Two. That's the number of Gideon's appointments I have missed. One was today. I won't focus on the guilt I feel for not being there, or the fact that his port wasn't working and for the first time, drugs needed to be used to make it work. No. I need you all to know about the crazy huge dinosaur, most likely a ravenous meat-eater, that is sitting on my chest and refuses to budge.
"Wait to worry. Don't think of the worst. Stay positive. Breathe. Don't let your thoughts go there." I used to say those things to people. How clueless I was before, before cancer. That was when I KNEW Gideon COULDN'T have leukemia. When there was NO WAY it could EVER touch my baby. Now here I am, with this perpetual mist that is thicker than any fog floating around my head right now. It's a wet fog. It adds to the dormancy of that dinosaur who is camped out on me and doesn't want to venture into this thicker-than-fog mist.
Gideon's blood counts were off today. They were the chemistries within his kidneys, to be more specific. What does this mean? Even while Dr. Lobel talked to me this afternoon, I feel like every word thickened the mist, and I became more jumpy with the unknown. I'll just focus on what I know.
Here it is:
We will halt all chemo (besides his steroids) to make sure this isn't a crazy side effect of the drugs. Dr. Lobel said he has never seen any side effect from drugs present itself this way, though. On Friday, at 9:30am, Gideon will undergo lab testing. If his numbers all-of-a-sudden are normal, we can look into the possibilities of it being an anomaly of a reaction towards the drugs. If his numbers are still off, we need to search deeper.
This is when I asked, "What else could it be? Could it be a relapse? Could it be more Leukemia?"
Doctor Lobel said, "We want to rule that out."
That's when the dinosaur found my soul. Not sure if he is still sitting or has decided to start feasting on my heart. I really want him to go back into extinction. Please. I really don't know what was said after that. Something about bone marrow tests down the road for more answers. I can't be sure, though. I don't know how much was a nightmare and how much was real.
Dr. Lobel did say this could be a fluke result. My ears perked up at that, but then he added, "But I don't think so since the test was run multiple times."
Sweet-sweet-sweet boy. Precious sparkle-eyed honey who doesn't deserve any of this crap. None of it.
Gideon and Brody were in my classroom while this conversation happened. Tom's girlfriend hired a real hockey trainer to work with Brody this afternoon, and the boy was so excited. It was surreal to have such happiness and pent up excitement skipping around me while this kind of conversation was happening. Gideon, in the meantime, continued to draw smiley-faces on my entrance line in my classroom, so that "Kids remember to smile as they come in the music room!" according to Gideon. He hummed happily while he did it.
Once Brody left on his adventure with daddy and Heather, and after I ran into the staff bathroom to have a mini-breakdown (thank you, amazing Early El colleagues for showering love on me), I looked at Gideon and said, "Let's do something fun. YOU name it. Anything."
His answer? "Let's go to Cracker Barrel. Pancakes sound amazing..."
So. I bought more toys in that store than I probably should have. We ate pancakes and played Cracker Barrel "I SPY" for a couple of hours. We named his virtual fish friends on my iPhone. We shopped for plants to plant in my fairy garden...
And now we wait. I wish I could say that those horrific memories of the beginning of this horrendous journey are not replaying in my mind, but I would be lying.
Truth: I believe in prayer. I believe in miracles. I believe that the more human voices joined together with petitions to our God, the better. I am praying for good fishies. May they be swimming so strongly inside of my boy. Please pray with me. No cancer sharks allowed. Ever.