The Club

Two days ago, it happened again. Another family that I have some connection with (albeit not closely. I am familiar with the mother because she posts on Thebabywearer) found out that their child might have cancer. A mutual friend of ours asked me if I had any suggestions for what to do for the child and the family. I sent a list to her, mostly suggesting craft things for the child - something that will be fun to do when stuck in a room that he can't leave for days on end and gift cards for food and parking at the hospital. It is amazing how much you can end up spending just on parking (my friend Sally suggested gas cards, too, which was a great suggestion. We spent a ton on gas, but I guess because we were going to the same gas stations that we always went to, it wasn't so obvious as the 16 dollars a day we were spending on parking.). But as I was writing it up, I was amazed at how once again, I could feel the panic in my heart like it was my child. I could hear Dr. Sanders on the phone telling me the bad news as if it was yesterday. My breathing changed, my heart tightened. How I feel for the parents. They will never be the same, even if they are as lucky as we were and everything goes well and three years later they have a healthy child who barely remembers the experience. Before Max got sick, I would hear stories of sick children and they would make me sad but it didn't go past that. I couldn't relate to it. I hoped that the child would get better, but I didn't understand what it all meant for the family. It changes everything. Sally and I were chatting today about the worry. When does it go away? Does it go away? It has been three years of remission for both of us now, and yet we both dread the checkups. We talked about the fog that you are in after the diagnoses and through treatment. She described it as being in the twilight zone. I feel like I sleepwalked through a large part of a year. It was at least another year before I started feeling normal again. I still feel like I lost a part of me during it all and I don't think I will ever get that part back.

The bright part I suppose is that our perspective is different. The things that seemed big before often don't feel big anymore. Even Josh's job loss didn't seem as big a deal as it probably should have seemed. Maybe we worry the same amount as other people, but just worry in bigger chunks?

Thinking about it makes me tired.

I hope that little boy does well. I hope they find that it isn't cancer, and if it is cancer, I hope that he responds as well to treatment as Max did. I know how lucky we were. I count that blessing every day. I hope they are as lucky. May the fog lift for them quickly. Their son has the most amazing smile. May they see it often and may it bring them light. I know seeing Max smile and laugh made it easier for us.

Mostly, I wish nice families and children in general never had to face life threatening illnesses.