Friday, February 26, 2016

Today I had to do the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I had to tell my nine-year-old son that his cancer is back.

This afternoon my phone rang. The call display said “City of Hope.” “It’s either someone calling to check on Derek after his surgery yesterday, or it is someone with news,” I thought. When I heard the urgent voice on
the line, I knew it was the latter. Carefully the doctor explained that the pathologist had called him with some concerning news. There were T-cell lymphoblasts in the lymph node removed yesterday that indicated my son’s cancer was back again. Cancer for the third time in his short nine years, half of which has been spent fighting it.

How should I break the news? His friend was over, and they were building a fort outside. I’d wait until the friend left.

Derek came into the room, took off his shoes, and dropped into a chair, feeling tired. I opened my arms for him to come sit on my lap, and he came readily, wrapping his arms around my neck. I gave him a hug and kiss and just said it. The doctor had called and they found T-cell cancer in his lymph node. He looked at me in surprise, mouth dangling open. I told him they would do more testing at the hospital beginning Monday. They would do a bone marrow and an LP. He sat in shocked silence, legs dangling from my lap. He knew exactly what it all meant, and tears flooded his eyes. He buried his head in my shoulder and began to weep. I held him close and reminded him that Jesus is still with us, he hasn’t ever left us alone, and I wouldn’t leave him either. I held him. He asked about his port. I told him they would likely put in another one. He was scared about getting a new one and getting used to it again. I reminded him we could always use cream, unlike with IV placement. He asked what would happen with treatment. I told him it would probably be chemo and radiation but it would depend on where the cancer was. I held him close and let him cry. He asked about the bell choir of which he is a member. I told him they would be able to fill in for him, but sympathized that he wouldn’t get to do it for a while. He wept quietly into my shoulder, and I held him. After a long time, his breathing evened out, and I felt his body relax slightly. I realized he had cried himself to sleep in my arms.