Things are going swimmingly well. With very few side effects and no illness, there is no crisis. When I am in crisis mode I deal with what's right ahead and have little mental energy to deal with things far into future. When there is no crisis, life goes on and my mind wanders. So, where is a crappy place my mind has traveled to recently? To the possibility of a horrid "event" - Relapse -- The Return of Leukemia -- To an onslaught of high dose chemo, possible radiation, certain hospitalizations and side effects. and incredible danger.
Relapse is a place where I couldn't go for the first six months of treatment. My mind has started to go there as Nicholas leaves behind the most intense phases of treatment and enters the marathon of long term maintenance (LTM). Relapse during frontline treatment is rare and the prognosis is not good. How could I even think about such a terrible possibility while I was still trying to come to terms with the fact that my young son has cancer? (Ever heard of a river called Denial? I've been drifting along that river for much of the past several months, though I have finally made my way to solid ground of late. That damn river kept producing currents that would rock my boat and catch me off guard, but I digress ...)
So as I emerge from the fog of Nicholas's intense treatment I can sadly begin to focus on this distant and very unlikely, but real, possibility. Recently I have finally read about relapse protocols, journal articles, and searched for stories. I need to know the reality of relapse. I find that having a more concrete idea of what would happen is terrifying, yet comforting. It's such an incredible paradox. Battling the unknown in the darkness allows the imagination to run wild. It is easier to deal with a demon and to equip yourself if you have an idea of what is in front of you, right? Yet, having a full picture of the demon means you have to face the full reality of what could be. There is only so much of that reality I can take before I am forced to close my eyes and run away. Once I reach the point where I want to scream and feel that heaviness in my chest, a calm returns and I can once again live more solidly in the here and now. Unfortunately, now that I've caught a glimpse, I find myself taking additional peeks at the demon, unnecessarily.
4 comments:
Wow T, you pretty much summed up the same way I'm feeling. It seems that the further into maintenance we go, the more I dred off treatment...it seems like such a backwards fear. I commend you into looking at what "could be" I myself have to be that brave.
Yes, I understand that feeling, too! The further into LTM we get, though, the easier it seems to be. Uh, some days ; )
Ironically it was once I started looking far ahead - at first the fear of relapse once chemo stops ("off-treatment") and then I realized it's not uncommon to relapse while still on treatment, and that's when the fear started snowballing.
Theresa, you have to take this a day at a time; the present. We don't and can't know the future. Have faith. Give this up to God. Ask for His help and comfort in dealing with Nick's leukemia. And hold on to the knowledge of the sucess of his treatment and the high cure rate. His diagnosis was made early, treatment started immediately and the treatment has been sucessful. Pray often and have faith. We will and we do.
Love,
Steve and Suzanne
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