Going Forward

Forward

We’re back now from hearing the news.

It was not cancer as we were told earlier.

Our sighs of relief released our hearts from weeks of relentless fear and worry.

Although some concerns were shared and a treatment plan was spelled out, we can breathe.

Again.

No parents probably were ever so lucky.

Earlier in the week, thoughts of care giving were a concern.

Would he choose to move back in with us if the news came back unfavorably?

He’s 25.

That would have been awkward. For him. For us.

But we would have done it. Anything he needed.

He’s our kid.

As the treatment plan was spelled out , we carefully listened.

To the warning.

“Not out of the woods completely” the doctor said. We heard her.

Every word we heard loud and clear.

More visits, more monitoring and diligent watch on the numbers.

Anything. Tell us what we need to do to keep the numbers down. Please.

He’s on the edge. No teetering allowed.

We can support his efforts. His watch. It really is him and not us at all.

But is it really just him? I think it’s all of us.

If we’re all in the same boat together it will come out ok.

He can’t be left to float alone out in the open water.

The doctor has tossed him a life preserver. 

Now we all will pull him back to shore.

To a safe place.

When we left the doctor’s office our conversation was lighter.

More positive

We made plans for Thanksgiving and Christmas shopping in Milwaukee!

His father, his brother, Mark and me. The four of us.

Together.

Rhonda

Good News!

It's been a long two weeks before we could drive to Indy to join Mark for the appointment with the cancer doctor.

During the wait, it's virtually impossible to imagine or think about the best-case scenarios.  That leads to sleepless nights and working hours with moments of daydreams.

Fortunately, we didn't have a long wait in the doctor's office.

The doctor asked our son a couple questions, then shared what they found in the dozens of tests.

Bottom line, he doesn't have cancer.

We give thanks to God for such a diagnosis.

There are still things wrong and reasons he isn't feeling in the best of shape.  For that, another doctor will be consulted.

After the appointment, we had a fairly somber celebration dinner.

Many, many families don't get the positive news we did.  Like you, we have friends facing long and grueling battles with a deadly killer.

We pray for them as we continue to pray for Mark.  Prayers for the medical team still looking for the cause of the problem and prayers of thanks he can disable life's pause button.

We're glad to see that for us this time, life does go on.

David

Still Waiting....

We’re still anxious to find out what the diagnosis is.  

Tidbits of news have been passed onto us…the parents.  

“The doctor called. She said my bloodwork came back normal.”  

“Normal?” How exactly can one be rushed into a bone marrow biopsy and aspiration and then the blood remains in a normal state is beyond me.  

Isn’t there something wrong here?  

I’m sorry, but the kid looks sick. I’m his mom. I know when he’s sick.  

He’s sick.  

With something.  

I want to shout at someone “ HEY! This is my kid! Figure it out so we can go back to our lives!”  

But I don’t think I get to do that.  

On Friday, we drive back down to Indianapolis.  

We will sit across from the doctor as she tells us just what she has determined to be the problem.  

Then we’ll listen to the treatment plan.  

“It’s the normal treatment for this kind of illness” she’ll probably  say.  

She’ll of course will have said this many times to parents…to their kids.  

They may decide they need to inject my son with toxins that could make him feel sicker than he has been in his life.  

He might cry. I will cry.  

For him I will cry when I wake in the morning , while washing  dishes,  doing laundry and in the darkest hours of night. There may be times when I weep and ask God for mercy on my child. For us.  

We have lost our normal.