Carefully note the past tense. See you later cancer, you are
not welcome back. Of course, we will never know if I’m completely cured, so
that unknown will always hang over me. I also have a very long road to
recovery, with many more potential complications and speed bumps. But for now,
I cheated death. My donor saved me. The new bone marrow is working. And
hopefully, with time, that new marrow will become my own, cancer’s threat will
fade, and this nightmare that I’ve lived for the past six months will slip
further into my memory.
My four-year-old son told me yesterday that he was proud of
me. For what, I wondered. He didn’t really have an answer. He was just proud of
me.
Maybe he instinctively knows that I have been through hell.
Maybe he knows that I went to the brink of death and then clawed my way back,
thinking of him and his sister and his dad the entire time. Maybe, on some
level, he knows that I said “No thank you” to death’s invitation (only I wasn’t
that polite, and there were definitely some curses involved). Maybe, somehow,
he knows that I’m still struggling, that it still hurts, and that I still need
lots of hugs and kisses. Four-year-olds can be very wise.
I am now in the fragile, treacherous ground of
post-transplant recovery. Every change in health, every rash, fever, cough, or
sniffle must be documented and investigated. I am so tired that, like a
newborn, I usually need a nap about two hours after I wake up. When I am awake,
I am not always coherent. I walk like a little old lady (really, I do). But
every day seems just a little bit better than the last, and so I cling to hope.
I had leukemia once. It's a horrible story that I'm not going to tell very often. But next year on June 27th I’m having a (re)birthday
party. Mark it down. Save the date.
It’s going to be a big one.
