Maybe I should have written sooner. But I haven't yet, so here goes.
The beast has returned. The monster. (As an aside he only a couple of days started to be able to say monster instead of monter.) The cancer. In his brain this time. He is starting his second round of chemo tonight.
Why did this have to happen? Why couldn't Dr. Thompson catch me in the hall and quickly tell me what I already knew, that Simon is perfect? And why does Dr. Thompson have to move away now that everything is getting scary? I'm literally in tears over it.
He called me about a year ago when I was on a drive for work which was really just an excuse to have my mental breakdown in the privacy of my own car. He asked how I was and I lost it, sobbing nearly uncontrollably. He empathized with me and talked me off a ledge. And then there was the time last chemo when he told his room full of students that Simon is very dear to him.
When we brought Simon to the ER last month, it was the early hours of a Sunday morning when we were told there was an abnormality in his brain. All any doctor could do from that point until Tuesday(?) evening when I finally saw Dr. Thompson is frown and tell me they're sorry and everyone is talking about what to do. Nobody could tell me he had a chance. All I could take from their sorrys is they were sorry my son was going to die. All I kept saying to everyone is I want to see Dr. Thompson.
Once I did I immediately felt better. Simon's cancer is so incredibly rare it's hard to know what will happen but he did say more or less that Simon has a fighting chance. His tumor is inoperable now, but we'll get it down to size with some chemo and possibly radiation.
He has his next MRI in about 3 weeks. That will be the scariest piece of news I may ever receive. Even the news of cancer isn't as scary. This will tell us if the chemo is working. Bad news will destroy all hope, at least for the short term. And our real doc won't be there. So help me if it's bad news and all I get is a frown and "I'm sorry" I shall not be responsible for my actions.
I think most of the time I'm in denial of the gravity of the situation. I don't think I could survive if I thought my son may not make it to kindergarten. But at night when I rock him I sometimes almost can't put him down because I feel like someday I may wish for just five more minutes with him. Just one more minute. And curse myself for not appreciating what I had.
