But These Apples Are Healthsome Good

It has been two weeks since we began his third course of chemotherapy and we're still waiting for his ANC to drop to zero.  Part of the delay, most likely, is the fact that both his platelets and hemoglobin dipped below acceptable levels and he had to get both levels replenished by way of back to back transfusions on Sunday, first of platelets and then whole blood.  Until his neutrophil count  does finally hit zero we're stuck in a sort of limbo, especially after the precipitously adverse reaction he had this go around.  On one end, we have the troubled digestive system, along with all of the other normal side effects of killing a portion of one's own hostile cells, and on the other, the complications inherent on finding oneself without an effective immune system but still with the desires and ambitions of someone whose lifelong dream is to put every single thing into their mouth before the age of one.  The vomiting and nausea that he experienced for most of last week turned into a variety of other stomach issues culminating in a sudden, yet inevitable, betrayal during a diaper change at four in the morning.  But that too has subsided and now the three of us wait patiently, anticipating that each morning we awake will be the morning that the dry erase closet will finally have a zero where there has been a four or thirteen.

In the meantime, young Master Wood has been determinedly impressing every nurse who has come in to take care of him and his slightly manic parents.  He is now learning how to use a walker and has very nearly learned how to stand up unaided.  The only thing really holding him back from successfully strutting around the hospital room like a plucked banty rooster is that, somewhere between his conception and birth, he was mistakenly outfitted with water skis instead of normal sized feet.  I'm sure that I'm to blame for that, somehow.  I knew that he would probably have big feet like mine, I just thought they were going to manifest themselves a little later in his life, like when he was 16 or so.  Even with such an obstacle as resembling, podiatrically at least, a cryptozoological creature from the northwestern United States, he has been making great strides towards taking his first real steps.  Part of his inspiration to do this is that crawling around on the hard hospital floor is quite uncomfortable, evident by the bruises on his knees and shins.  And while you find the most interesting things with your nose only inches from the floor (yes, even in a pristine hospital room), everyone knows that the really interesting things are really above the foot and a half threshold above the ground.

It has been interesting, and quite delightful at that, to watch Jayne develop and grow while under the constraints placed upon him while the leukemia is being forcefully evicted from his blood stream.  There were fears from many different parties that his development would be lacking, even stalled, while in the hospital.  Jayne is full of surprises, however, and it doesn't matter what life seems to throw his way, he just keeps moving forward with a smile on his face.  It's a small glimpse at the boy he is going to be soon: tenacious, willful, and infectiously happy.  It will be interesting to see how these qualities develop as he grows up.  What will he take away from this experience when he's ten?  18?  I'm not suggesting that he will remember the struggles and tribulations that he endured while he had the broviac sticking out of his chest.  But he will certainly get to hear about this entire endeavor, from many different sources, not to mention the fact that he will constantly be faced with the very real possibility that, at any moment, he could have to go through this all over again.  With the results of his tests and aspirates since the first round of chemo ended, there is no reason to suspect that the leukemia will every crop up again in Jayne's blood but cancer is anything but predictable.  He is going to be walking a tightrope across the chasm of his youth with a candle potentially lit, at one end or the other, underneath the cord that is guiding him from childhood to that mythical state of adulthood.

Looking at it from my perspective, I'm not worried about the way that he's going handle the situation, not even when he has a better grasp of the situation.  There's nothing that can really be done about it more than what is already being undertaken.  The medicine, the doctor's, the nurses, they are all taking it upon themselves to help Jayne's body beat this thing and so it wouldn't do to worry about that.  Nothing that either of us can possibly think about doing will help one way or another, not on a cellular level.  But our function is not to cure the cancer.  Our job is to be parents to our son, to teach him, to instill in him values, to show him how to think, and to foster his growth and development.  Similarly, his job, his conscious job, will be to play, to learn, to think, to question the universe, to figure which Star Wars movie is his favorite and why it's Empire Strikes back.  In short, his job for the duration of these hospital visits, from now until he is 21, is to be a boy.  I don't want him worried about his bone marrow aspiration results when he's five, I want him to figure out how to decide which color Pavel's spots should be in his magnum opus, which will be placed upon the fridge.  Being a survivor of cancer is always going to be a part of Jayne's life but it won't be who he his as a person.  It is a defining moment in all three of our lives but it is not the definition of him, nor our family.

In time, we will have a better idea of how this is going to affect his life.  Maybe in a few years science will develop a better way to discern if there is even a trace amount of leukemia still within Jayne's body and we won't have to have repeated tests each year.  One can hope but it isn't really necessary to assuage my thoughts on the matter.  The only outlook to have is a positive one.  Science and medicine have the cancer covered, not much more we can do, one way or t'other about that.  So, instead of using it as a focal point, I've accepted it and realized that it will run its course, one way or another, I can't really control that.  In the meantime, I will take hold of the opportunities that I do have control over, chief of which is being a good father and husband.  I would much rather concern myself over these things.

And so I bid you adieu.  I thank you all for the support that you have given my family, be it directly financial or merely moral support.  In my view, they are both worthy forms of assistance in times such as these.  It has been a long road and the end is nowhere in sight.  I do appreciate every single bit of it, even if I sometimes find myself quirking an eyebrow at its delivery.  I consider each and every one of you to be dear to me, despite the fact that I most likely haven't met more than thirty percent of you.  Anyone who takes a little bit of time out of their life, a little bit of money out of their wallet, or sheds a single tear for my son makes you worthy of it.  He really is a wonderful little boy and he means the world to me.

Thank you, very much.