Round #5

Together time

The two weeks since Noah's surgery have been a delightful time for both Noah and his family. His young little body and his big spirit have both contributed to a very quick recovery from his major surgery.

The biggest obstacle we had to overcome in the healing process was making sure that our little guy didn't overextend himself too quickly. We were advised to get Noah moving after the surgery, as this would help him get onto the healing track. This was not a problem for Noah. Within a day, we were back to chasing him around with IV poles while he rode recklessly around and around the loop of the post-surgical ward, careening off of parked carts and skidding around corners. Throw in a couple of extra lines, including an epidural which went directly into his spine and which would grow dangerously taut as he raced ahead, (in spite of repeated and desperate pleas to slow down) and it all added up to a tense and perilous scene.

We were relieved to take him home for the remainder of his recovery time the Monday following his Friday afternoon surgery. It would be safer for him at home...or at least it would be safer for everyone else on the ward with him at home.

And the time spent at home since then has been some of the best family time we have ever had with little Noah.

Of course, over here, we are all back under a lockdown and schools have been shuttered once again. The whole gang is operating in a shared space and, though paths get crossed and tempers occasionally flare it has been a blessing to spend forced family time together. Impending cancer treatments also put a time limit on things and this helps everyone to appreciate the times that are good.

Last round at Mac

So now, six weeks since his last round, Noah is back at McMaster for his fifth and final round of chemo for this stage of his treatment.

On Friday he checked in and received his first of three days of chemotherapy medications. This round will be identical to his third round in terms of the drugs he is given, the prevention measures taken and the potential side effects. These include being on a steady flow of intravenous fluids and solutions so that the drugs don't harm his bladder or deplete his nutrients. And, already, he is losing his appetite and feeling nauseous. After the third round, Noah had a pretty tough time keeping food and fluids down during the week that followed his hospital stay and so we are bracing ourselves for the difficulties ahead, hoping that enough nutrition gets in and stays in until he gets over the worst of the side effects.

Once Noah is back home, once he is over the side effects and once his blood counts begin to bounce back Noah will be onto the next stage of his course of treatment - the stem cell transplant which will take place at Sick Kids hospital in Toronto. He will undergo a battery of scans and assessments before making this trip and so we will also get our first real news about how treatment is working so far.

There will be more on this later, though, since everything happens one step at a time.

One step at a time.

Now

Between the pandemic and Noah's cancer treatments, I feel as if we have been living in a very weird mental space that resides somewhere between a future built on hope and prayer and a present filled with struggle and gratitude. We want so much to look beyond these rounds of chemo and to live in a space where Noah's cancer treatments are over and where Noah's cancer is gone and where life is filled with possibilities and potential.

But hope does not exist without being anchored in the present. In this way, hope is inexorable from our present existence and is, also, divinely intertwined with holy Presence. They are both manifestations of God's grace.

The difference between parenting biological and adoptive children is that the miracle of love and family is more astonishing and mysterious and grace-filled. That love and tenderness and care grow, blossom and fruit between parents and children, siblings and a brother - and all out of a seeming nothing - is a gift from God.

And in the presence of hope and in being present, we feel the joy of this gift most fully.

Noah grew more healthy and more strong and more vivacious and more lively and more joyful than we have ever known him to be over the last few weeks. He was chatting up a storm, being ridiculous, bossing everyone around, telling stories, smiling, laughing and loving. His beautiful eyelashes began to grow. He was thankful for the reprieve from his NG "tubies".

We were grateful because we could see his beautiful, glowing face.

He was coming back and becoming something more with the extra time between rounds of chemo.

And one afternoon, as Noah and I danced to loud "man-music" (read - Bob Seger) I picked Noah up, spun him around, kissed his little bald head and was overwhelmed by how beautiful one astonishingly ordinary moment could also feel so divinely eternal.

Because I (we) love him so much. He is our gift from God.