Phone Calls

I got a call today that I was excited about at first- I'd offered many weeks ago- but that I am now struggling with.  A friend I made while in Seattle recently called in a dazed "panic" (though I don't think you could call it panic, she was much subdued), asking if she could take me up on the offer to stay the night in our home.  I had thrown the offer out while we were both in Seattle, exchanging numbers to stay in contact for both good and bad news.  I was honored at first that she would feel comfortable enough to take me up on it, but soon found out that it was out of desperation-- she got news that their son is out of options today; she didn't think she could make the 8.5 hour drive home to Montana alone.

It has been sixteen weeks since we found Caden's 5th tumor, 11 weeks since finding the 6th.  Historically, it should be at least the size of a pineapple by now.  Because the cancer tends to rob him of nutrients, he would normally have an enlarged stomach- because the tumor is so big- while the rest of him would be bone-thin.  But he is growing while gaining weight, the stomach of normal teenage boys.  I know, because I compared Caden's abdomen to all of his friends' at the birthday party.  Truly, you would not know that Caden has cancer right now.  I believe our news tomorrow is going to be good.  I'm expecting to hear, "it's working," and hoping to hear, "it's shrinking," maybe even, "it's gone!"

But my friend heard something that I cannot imagine.  While acquaintances made in the hospital, Ronald McDonald House, or cancer camp all gasp when they hear how big Caden's tumors have been, I have never heard what I heard today.  Truly, I was the one to gasp.  Her son, a small 5 year old cutie, has FIFTY tumors in his body right now.  FIFTY.  The doctors at Seattle Children's and across the country have all come to the same heartbreaking conclusion-- there is nothing left for them to do.

"Stephanie, is your offer to stay still available?  I don't think I can make it home tonight."  This woman that I barely met last month and had only talked to less than a handful of times was crying on the phone, asking me if she could break up the long drive on my couch.  I felt such guilt as I broke plans made with Jamie, still feel a twinge, in fact, but it was greatly lessened as I sat with her as she sobbed on my couch, while he played with my kids and Mira out back.  I am SO grateful that I get to be of service tonight, that my home can be a refuge for her.  I scoured my bathroom, sanitized the sheets and mattress of my own bed, and made sure that it was ready for their arrival.  A room at the Hilton pales in comparison, I can assure you.  No one sleeps on my couch-- especially a mother taking her youngest son home to his Dad and two older brothers after the news she heard by herself today.  I've gotten hard news by myself, I remember my own feelings of despair and fear, but my news was never as awful as hers.

Oh, how I HATE cancer.  So much.  I cannot imagine how it feels to hear those words.  I pray I never have to hear them for myself.