Relief.

Is it possible that the spring, summer and fall of 2013 will represent merely a moment where a life, many lives really, were sidetracked by an invasion that seemed to spring from nowhere wreak some momentary havoc and then vanish almost as quickly as it came?  The idea seems sort of unreal and impossible right now, but maybe five, ten, twenty years from now Mom will think back and say, "Yes . . . that was scary, and the chemotherapy, that really sucked.”  And those of us who didn't have to live through the treatments, “Oh yeah, I almost forgot Mom had cancer.” 

It feels like too much to hope for, but I really hope so.

For now the invasion still looms pretty large, but some of that enormous weight was lifted this week.  It appears that my mom has had all twenty pounds or so of the lymphoma she once carried melt itself away, greedily eating up the Rituximab, Doxorubicin, Vincristine and Cyclophosphamide dissolving a once threatening mass into puny remnants her body could whisk away.  She still has two more rounds of treatment to complete (yes Mom, you have to,) but – and I think we’re all afraid to really say it, we don’t want tempt fate – the cancer looks like it’s gone.  This might really be over soon.

Here I feel compelled to qualify my happiness . . . contain my relief.  You know, "But what if it’s not."  That sort of measured reaction, not wanting to get my hopes up or be too happy, too sad, I think I get that from my mom.  But we should be happy.  This is exactly what we were hoping for.  Since the day we heard “Diffuse large B-Cell blah blah blah” hearing, “the PET scan is clear” on Tuesday was the best possible outcome.  So. . . YES!  What this means is unless something changes my mom has won her race.  She talked about being able to see the finish line, and I like that metaphor. One thing I’d add to it though, nothing is chasing her anymore.  The finish line is in sight and the competition has already dropped out.

What a relief.  I love my mom, I don’t like thinking about what it might be like without her.  This means I don’t have to do that so much anymore, which is a burden lifted, let me tell you.  Knowing that your mom isn't carrying around 20 lbs of lurking cancer inside her anymore feels good.  I know there are hard days ahead, and my Mom probably won’t really be feeling good herself for quite some time, but even if the hard part isn't really over, it looks like the scariest part is behind us.  Good riddance.