- It bonded me to my kids even more deeply than before.
- It strained V in a way that she may always be trying to understand.
- Chemotherapy brought all the underlying minor learning issues J had into abundant fruition and changed his academic structure permanently.
- Socially and academically it made Middle School a nightmare.
- Every time he coughs my heart stops in fear. It's worse if he's ever not hungry or if he's very tired.
- I rub his shoulders because I love him, but sometimes it's just to check the lymph glands on the left side.
- I can't help but notice the little scar the catheter left in the center of his broadening chest.
- I've lived through his post illness depression, though it nearly did me in.
- I mourn the time before I knew about neutropenic fevers, doxirubicin and other chemo drugs, painful neupogen injections, mouth sores, 60% chances and so much more.
- I know that his remission is stable, he's made it past the 5 year mark and we can say that he's CURED now... and still that 40% haunts me, even in moments of celebration.
- Will he think the right choice was made for him?
- When it comes to be time for V to consider becoming a mother, will she think about the possibility that she will have to walk a similar path? Does that worry her?
- What about J when he's ready to think about becoming a father? I can't imagine.
- I hug both my kids as much as possible.
To those of you with whom I spoke on the phone or in person yesterday, please understand that my quiet demeanor was no reflection on you. It was me, watching the clock, seeing the television, comparing every minute to each one 7 years ago.
Today the air is wet and fresh and cool. The house will keep me busy all day (I'm off today) and there are two different offers on the table for the evening. I'll let you know which one I chose tomorrow. Stay tuned.