Rounds and Cycles
We just completed week 10 of Liam’s chemo schedule (technically eleven because he was delayed one week) and I still don’t understand exactly what is a round and what is a cycle and why sometimes they talk about weeks and other people talk about days.
It’s so bizarre the way this all has begun to take on a semblance of normal … in spite of my horror at calling this “normal.” But it’s true. The kids don’t cry as much when I leave. I’ve gotten somewhat used to packing for our getaways (although I still almost always forget something … this time Liam’s pillow and club crackers). Some days it feels as though our life has been like this for as long as I can remember. And then I think back and realize that he was diagnosed less than three months ago.
There are perks to the familiarity besides the less jerky movement of routine. We know so many of the nurses and are starting to know some of the residents and interns. Instead of repeatedly seeing new faces, it’s like seeing old friends. Liam lights up when nurses he’s grown to know and love pop into his room to chat … or set him up with saline flushes and tell him to call his nurse so he can squirt them when they don’t suspect it!
Last night after getting his nurse they paged the resident and told him I had a question. It took him forever to look up the answer to the question I made up, but eventually he arrived within Liam’s firing range. It was all fun and games and laughter for a few minutes. About that time the resident said the deal is Liam has to play for him since he got him wet. Liam shook his head and said deal. He played the song he’s been writing since his second methotrexate admission …. the first and only song so far that speaks about his battle with cancer.
Immediately the tone of the room changed. “the enemy’s approaching fast, a darkness coming near …………………. this is our battle cry, we will stand in the light, we will fight against all darkness, til the darkness turns to light.”
I cry every time he sings it. Those moments with five doctors and nurses crowded into our room embodied so much of Liam in this slice of life. Funny, full of fun and laughter, the kind of kid everyone wants to hang out with, making friends everywhere he goes, incredibly gifted with music …… and fighting off a cancer that wants to eat him alive.
I’m just a random stranger, but I want you to know that I’m praying for your family.
Your posts touch a cord of understanding in my soul even though I won’t pretend to even remotely know the living grief of walking through the horror of a cancer journey. I’m acquainted deeply with grief in a different way, as we walked through the unexpected early birth & subsequent death of our baby girl 2 years ago and then a journey of infertility after that loss.
I can testify that GOD will be faithful. Even when life feels like a complete wreck of wasted ashes, without any hope in sight. He’ll carry you, and He’ll grace you with more strength than you can ever imagine. A year ago, I wouldn’t have been able to say this, but as painful as the last 2 years have been, I wouldn’t want to go back either. In these insanely painful, lonely, messy times God is working such a deep & meaningful work. May you feel His arms embracing you. Praying for the miracle of more healing than you even are daring to hope for. <3
p. s. I'm now cautiously, joyfully hopeful, walking through early pregnancy.
Thank you! Your words are so true. We don’t want to go back, but we’d never choose to go through that story again either. Congratulations on your baby! I know that pregnancy after loss is never the same. I pray you can continue to cautiously, joyfully, hopefully walk every month and hold your precious baby in your arms.