Hopes and Fears

It's pretty crazy -- all the things that run around in your head.  Especially when you have new things to think about.  Things you never thought you would need to think about.  Things you never knew to think about.

The "Handbook for Children with Cancer" that we were given at the hospital covers many, many topics about how to deal with things you never thought you would need to know.  Like how to take care of mucositis- (like, what even is that?)  And how to manage fluctuations between constipation and diarrhea.  And what medicines interfere with chemo treatments (like ibuprofen).

The section that I re-read yesterday dealt with "coming to grips" with a child's cancer diagnosis.  It was much different reading through this now than it was three months ago.  There were so many unknowns and uncertainties facing us back then as we headed into multiple surgeries and looked headlong at radiation and chemo treatments.

At that time I couldn't imagine anything worse than the doctors cutting open my child's skull, removing the frontal plate, and cutting through the lining of his brain to remove cancer.  Now, as I've talked to other parents and heard other stories, I realize there is something worse.  An inoperable brain tumor.

I thought we had it rough being in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit (PICU) for a few days, until we bumped into other families that had been there for weeks -- and looking at weeks longer.  Yep, sometimes I look back and see that occasionally we've had things pretty easy.

"Coping with a Cancer Diagnosis" in the handbook describes many feelings that come unsolicited into our heads at the onset of this journey.  Often, they are feelings of anger and questions as to why this is happening.  Questions about what we could have done sooner or recognized earlier.  And always, how are we going to handle this.  Shock, disbelief, numbness -- all are mixed in there with these head-spinning questions.

One thing I recognize now that I didn't at first, is just how individualized these experiences are to us.  No matter what the diagnosis, each person has a unique journey.  (I used to think that cancer was cancer.  Now I better understand some of  the differences between the many types of cancers.) "Survivor's guilt" -- living, when others don't -- has plagued me at times.  Why has my child survived so far, when others haven't?  And why did my child make it through brain surgery without deficiencies when others don't?  Then there is the guilt that follows that line of thinking too.  But rational thinking isn't usually present when these thoughts come into my head.

When it comes right down to it, the Atonement of Jesus Christ is the answer to all of the coping difficulties and all of the questions.  It is the strength, the hope, the power that enables us to keep moving forward through the mists of darkness that push at us from all sides.  Hope and faith have brought us through this far, and it will be what carries us through the next phase of treatment and the next years of unknowns.  Questions, doubts, and fears still come, but the solid foundation of Christ keeps me from slipping under the waves for long.  I cry out with tears, along with the father in the New Testament, "Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief."