Tough To Explain

We had a strange appointment at the clinic today. We were told to come in and have Joshua's blood counts checked today. This a common practice when Joshua's dosage of chemo gets to a high percentage (based on weight and blood count tolerance). Two weeks ago Joshua was at 100%. The goal being to take as much chemo as is possible for his little body. 

Today we went in thinking it would be counts and home. Joshua bravely got accessed (blood drawn through needle in his port). He didn't whimper or cry and finished by saying, "That wasn't so bad." The nurses thought we were going straight home also because they took out his needle. 

Early this week, Joshua complained that his ears were hurting so I asked Dr. Zieber to take a look. She obliged, and said there wasn't an infection, but to use a decongestant at home. Sounds great, we were heading home.

As we were turning for the door, Dr. Zieber asked us to stick around and look at blood counts together. Yikes! They were bad. After looking at our records, they haven't been this bad since September. WBC (white) was 1.6 and ANC (neutrophil) 0.41. Normally, WBC is above 4.0 and ANC is over 2.0. At least, that is what we like to see.

Because the counts are so low, Dr. Zieber wants to figure out the problem. In order to do some more tests, Joshua had to be accessed again (still not a grimace). They are testing to see if Joshua's body is just not genetically made up for the kind or amount of chemo he is on. My question: Is anyone's body really made up for hazardous drugs like chemo? Joshua is also going to receive more IGG (immunoglobulin)  to help boost his immune system.

What does all of this mean? Well, a few things. First, it means we are homebound for a while. No school. No church. No Bible study. No restaurants. (Sad. Sad. Sad. Sad.) Second, it means antibiotics at home to avoid an infection and in turn, a hospital stay. Third, no at-home chemo all week to help his counts recover. Fourth, we return to the clinic next Wednesday for the IGG, the results of the testing, more blood counts, and a general regrouping to resume treatment.

Another thing that this means is that reality strikes our family again.

I say "reality" because it's funny how you can almost forget everything that has happened over the last year, that Joshua has cancer, in the normalcy of life. Then you have an appointment like today and the harsh truth of reality comes back - leukemia still rules the day. So today, and days like this, are in some ways a grieving process at least for mommy and daddy. We grieve about little things - that we can't play on the playland at Chick-Filet; that Joshua has some minor social awkwardness around kids because he hasn't been around alot of them; that we can't make real plans with friends without saying, "If everything is okay." And frankly, grieving isn't fun. It is, however, good.

Not to compare our struggles to that of Job, but it is interesting that for 7 days Job's friends came to him and sat in silence to grieve with him. That became a lasting tradition throughout Judaism, and is known as sitting shi'vah (from "shi'vah" meaning "seven.") It's a period when people come and visit with the person that is grieving but don't say anything (maybe God knows that we have the propensity to say stupid things during times of loss). I think that's a little comforting today because I believe God likes the mourning process. I think he likes it for many reasons such as:

Mourning is the way we reconcile the fact that our dreams for our lives may not square with God's dream for our lives.

Mourning is the process of coming to grips with God's sovereignty in the universe.

Mourning is a reminder of hope, even in the midst of loss.

But I like this one best today: Mourning is perhaps the truest expression of authenticity. And I think God values authenticity more than He values right answers, screwed on smiles, and perfectly Christian people.