Friday, June 16, 2006

Pet Sounds Scan

Nick went in for a PET Scan yesterday. Had to lay still for an hour while the machine painstakingly scanned his entire body from head to toe. That takes a while when you're six foot three. He told me that he sang the entire Pet Sounds album while he lay absolutely still there. Even the instrumentals. I thought that was funny.

Today... another surgery to place the port and perform a bone marrow biopsy. Treatment will begin soon but we're contemplating a 2nd opinion. So much to do. So much to consider. At this point I'm leaning towards sticking with Dr. Hampton as long as the condition is a low-grade level 2 or maybe 3 with a very good prognosis. Anything beyond that and we'll probably be heading to Omaha for that 2nd opinion.

5:09 in the morning. Damn I'm tired.

The sun is gonna shine again. Even brighter and warmer than before.

Monday, June 12, 2006

My Chicxulub

In TC Boyle's latest collection of short stories there is one story called "Chicxulub." It vividly and painfully shows how tragedy is potentially always out there somewhere, lurking on the edge of our solar system, loitering down the street, if not today, then maybe tomorrow. Or maybe not.

Chicxulub is a present-day crater located in Mexico created one ordinary day many many moons ago. It's a doomsday rock hurtling itself into our earth, a species destroyer, and it could come again. No warning and little anyone can do about it.

Boyle weaves this idea along with the story of a mother and father facing the potential loss of their daughter in a pedestrian-car accident. It came out of nowhere on an ordinary Friday night and it would change their lives forever. The phone rings like it has a thousand times before but this time there is a voice on the other end delivering some information that is totally unacceptable. No warning and nothing that can be done now to change this fact.

My Chicxulib arrived on a normal Saturday night in early June. Our son came to us late that night worried about a lump below his right collarbone. Surely this was nothing. For us it had always been nothing. Just a quick surge of worry just as quickly assuaged by a comforting word from the doctor.

But no this time.

So the darkest week of my life concluded tonight. A week filled with x-rays, cat scans, biopsies, blood tests and so many tears. And althought there is so much more to come, more tests, more surgery, many months of treatment, I have finally allowed myself to feel a sense of relief. Hope has always been there and the prognosis appears excellent. Still, the dread and fear hover somewhere out there like a big dumb rock wobbling between earth and mars. But I know in my heart all will be right. No - we did not get the big one this time. This meteorite burned up in the atmosphere and maybe a handful of pebbles dotted the surface. And they hit hard and they dug deep. But we will survive, grow stronger, and in the end be better people.

They say it's a test of faith. And if you have none to begin with then it's a test of lack of faith (okay, so I'm somewhere inbetween. But I've always believed in a benevolent and creative force that only wants us to learn and be happy. I've always believed in love. Everything else is noise). Until you've faced something like this, and believe me, when it's your child you are indeed facing it, you really don't know what true faith is. I'm learning.