Footprints

As the day of Caden's first post-cancer appointment draws near, I can feel a little bit of anxiety creeping into our lives.  It's like a pressure cooker, almost.  A little bit is added each day, each week, until the day of the Scan that will have us either letting off steam or blowing our gasket.  It isn't the front-and-center thought of our minds, but it is always tickling our sub conscience, bring us to a stand-still when we allow the fear to cripple us.  Thoughts like, "Are we going to have Holidays this year?" or "Is our Make-A-Wish Disney World trip in December going to have to be postponed?" or "Will we really be able to get all of the Burrell family together for Christmas?" or, the most heart wrenching, "Will I have to witness my son suffer again?"

Randy asked Caden yesterday what he would do if he was told on October 17th that he had cancer again.  His response, like so many throughout this whole ordeal, surprised me. 

"I think cancer was harder on Mom than it was on me."

His demeanor almost suggested that it wasn't really that bad for him.  He's moved on, not really talked about it, but I just thought it was kind of a coping mechanism.  So I asked him to honestly tell me if cancer had been that bad.

"Mom, I don't remember that much about it.  I remember the feeding tube, and that was hard, but I don't remember a lot about it.  It sucked, but I had a lot of support."

There is that amazing attitude that he's had the whole time.  The attitude that guided my own.  As I reflect back on the months of horror I witnessed, I am so thankful my son doesn't really remember.  Or understand.  It was hard on me.  It still hurts to think about.  I have blocked many memories, and try hard not to think about it too much.  I don't want to think about it.  I don't want to remember.

Caden endured a very physical pain, beginning with a internal-bleeding tumor pushing his tiny body to the breaking point.  Starvation at the beginning to ensure surgical priority.  Surgeries.  Needles.  Chemicals.  Feeding tubes.  Loss of movement, muscle, and endurance.

He also was attacked emotionally, but with honest conversation, it wasn't as bad as I thought.  Or expected.  I think Caden is right.  It was harder on me!  I will never forget, never truly get over what I just went through.  What our family went through!  He may have suffered, but he had drugs to help him forget.  We are not so lucky.

I do not look at this scenario with anger, though.  What an amazing miracle it is to hear these words from him, the boy in the bed.  We have been given, yet another, tender mercy.  We are still being guided and protected.  We are loved.  We are not forgotten.  And as it says in one of my favorite childhood poems, Footprints In The Sand, He is still carrying us.