindergarten!

I was talking to Lisa this morning, mentioning that we had tried to talk with William the other night and he told us, "I don't want to talk about cancer." Lisa and her husband, Dan, a child psychologist, have been entrusted with the duty of making sure our mental health is intact (more or less) and that we are communicating with our children appropriately and not missing any red flags or warning signs due to our own stresses. Lisa reminded me to just make sure the communication lines remain open and suggested some ways to pose questions.

William woke up a while later and wanted to snuggle before coming down to eat. So I crawled in bed with him and we started to chat. I asked him what things make him happy. Then I asked him what things make him scared. He replied, "Big flies that sound like bees." Okay, duly noted. That's progress. I asked if cancer scares him and he said calmly, "No." I asked why he plays his DS when we go to the clinic and when he's getting ready for a procedure. I assumed it was a coping mechanism for his fear. He replied, "It's boring when the doctors talk to you. I listen when they talk to me, but you're boring." Okay. That works for me.

This week is our "good" week. It is the week he should be feeling more oomph because it's the last week before he gets hit with chemo again. It's a vicious cycle. He managed to eat today without needing any morphine. Yea! This means his painful mouth sores are healing. On Thursday he is scheduled for his first CT scan since the original ones before therapy began. The doctors can no longer feel the tumor when they feel his abdomen, so we are all anxious for what the scan reveals about the current size of the tumor.

For those of you who like specifics to pray for this week, pray:
1) the tumor is shrinking away from his aorta and major vessels in preparation for a successful removal surgery
2) he will continue to eat and gain some weight
3) his bone marrow will be free from cancer cells so the bone marrow harvest will happen.

The next couple weeks feel like big weeks: we'll get a better idea of how his body and the tumor are responding to chemo through scans and biopsies and we'll be hopefully crossing a major hurdle by harvesting his bone marrow. Things feel like there are going well right now as we take one day at a time. We focus on immediate needs and find joy in small things, i.e., snuggling, holding hands, finishing a shake, playing games together, doing Mad Libs, picking strawberries from the garden, watching our sunflower grow, piggyback rides, conversations about big flies. Perhaps there is a poignant life lesson in that. How much better would our lives be if we just focus on making today great? I can't control whether William wins or loses this battle, but I can make sure that he knows how much he is loved and how much happiness can be found in life right now.

I have heartache when I think about what still lies ahead (can be tied into life lesson discussed above). William still has some big hurdles to cross in the coming months. Talking to one of his oncologists Sunday morning, I was searching for some little nugget of good news to cling to. He didn't have bad new, just noted his current condition. I asked him if things looked particularly good because he's tolerated his aggressive chemo cocktails seemingly well. His response was a low-key, "Well, he's two for two." That basically told me, we gave him 2 cycles of chemo and he survived both. Again, I'm grateful. I wanted him to say he beat the odds and the rest of treatment should be smooth sailing, (I know that sounds unrealistic, but I think that was truly in my heart). I know he won't beat the odds until he makes it through his entire treatment and the tumor and cells are all gone.

When I feel exhausted about how our lives have been the past 2 months (almost), I have to muster a little extra oomph because we are just getting the beginning chunk under our belts. So I'll sign out for now and go to sleep and hopefully wake up with a little extra oomph for the tomorrow.