Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Okay, I just finished my other post and I don't wish to take anything back, because it's all true.

But it also sounds, well, distant. Detached. One of those moving, sentimental, what-I-learned sermons that always make me wonder if the person writing it had any actual human emotions.

So here's some undetached, unvarnished, unrevised truths.

I'm still scared. I'm scared that the rhabdo could be growing right now and I won't know it until scans at the end of January. I'm scared that he'll relapse and we'll have to do it all over again, only worse, with more toxic drugs and longer treatment cycles.

I've cried more since he went off treatment than in any given period during treatment. Part of it is the aforementioned fear. Part of it is relief--finally being able to let go in the deepest parts of me that I couldn't allow out earlier because if I started I might not stop and I had to be able to stop so I could take care of everyone. And part of it is the recognition of how we have all been changed, soul-deep, by this experience.

I worry that this year derailed my dreams, that somehow I lost my chance because I had to do other things for a time. Don't get me wrong--I wouldn't change that. I did what I needed and wanted to do. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't ache if I've somehow wandered off the writing path I love and can't get back.

So there you have it--messy emotions all over the place.

At least you can't say I'm not human.


Katydid said...

So, human and caring. The parent holds tough until it is all over. (most of the time.) I think I cried more after NICU than during it.

Anonymous said...

Laura--you don't sound the in the least detached--you sound loving and brave. ::hugs::


Jennifer said...

Look at you go PowerMom. I'm thrilled that you are writing and I wish you the greatest success and sense of accomplishment. You express yourself beautifully.

My son just started to talk about his cancer. He recently asked me if "the other Jacob that has cancer got his port out yet." Your son's journey has given my son hope that there is an end to treatment and hope that he can try a more normal routine again. You have been an example to me of strength, prioritizing, sacrifice, and courage. Of course we fight the anxiety and the worry, but you've demonstrated how we try to live out the best parts of our life as we have them. I hope you keep writing - keep your dreams alive. I have my list of dreams too that I hope to do when I'm not at the clinic each week. Please keep showing us that we keep going - until we have a reason to adjust the plan.

We'll be having end of treatment scans around the same time you'll be taking Jake in for the 3 month scans. I think about you guys all the time. Thanks for bearing this great burden with such grace.