The L Word (Part 5)

Monday was another good day for Steven.  He had completed his chemo earlier in the morning.  Around 3 a.m.

We keep waiting for the bottom to fall out like they had told us it would, but he keeps going strong.  Like I said, he is tough.

I was planning on going home to be with the kids Monday night, when a nurse entered the room and told me that Dr. Holden had called and asked me to stay.  He would be in at 9:30 p.m.  It was 7:00 pm.

2 ½ HOURS

We could think of no other reason that he would want me to stay other than having received the bone marrow results.  My mind was racing and turning over every possible outcome in my head and lingered longest on the outcomes that would be the worst.

I was sick.  Again.

I had decided that morning that I didn’t need the meds anymore.  I was now rethinking that decision.

I wrote out a text to my sister asking her if she would come, because I thought we might need her.  I deleted it before sending it.  I had to start standing on my own.  As if reading my thoughts, a text came through.  Sarah and Dad were on their way up.

And the waiting began.

*****

Dr. Holden was thirty minutes later than expected.  When the door opened I took a deep breath.  He walked in, made small talk with my dad, and sat down in the recliner in our hospital room.

He started out by saying, “Unfortunately…. “

Unfortunately.

I took a deep breath and tears started streaming.  Steven later told me that he immediately got hot all over.

Unfortunately.

He continued by explaining that “unfortunately” the kind of leukemia that Steven has, AML Inversion 3, couldn’t effectively be treated here.  We would be going to Barnes in St. Louis.  He stated that he could continue treating him, and probably get him to go into remission, but that it would eventually come back.

We don’t want it to come back.

He felt that going to Barnes, and receiving a bone marrow transplant, would offer him a cure.  We would be there, in St. Louis, for at least a month.

But he could be cured.

I started breathing again, and started recovering from the “unfortunately”.  This was not ideal.  Not by far.  But it was better than not having hope.

Cure…with remission as the worst case given, seems doable.  (I am sure there are worst cases, but it wasn’t mentioned to us and I refuse to consider them at this point.)

But at times, the road getting there, seems to be so long.  A nurse warned Steven just today not to let the time frame get him down.  He is strong, but he is also a free spirit, used to working outside and not used to being caged. 

He will feel like he is caged.

In approximately a week and a half, we make our way to Barnes for what I understand to be a consultation.  I’m not sure how long that will take.  We will then come back to Springfield for two more abbreviated rounds of chemo. 

Then, we will be off to St. Louis again.  This time for a month.  My prayer is that when we return, Steven’s health will be on its way to being restored.  Please make this your prayer too.

*****

My hope is that this strengthens my children’s faith.  I know that they believe, I am sure that they question, I just hope they don’t doubt. 

Blake questioned how it was we discovered the leukemia and I said that it was simply fullness in daddy’s throat which ended up being simple acid reflux that brought him here and in the process of figuring that out, they ended up discovering the cancer.  He surprised me by lifting his face to the sky and raising his hands, and saying, “Thank you God!”

Unfortunately, I for one know that in one moment you can feel like your every prayer has been answered and the next moment feel as if God has turned His back on you. 

 
He hasn’t.  My heart knows this. 

But sometimes, selfishly, it just feels like it. 

It is imperative that my children learn to make the distinction between how you feel, and what is the TRUTH.  And I pray that I can impress the difference upon their hearts and minds.

Please pray for this too.

*****

Blake asked me while walking through the hospital, “Why did God decide to put our family through this?”

 

It hurt me that I didn’t know, and it hurt me that he had questions I couldn’t answer.  My mind, and my heart, answered “Why not us? Why someone else? Would their pain be less?” 

 

I told him what I believed.  “I don’t know, but I have to believe that this is all happening for a reason.  There HAS to be something good that will come out of this.  We may not know right now, but someday we will know.”

He thought for a while and asked, “Like, when daddy comes back from St. Louis, and is cured, will I go to church and God will speak to me and tell me why this happened?”

I told him that God might answer him then, but most likely, he might not know until this life is over. We all may go our lifetime with unanswered questions, but I pray that my children have peace knowing that this disease, and Steven having it, will not be for nothing. 

Please make this your prayer too.