Who Cares What the Title Is, Just Read It.

Today is the beginning of our answered prayers. It is the beginning of the end. Today, Dad starts the measles trial. He has been given a dose of chemo already and will be hospitalized tonight so that he can receive his injection tomorrow and recover from it. It's a strange feeling. There's so many emotions that come with it. There's obviously an excitement in the air. Family messages are full of hope and faith. Friends and acquaintances and even strangers are messaging us sending their prayers and positive vibes. It's like my Dad is on the verge of having a real life miracle happen and everyone knows it. Everyone believes it. Everyone will  be a part of it. It is almost too much to handle. It's almost like a high, with the peak being the day we finally receive the news we've been waiting for.

Then there's a weird feeling of incomprehensiveness. That's not even a word but that's what it feel like. Maybe the correct word is unconceivability? I don't think that's right either. Oddly enough, the fact that I can't think of the word perfectly speaks to what I'm trying to say. Knowing that my Dad could be cured is ludicrous. Is that even possible? Honestly, is it? Is that something that happens? It's crazy talk!! Cured. Like, really cured. It's hard to think about because one of my fears has been finding out my Dad has gone into remission a second time. That sounds horrible I know, but I have good reason for it. With MM your first remission is generally your longest, then they get shorter and shorter. Dad's remission only lasted a few short months. So, to me, hearing that he went into remission for a second time would be like hearing that he maybe had one more month cancer free and then that was it. There would be nothing worth fighting for because there wouldn't be any more remissions after that. So, in a way, finding out that Dad is in remission would be like hearing that he only had a few months left to live. So, for us to skip remission and go to a cure is almost unfathomable. It takes away one of my greatest fears and replaces it with something... life saving. 

There is this little thought in the back of my mind saying that I shouldn't get excited about this because what if it doesn't work? I mean, there's not much left to do if this doesn't yield the results we've been hoping for. That tiny little part eats at me. I don't want to speak about the negative thoughts much because I want to stay hopeful in the thought that my Father will be cured. I want to stand strong on that and see this journey through the eyes of  a child that has yet to be jaded by this world and all the heartache in it. I want to have the faith of a child, and dance like one when we receive the news that he is Cancer free.

Lastly, there is this weird sense of finality to all of this. What is life like without cancer? For a while we talked about having a "normal" life again but this has become normal. It's not the kind of normal that I would wish upon any person, but it's what our family has grown accustomed to in some ways. I'm not saying I'll miss it. But it has brought us together as a family and opened several doors that without cancer, would never have been opened. It has allowed us to speak into the lives of others. To create bonds. To celebrate the little things more. Cancer eats away at the body, but with the right mindset, it almost frees the soul. But where do we go from here? I almost expect to feel in a daze for the first part of it, almost like the day we found out Dad was sick. Will Dad still have to go back to Little Rock for follow ups? What about all the relationships they have built with people there? There are so many unanswered questions, but I guess we will all rejoice and see what life has in store for us. I mean, if we had so many amazing things happen to us in a time of cancer, just think about the possibilities of things to come without it: