Fortune Cookie Says...

Well, we're certainly on the same page now.... I am at the hospital this week with Andrew and have been meaning to write. I signed on to post just now and, lo and behold, Cynthia had just made her post. That must be teamwork. I will try not to be redundant.

Before I continue, I do have to say that I have received all of your notes, cards, messages, posts, etc. expressing your sympathy, support and love over the passing of my dad. I am grateful for all of them and sincerely thank you. It goes without saying that this is an incredibly difficult and bittersweet time for me--for us--and I appreciate you thinking of me. Like Cynthia, I have not been here to post for the last few weeks, because it was simply too hard to come here. Never would I have thought that a blog to write about my sick son would turn into a place to post my dad's (premature) obituary. I am posting tonight, because you deserve an update on Andrew and because we are at such a pivotal and optimistic time. I do feel like I will eventually post here about my dad, but it is all a bit too raw and unprocessed at the moment.

Cynthia already gave a rundown of the week and how Andrew has been handling everything: It has been pretty manageable, he has been in overall good spirits, and the bottom line is that we are now one day away from completing treatment. Well, at least hospital-bound treatment. As Cynthia mentioned, Andrew will have oral meds at home for at least another six months, but that seems strangely light and easy compared to what we have been through. We have been at this for over a year now and we are exhausted, yet looking ahead to what next week looks like and the week after that and the week after that, it's hard not to get excited at all the UNINTERRUPTED living we will actually be doing: We will all be sleeping under one roof together next week and the week after and the week after; Andrew will be able to string together whole weeks of school, followed by more whole weeks of school; we will be able to plan family outings and trips on the weekends; we will stop dragging out and delaying getting a family pet; Lucia will stop feeling left out and isolated by her brother's illness and care....

In other words, we are about to embark on life "post-cancer." Of course, as we are reminded constantly, Neuroblastoma is a nasty, angry, bitter cancer and it likes to come back--typically within two years. So, we are not naive. We are not ignorant. We will be living, but it will be impossible not to have one eye looking back over our shoulder, watching, waiting, wondering if there is a relapse in store for Andrew and for us. We are excited for life now and we are cautiously optimistic, but we respect this disease enough to carry a deep sense of dread as we tip-toe through the coming weeks, then months, then (touch wood) years.

I have to close with this: On Monday, Uncle Vince and Uncle Dave brought Andrew his favorite hospital dinner--Chinese noodles with soy sauce and lots and lots of fortune cookies. Andrew loves to eat fortune cookies and when he does, he asks me to read the fortunes to him. Of course, he never understands them and then always asks me to explain them. Well, he got one that needed no explanation: You will live a long, prosperous life. Not to pin too much hope on a fortune cookie, but the unfortunate thing was that he ripped it taking it out of the cookie, which--being oddly superstitious at times--I took as a pretty bad sign. Well, he asked for another fortune cookie today at lunch time, opened it up and handed it to me to read to him. And you know what? He got it again: You will live a long, prosperous life. No rip. It's hard not to buy into that....

Love,
Paul