When the cancer returned
I think the most difficult time of my son’s treatment was when the doctors told us his cancer had returned. Sure, the initial diagnosis was a shock, and difficult to accept. There were lots of tears grieving the unfulfilled dream of a normal 3 year old going to preschool, unaffected by the harsh realities of life. But as the months passed, and my son’s prognosis continued to look good, the hospital stays and doctors visits had somehow become a way of life, as if it had always been this way. This experience was just a blip on the radar of our lives; one that we would get through and be all the stronger for it.
You can’t imagine the shock that both my husband and I experienced when the doctor called to say that the cancer had returned. Even she was surprised because he was doing so well. There was no explanation; it was just back. It seemed to be a cruel joke by god; a double whammy just when we thought things were returning normal (at least our new version of normal). Wasn’t it enough that we experience this once? What could we have done to deserve this?
There were many tears, many hours spent trying to sort it all out. It felt like a new, original diagnosis, rather than a continuation of his original diagnosis. This time I knew what to expect and I didn’t know if I could handle this again. Yet I had to pull myself together and be strong for the rest of the family. I can’t describe the feeling of powerlessness we felt; the depths of desperation.
The tears were a cleansing process that helped to relieve the fear and release the tension. The tears diminished and we just put one foot in front of the other, one day at a time. Somehow, we were given the strength as we muddled through another path towards the health of my son.