I met with Dr. Fleener this time. I don't always have a specific appointment with her; I just walk back to the treatment area. She only needs to see me for specific concerns, or when it's time for more scans. (PET and an ECHO. ) We scheduled both for the first week of September, when all the boys are back in school. I'm hopeful these will both just be routine, as there does not seem to be any symptoms causing a great deal of concern. Still, I hate having to hold my breath every three-to-four months, hoping and praying that this is not the time it comes back. I don't have to start another fight so soon.
For now, I live my life and pause every three weeks for maintenance treatment.
For now, I live my life and pause every three weeks for maintenance treatment.
The hardest part of all of this is just not knowing when cancer is coming back, feeling as if I'm living on a volcano, waiting for it to erupt. As hard as I try not to, with each major life event, I wonder in the back of my head if it's the last time I'll experience that event. Is this the last family picture I'll be in? Is this my last summer vacation? How many more birthdays or anniversaries or holidays will I make? Will I have enough time to make enough memories that even my youngest will have great memories of me?
A few weeks ago, I had one of those moments, when all the emotions of just how much of life I'll be missing out on overtook me. I try not to dwell on the possibility of dying young, leaving my young family without a wife and a mom, but on that day those thoughts creeped in. I was driving alone; I don't even remember where. I just know that I was alone. I was not necessarily pondering on anything in particular, when some sad thought popped in my head. Even though I don't remember exactly what, it was probably about a baptism, or wedding, or grand baby I might never see.
"It's not fair!" my inner voice screamed. "These are thoughts I shouldn't even need to worry about having! I don't want to worry about not being there to see so many important things in my kids' lives!"
"You'll see them." another voice whispered back.
At this point, this answer was as if God was speaking straight to my heart.
"Even if you're not here, you'll be there." (Meaning, I'll be able to be there for the big--and little--moments, even when I'm not present on earth. I'll get to see them.)
I had to pull the car over to wipe the tears from my eyes.
"But, they won't have me here. I may get to witness those important days as an angel guiding over them, but I can't hold them when they cry, or be here on earth to care for them."
"It will be okay."
"But, how can it be okay? If I'm not there, it's not okay? I can take comfort in being able to be with them in spirit, but it's not fair for them to grow up without a mother!"
"It will be okay."
The tears stopped. As if some part of me finally accepted it all....REALLY accepted it, that no matter how this all turns out, it really will be okay.
I don't know how it will all be okay, but it will be okay. That does not mean it won't be hard, or there won't be things that we all miss out on, or that we wouldn't want life to work out differently in a perfect world. But, in ways that I can't completely plan out, God will make up the difference.
So, even though I'm not always happy about cancer or treatments or not being able to do all the things I want to do, it will be okay. And, when I can accept that whatever happens will be okay, I begin to see that my "okay" is actually quite a lot to be grateful for.
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