So a quarter century ago, I was in high school with my older brother. The school was situation on a hill in town, and while the two of us drove separately as we had different schedules, we both went the same route.
So one fall I noticed a car that looked like dad’s while driving home. It wasn’t a common model, as I hadn’t noticed another one around town that was the same color. Saw it occasionally, but didn’t really think anything of it. About a month later my older brother called me into his room.
“Have you seen dad’s car on the way home from school?” he asked.
“Is it his? Thought it was a coincidence.”
“Yeah, the plates are the same and when I passed it today he saw me.” he said.
“Oh, did you stop and say hi?”
“No, he looked upset and I think he is cheating on mom. Have you noticed how she has been so quiet lately?”
There was a knock on the door and my dad asked us to come out to the dining room as he had an announcement. We went out, my younger brother and sister were already there and my mom was choking back tears. My brother and I sat down and dad, looking as sad as I’ve ever seen him took a minute to get started.
“[older brother], I saw you today and knew it was time that you all needed to know. Some things just happen, and it isn’t anyone’s fault,” said dad.
My older brother looked surprised, and opened his mouth to speak. Dad cut him off.
“This is a lot for kids to hear,” he said, as mom burst into tears. “I have leukemia.”
“Oh, thank god!” said my older brother. “What is that?” he said to two very confused and tearful parents.
It’s been long enough I don’t remember the rest, but he was able to deflect it and we went through the emotional roller coaster that is coming to grips with a serious illness. Dad mentioned that he saw my older brother when he was leaving his leukemia support group meeting that is near the high school, and knew that keeping it from us wasn’t the right thing to do. A lot of crying and hugs, and serious questions about what was ahead.
The next summer we did our last family road trip and did a two week round trip. Dad went through chemo, which was rough on him physically and mentally, and eventually scheduled a bone marrow transplant as one of his brothers was a match. The odds of success were very low at the time, and unfortunately he did have a stroke during the surgery and we had to say goodbye. He was 49.
Communication is key.
In early June, I took my son to get blood tests done, because there were signs. I had a foster sister that died of Leukemia - she was 17.
We got the results in - no joke - ~1.5 hours. We were told to take him to the nearest children’s hospital immediately. The doctor would call ahead, and to go to the ER.
We get to the ER, and they stop us. “We already have a room for him on the floor”. So, away we go.
We didn’t have an actual diagnosis, but with a WBC of 243, it can only be one thing. That first night, my son started crying. I asked him “Why are you crying?” to which he replied “I don’t know”. Now, this is an 8-year-old. I knew why he was crying, and it broke my heart. He didn’t KNOW what was going on, and what it meant.
The next day, he was given surgery to install the PICC line and have his first round of chemo - less than 24 hours after that first call.
That night, the official diagnosis came in. When I told him, he was worried, but…relieved? Like knowing and putting a label to it made it easier for him.
The next day, the doctor asked him if he had any questions, or needed anything. “I want to see it”.
They made it happen. The following day (day 4-5 depending on how you’re counting), the let him see HIS cancer under a microscope. The next few days, it was “I’m telling my body to accept the new blood and platelets” and “I’m going to kill the cancer in my body”.
It wasn’t something nebulous. He had an enemy, and his sights were set.
Now, we know not to call it a battle, because in battles there are winners and losers. This means the losers didn’t try hard enough. We call it “going through recovery” or “therapy”, to not make the patient feel bad if it doesn’t go well.
Well, my son refuses to have it that way. Cancer is the enemy, and is locked in his body with HIM, not the other way around.
I’m not sure he would have gotten to that point if we had hidden the diagnosis. I’m glad we talked it over.
