The Boston Marathon… and feeling lucky

Today we get the results of Elliot’s scan. He is acting normal, except for what is probably some hayfever, runny nose, coughing and light asthma. The coughing and asthma always worry me, because what we will find out today, basically, is whether there are any lungs metastases.
We went in for all the tests on Monday, and get the results today on Wednesday. It’s always like that, every three months. So the Tuesday in between is a bit of a write-off, although Martin and I are getting so much better at coping.
And yesterday, our stressful Tuesday, the big news you read about everywhere was the Boston Marathon explosions. I read about it in shock yesterday and again this morning, as I sit in my quiet kitchen waiting for the minutes to go by till we leave for the hospital. I read a bit more about it, about the young boy, 8 years old, who died.
My first reaction was to feel: I can’t think about this, I don’t even want to know, especially today, it’s just too much for me to handle . My stress level is already high enough right now, I feel I might crack from the anxiety of this wait.
But I read it anyway. I lived for years in Halifax, and Halifax has a special tie with Boston because of the help the Bostonians provided after the Halifax explosion of 1917. This is a strong link that the rest of the world may not know about. Every year, since 1917, Halifax sends down one of the biggest Christmas trees as a gift of thanks to Boston. The tree is Boston’s official Christmas tree and is lit on Boston Common throughout the holiday season .
But anyway I’m sitting here, the stress building inside me like steam in a kettle, the minutes slowly ticking by till we can head in to our appointment with Elliot’s oncologist, who will tell us if Elliot might have relapsed. I always tend to feel the unfairness of our situation in moments like these, like, why were WE chosen to have to go through this, why us, why Elliot, it’s not fair.
And I think of that little 8 year old boy, in Boston, who was standing with his family at the finish line, at exactly precisely the wrong place at the wrong time, smiling as he saw his dad running up, happy.
And my 6 year old, Elliot, who probably hasn’t relapsed, but may have, and we’ll know that soon.
And you know what? Suddenly I realize that although cancer sucks, and let me tell you it sucks so bad sometimes it aches, at least Elliot has a chance. Even if he relapses, he has a chance of fighting it. He has a chance of having some more time with us, us with him, enjoying life. Enjoying the time we have together, no matter how long or short it is.
That little 8 year old didn’t get that chance. His life went from one moment of shining bright joy to nothing, in a flash.
So I guess today I should consider myself lucky. I’m going in to the hospital with my little boy who is now 9 months post treatment of a stage 4 pediatric cancer. And I’m lucky.

I think we should all see ourselves as lucky today, no matter what. Let’s make that our goal today: notice how lucky you are. And enjoy.

Times’ up. We have to get going to the appointment now. Deep breath.