I tried praying, but I don't know the words to utter. I tried watching a funny sitcom, but I'm still not calm, or any cheerier. I tried talking it out to my husband -- even woke him up at midnight, squalling, telling him the most terrible news I'd ever heard. I tried lying down in bed. That didn't help me either; I thought of my boys and wanted to look in on them, which I did. And now I am here. I guess I'm just going to have to blog this one out.
An old college friend of mine has a little son, and he has cancer, Stage 4 neuroblastoma, I think it's called. I only learned of this a month or so ago, though he was diagnosed several years ago, a little younger than my oldest son is now. He has had more pain and medication in his young life than some 80 year olds. He has had blood transfusions. He has been in and out of the hospital. He has been sick and gone bald from chemo. He knows what pain medication is, and he knows when to ask for it, which breaks my heart. He has been visited by several celebreties, which also breaks my heart, because celebreties generally don't visit the children who are going to be OK. Now his life is in real jeopardy. Doctors told my friend today that, judging by recent scans, his bones are being eaten up by disease. They gave him treatment options, but added that there is a 0% chance of survival -- they are simply buying him time.
I am grieving like this is part of my family. I haven't seen my friend from college in 14 years. We were not even close. I have never seen nor met her son. I can't figure out why I am so affected by this family's pain.
Maybe I'm just that nice a person. It's possible. I am not made of stone, though I have been told that I come off as pensive.
Maybe I see parallels in my life and my friend's. We were both music majors, and we both have two sons.
Maybe just nine months ago, my youngest son's life briefly hung in the balance because of birthing complications. I can certainly empathize with the fear that your child, whom you would do anything for, may not live. I have prayed that prayer -- that my child would be spared and my joy would be restored. Oh, yes -- I can empathize with that.
Maybe this child's plight has led me to the discovery (I use this word loosely) that he is not the only child dealing with such sickness as this, that children everywhere are dying of some horrible disease that cannot be controlled. This angers and saddens me. And I'm not one of those who gets mad at God, wondering why he would allow that kind of suffering. I don't believe God works that way, not my God at least. That is a whole other blog, though I may end up touching on my thoughts about God and suffering somewhere in this post.
Maybe I think of my Nicholas and how smart he is and how in tune he is with the universe. I mean, he told me that it was time for me to have another baby and --WHAMO!-- Parker was on his way -- BEFORE I knew I was pregnant. Somehow Nicholas knew. And I know beyond any shadow of a doubt that if Nicholas were as sick as my friend's son, he would KNOW that his life would be shorter than the average little boy -- he literally would piece that together. And I wonder how any mother could handle the questions I know my friend's son is asking. I can't stand to think about it...
I am so thankful that the conversations I have with Nicholas are about all the normal things in life -- "It's a beautiful day -- go outside." "You need to eat more vegetables." "You can play the Wii for ten more minutes, then it's time to get off." "I love your drawings. You are so creative." "You did a great job at gymnastics." "Time to go brush teeth." Normal, everyday stuff. Nothing truly sad or life threatening or painful. Not that life is always a bowl of cherries *all* the time, but still, life is very good.
Maybe I feel guilty. It almost seems unfair that some families have to struggle with losing a young child while others don't. Not that I would trade places with my friend. I really wouldn't. I never want to know that kind of heartache. It's not the natural order of things, for a parent to outlive a child. This is my greatest fear.
I think this will be an on-going, evolving post, for a little while anyway. I just found out about this child's prognosis of 0% survival, and it wrecked my world, and then I couldn't sleep. But now I must go and try to rest my brain and my body, no matter how much guilt and empathy I feel...
