This week has been a week of lasts. Sometime this evening will be Jayne's last chemo injection. It is both an immense relief and a subtle weight that is being placed upon us. Obviously, everyone involved with our little boy will be ecstatic that he won't have to endure any of the further indignities and limitations that go along with chemotherapy. I understand, as should we all, that this is but one step towards the end of the journey that has been the last few months. It is not the definitive end and it isn't even the end of our days in the hospital, we expect at least 30 or so more days while his counts drop and then recover enough so that we can have his broviac removed. But it definitely is very symbolic, this being his last application of chemo and it gives my wife and me the opportunity to actually begin looking forward to our life, interrupted. We can see his first steps taking place somewhere other than a hospital hallway, we can hear his first word while he isn't hooked to an IV stand, we get to watch him grow up into the man that he is knowing that we jumped this massive hurdle once and that we have nothing to worry over in the future.
The weight that goes along with this, however, will never truly leave any of our shoulders. Sadly, even Jayne must someday come to terms with the fact that he had cancer when he was a baby and there is a chance, minuscule though it may be, that he could wind up back in the hospital enduring more rounds of chemotherapy, hair loss, confinement, and isolation. It's a difficult prospect as a parent, to know that one day you will have to sit down and explain this concept. It will certainly take an effort of will from Jayne, with unending support from Shay and I, for him to come to terms with such a mind-boggling concept. On that day, if everything works out the way it should (and given our track record, why wouldn't it?), I will show him this blog, I'll show him the archive of the gofundme donations, the letters, the heartfelt messages, and anything else that we have at our fingertips to show him that he didn't do this alone the first time and he will never have to. While the medical portion of cancer treatment and recovery is solely between an individual's body and the medicine applied, there are components which have nothing to do with chemo or medicine. The emotional side, the psychological aspect of confronting something so monstrous and intangible as cancer, can be devastating. It will be our job, his family, his friends, he supporters, to keep his spirits up, to cheer him along the way, and be there for him. Hopefully, after that is complete, we will never need to employ such a massive assault upon the gloom of the sick, and he will live all his days never remembering being hooked up to an IV stand for the better part of 5 months.
To shift gears a bit, something spectacular happened on Sunday: Jayne got to meet one of his heroes, Justin Gaethje. Or, perhaps it was the other way around. Justin was in Safford last weekend and called us to ask if he could come visit. I think that he was apprehensive, since we had just been readmitted into the hospital on Friday, but his ANC was high and he was still in good spirits, so we told him to head down. It was... touching to see the two of them together. This man, who makes a living out of being a badass, spent the time blowing raspberries, playing peek-a-boo, and doing just about anything that he could to make our son laugh and smile. For those of you who have had the pleasure of meeting Jayne in person, he can be a bit reserved at first, and he was when Justin first came in (though he didn't really take issue with flirting with his mom and sister quite readily). But Jayne, being a good judge of character, had a good time showing Justin his one tooth, how he could walk, how he could sing and yell (the two are not mutually exclusive in his case), and just how big he really is (so big!). It was a very satisfying moment, both as a parent and a human being, to watch the two of them interact. Justin, who had never met either of us, had taken upon himself to help this sick boy who was inexorably chained to circumstances that were nowhere within his understanding or his control. He helped set up an auction for Jayne, even managing several other items from his organization to join the things that Justin had donated. The money from that auction, like everything else that has been proffered and donated since his diagnosis, immensely helped Shay and I get through this difficult time. After seeing the very genuine smile that Justin sported after meeting Jayne, I sincerely wish that we could meet with each and every person who gave us aid in this very dour time in our life. I know that we can never truly repay any of you for the kindness that you've shown us, and to attempt to do so would be insulting, but just one smile from that little boy is enough to make it seem like everything is fantastic.
So, thank you Justin, thank you everyone, for supporting us as we hobble our way along to the nearest pit stop. Everything that you have done for us is not forgotten and is greatly appreciated. We've had the tireless support of nurses and the doctors at PCH, as well, creating a perfect storm that managed to create a scaffolding around what seemed to be a collapsing bundle of sticks. I won't forget, ever, the first night that we were in the hospital, officially, that is. When we found out that it was cancer, though that was really the only thing that they were sure of at the time. I didn't sleep, I spent most of the night just staring at Jayne, the IV sticking out of his arm, the crib with it's innocuous and, simultaneously sinister, bars casting no shadows in the light directly overhead. I just watched his little chest move up and down with every breath, his arm twitching ever so often as it adjusted to the new weight of the tube jutting from it. He had no idea what he was about to endure and, truth be told, neither did I. There was no way that I could make what Shay and I, married less than a year, jibe with reality. And, as I watched my son, the most important thing I'd ever done in the world, sleep peacefully and soundlessly, I told myself that I would do whatever it took to get us through this. And we have gotten there. We got there together, all of us, everyone who has been hanging on every word, trying to find out just what Jayne's status is, what his condition is like, what his future will be. We all got here, with the end in sight. It hasn't been the easiest of journeys, nor do I think that it will be the last, but cleared this hurdle with the might of science, medicine, love, and friendship.
Thank you.
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