Cancer. We're so over it.

We are not having a party to celebrate my daughter’s end of cancer treatment day.  At first I said it was because I don’t want to confuse Phoenix.  I don’t think it is fair to paint this picture of her “being done” when:  She will still have to go to the clinic every 4 weeks and have blood drawn from her port.  She will still have physical, occupational, and speech therapy every week.  She will still have to wear her ankle-foot orthotics.  She will still have visual impairment.  All this being true, there is certainly so much to celebrate!!!  What it boils down to is this: I cannot party, because I am still processing…it’s an extremely emotional and psychological roller coaster for a parent.

After 2 1/2 years….30 months…900 days…of chemotherapy treatment for high risk, PH positive, pre-B, acute lymphoblastic leukemia…Phoenix will finish her protocol on April 7th.  (It just took me 20 minutes to type that sentence).  It seems like just yesterday that we started…but on the other hand, a lifetime has happened since we began.

It is so very difficult to explain why this so-called finish line fills me with a high like nothing ever could…but at the same time breaks me, and brings me to my knees.  The day we’ve been counting down to is finally here!!!!  (Hooray! Woot! confetti falls, “We are the Champions” by Queen plays, high-fiving everywhere) But also…It’s like every awful thing that I’ve seen in the last 2.5 years floods my mind all at once. (wah wah, music stops, balloons deflate, clowns cry).

There is no party because there is no cure.

I don’t mean that in some altruistic, symbolic, we-aren't-going-to-party-until-no-child-has-cancer type of way.  I mean that on April 7th our child will be Phoenix Bridegroom: high risk, PH positive, pre-B, acute lymphoblastic leukemia: Off Treatment.  I want her to be Phoenix: cured, fixed, all done.  The doctors will use terms like, Cancer-Free, No Evidence of Disease, and refer to her time off treatment as this many months Event Free.  

So the party problem is me.  Actually the problem is my fear.  I am afraid to let my guard down and get too comfortable.  I will still have to watch her so closely.  I am afraid to be so optimistic, only to be given another setback.  Don’t expect anything and you won’t be disappointed.  And I am absolutely terrified that we will someday hear the word “relapse”.  It feels like a jinx just typing it.  I honestly, consciously, try to never ever say it, write it, or think it.  

Now that I have recognized this situation (admitted I have a problem), I can begin to work through it.  I don’t want to live like I am awaiting bad news, or for the other shoe to drop.  I want to revel in the beauty of today.  I am reminded to not take any day for granted, as none are guaranteed.  I want to be carefree and laugh and love and enjoy the family and friends that I am so blessed to have today.  So this is a process.

I can hardly believe that we have reached this milestone.  When the doctors first told John and I that treatment would last over 2 years, the end seemed like a lifetime away.  It seemed so long that I just told myself this is how life is going to be.  

But now it’s going to be different.