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Of honesty and hope

It’s been two weeks since Alistair’s last chemotherapy. And he’s been such a happy and active boy – almost completely back to himself at home. Seeing him so cheerful and cheeky does lift my spirits. In fact, sometimes it makes me feel as though the challenging season is over.

But of course, it’s not.

He had his bone marrow test last Wednesday. We’re still waiting to hear from the oncologist about the results, and also the next steps.

As for his leaking central line – they have removed it. So we’ve been having one week of bliss! No dealing with any discharge, no rushing to the hospital to get the dressing changed, and full freedom to shower him without fear of wetting the dressing. It took a lot of stress and distress off shower times!

But now we’re waiting for the surgeon to schedule in a day for Alistair to get his port inserted. Because for his next phase of treatment, he would need the port. Praying for it to be soon, and praying for the surgery to go well.

I do want to take this time to appreciate the doctors and nurses who have been taking care of Alistair. I’m always so amazed by how kind and nice they are to him. They do their best to keep him as comfortable as he can, and hate to see him in distress. In fact, they take all his complaints seriously and are very respectful of his preferences.

Because of that, the hubby and I are also committed to be as honest as we can with Alistair about his condition and treatment. Yes, even if it means telling him that the medicine he will be taking orally is quite yucky.

We’ll try to explain as much as we can to him about what’s being done to his body (i.e. procedures / blood tests, etc), because I think he deserves to know. If something is going to hurt, we won’t lie. But of course, we do our best to say it in a more positive tone. He is still a young child, and we don’t want to frighten him.

Although, he’s such a brave boy. So resilient, so strong, so positive. Many times, it is he who gives me strength.

In other news, work has been a good distraction for me. It feels comforting to be back doing something I love, with one of the best and most supportive teams I’ve worked with. I won’t lie. Sometimes it can get pretty overwhelming. But overall, I’m grateful to have something else to turn my mind to.

A part of me is also, once again, itching to write stories.

A confession: when we first heard of Alistair’s diagnosis, I was broken. All that was before me looked black. And I was willing to trade in all my dreams and aspirations – I was ready to give up everything I’d wished for personally if it meant Alistair could be completely healed.

But then, I realised, that if we gave up everything… If we stopped dreaming, stopped hoping, stopped laughing and stopped living… We would have been defeated. Leukaemia would have won.

And so, we continue to work. We continue to dream. We continue to hope.

We will keep moving forward. One step at a time. One day at a time. Guarding our hearts and our hopes. Placing our trust in God. Believing that He holds us in His hands.

May His favour be upon you
And a thousand generations
And your family and your children
And their children, and their children

May His presence go before you
And behind you, and beside you
All around you, and within you
He is with you, He is with you

In the morning, in the evening
In your coming, and your going
In your weeping, and rejoicing
He is for you, He is for you

Amen, amen, amen

The Blessing, Kari Jobe & Cody Carnes

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