I must preface this by saying . . . I have no intention of moving to Grand Forks. However, its a nice little town and the hills outside town hold many hundred year old mountain farms that I fantacize about running away to when it all gets to be too much for me.
Many days feel like they are too much. So I think about it alot. And it seems like almost every day I have a new reason to sell the house, pack the kids and the dog, and yeah and my husband and head for the hills. I have 1002 things tying me to home, so no worries friends.
Yesterday at my oldest Son, Alex's, hockey game the Baby (2 year old Ryan) pulled something from the Diaper Bag. It was a miniature diaper. A real, miniature diaper made for premature babies. It's tiny. It came in the mail from Children's Hospital . . . our most recent fundraising, beg for money sob story. You know the ones . . . "Our precious angel was saved by Children's Hospital, this is the size of diaper she wore when she was newborn. we thought she would die, but the brilliant doctors at Children's Hospital saved her. Your generous donation can help save more children like ours".
Tell me you've never received a letter like this. Anyway . . . why I kept the Diaper I have no idea. Since I tore the letter up, crumpled it in a ball and tossed it in the garbage. Wishing to never get another. Thinking, leave me alone, I've got my own sob story. Terrible, eh?
Am I jealeous that my sob story isn't making the fundraising letter? Huh, maybe. More just ticked at the reminder. Because sometimes I can go, like, four hours without thinking about neuroblastoma. But a fundraising letter like that reminds me. It's like a knock at the door; "Hello, who's there?". "It's me, your childs stage four, high risk cancer - - just reminding you that I still run the place and I can take over any old time I want, now have a great day"
Oh I should be so happy, I should be so releived. Please don't get me wrong, I am. But I live daily with the knowledge that my Sons cancer could, statistically probably WILL, return at any time. Josh beat the 20% chance of survival odds and is now cancer free. But relapse . . . relapsed stage four neuroblastoma has a 100% chance of fatality. 100%. Fatality. I dislike those odds greatly. I look for signs, symptoms of relapse constantly.
So I fear Cancer knocking on our door, and I despise all reminders. Yet I cannot stop thinking about it. So why was that miniature Diaper in the Diaper Bag? I thought I tossed it out too, months ago. And, I'm holding back tears as I try to explain why there is a premie Diaper there. Who cares. But there I was enjoying Alex's Hockey game, enjoying our life and "knock, knock".
If we moved to Grand Forks would cancer be able to find us? Beleive me, I would not leave a forwarding address.
No comments:
Post a Comment