Dateline: above the garage in Portsmouth RI, 27 July 2004
Yesterday I took my first-born Emily to Hasbro Children's Hospital in Providence for her annual visit with the pediatric oncology people there. I expected nothing but good news and yetóas alwaysóI was filled with dread.
First, there is that sense of returning to the scene of the crime that's a bit unnerving. Then there's simply the discussion over "late effects" and/or secondary cancers coming from the initial treatments, a conversation that no longer occurs in Em's presence at age 12 without her catching the drift in full. Finally, there's simply being around all those kids with cancer, which was never easy then and isn't any easier now (listen to Don Imus describe his kids cancer ranch sometime if you don't believe me), especially since your kid has "aged out" in the best sense of that phrase.
But there was just a bit more this time around, and that takes a bit of explaining.
When I first discovered Em's cancer by accident in the summer of 1994, it was during a trip back to my parents in Boscobel WI for the 4th of July. I had gone back with her alone because Vonne, my wife, had wanted some time alone from this boisterous 2-year-old, and I was all hot to run in the race of my youthóthe Boscobel Firecracker 5-miler.
Well, after discovering the lump and being told by the local ER doc that it was probably just a hernia and "don't cut your trip short over it," my Mom and I looked at each other and knew immediately I was flying back East with Em first thing next morning.
As we drove up to the house back in Springfield, VA, I was somewhat stunned to see the big tree in front of our townhouse. Normally a deep green, the leaves were all brilliantly red, like they had been spray painted or something. It was really odd. I had this scary sort of feeling, like it was an evil omen or something. I couldn't stop thinking about the old Hebrew story from Exodus in which the slaves marked their front doors with sacrificial blood so that the angel of death would pass them by and kill only the first-born children of the Egyptians, except it felt like my house was being marked by some . . . thing for exactly that purpose.
Three days later we got the shocking diagnosis and entered into a two-week stay at Georgetown U Hospital in Washington DC. I don't think I walked outside for almost a week; it was that intense and real-time. Every hour was a draining decision or soul-shaking sort of judgment handed down from on high.
Finally, about seven days into the process, Vonne and I decided that one of us needed to head back home to check on things there, simply because we left the place in such a flash and had not been back since. A friend of mine drove me back, and as we pulled up the hill and our front-yard tree came into view, you could almost here the ominously growling strings of the symphonic soundtrack kick inóthe leaves on the towering tree had now all turned a deep black.
While I was at the house, I got a call from Vonne: Em had gone into a special full-body scan procedure whereby they injected her with special, radiated substances that would allow her entire skeletal structure to be x-rayed in an attempt to see if the cancer had spread into her bones. This was pretty scary, because if it had, it was game over. If not, then we had a fairly firm grip on the extent of her metastases (i.e., right kidney sac, abdominal nodes on that side, both lungs). To have the test done, Emily had to lay very still in a completely blacked out room. As a two-year-old, she was sedated for the procedure.
Vonne, calling from the hallway, asked me to get back to the hospital right away. Every test we had done up to that point had come with a negative outcome, meaning it was always what we feared (yes to cancer, yes to spreading beyond her kidney into the sac, yes to nodes, and yes to tumors in both lungs). By this time, we had already left behind all the normal odds of this-or-that happening. We felt we were on a terrible losing streak that would only end with her death sentence, and Emily was going to receive itóunwittinglyólying in a dark room with only a stranger (a nice nurse) holding her hand in the blackness.
As I walked out the front door of our house and glanced up at the tree's now funereal tapestry of leaves, I had this inescapable feeling that God's judgment had already been transmitted down to us through the frightening image. And all I could think was, "F--k you!"
I got to the hospital and stood around with Vonne in the rather dark basement corridor outside the X-ray chamber where Em was still lying, recovering from the sedation. Scoping out the location, I could see the radiologists' on-site diagnostic room where they did their quick reads. It was just around the corner. Sticking my head in ever so slightly, I saw an intense looking young doc pouring over Em's x-rays.
I pulled back immediately at the sight because it felt like peeking into the star chamber deciding my kid's fate. Slinking back to Vonne in the hallway, we both just nervously paced around the area, unable to talk much to one another.
I kept playing the scene out in my head: if the doc had good news, he'd look us straight in the eyes as he came around that corner. It would be: "This is only a preliminary read, but it looks good. No cancer appears to be anywhere in her bones." If it was bad, his eyes would never exactly meet ours and the voice would be curt: "I don't have any complete answers at this time. I'll be delivering my full report to Emily's oncologist in a couple of hours. I'm sorry I can't tell you more right now."
At that moment I knew exactly how it felt to be standing in a courtroom waiting for a verdict of guilty or innocent. I just knew we'd either turn a corner or hit rock bottom in the next several minutes.
Funny thing was, I had no idea if we had really committed any crime.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, the doc comes bounding around the corner with a big smile on his face, looking us right in the eyes. He said something but I didn't catch a word of it. His non-verbal communication told me everything I needed to hear.
A week later, after we got home from Georgetown, I got up early the next morning, took out my axe, and chopped down that f--king tree. Then I shook my fist at the sky and told the Big Man that if he planned on messing with one of mine, he better come with a bigger bag of tricks than that.
He never did.
In our yard in Portsmouth we used to have two-dozen trees, including a stand of five trees in the front yardóthe first ones you'd notice as you drove up to our house.
Well, one by one over the fall and winter we lost all five of those pines to Japanese beetles, which apparently love that type of pine. Nothing we could do about it except cut them downóeach in turn as the months passed.
That sort of sucked, but I didn't pay it much mind . . . until the special little tree that sits between our house and driveway started to show signs of stress this spring. It's a small, decorative tree that we always dress up for various holidays. The kids all love this little tree because numerous birds have nested there over the years, plus it's where we stick our bird feeders in the winter, so we can watch and identify all the types that come there to feed.
It wasóin shortóour family's favorite tree.
Well, about the time I took Em in for her annual blood work, I noticed that the leaves on the tree were slightly tinged with red, as though they had entered their fall bloom.
A couple of weeks later when Vonne took Emily in for her annual x-rays, the leaves on the tree had mostly blackened.
By the time Em and I left the house yesterday for Providence, virtually all of the tree's leaves had rotted and fallen off, clearly indicating its rapid progression toward death. Apparently, it had suffered the same sort of "fire blight" that had decimated our tree back in Virginia ten years ago.
Now, I knew that all of Em's diagnostics were good, but the angst and the old feelings of dread were hard to deny as I drove the route to Hasbro.
And yet, the news was just as positive yesterday as it had been that July afternoon in 1994: Emily has reached a real turning point in her long-term survivorship. Her oncologist at Hasbro said that as a ten-year-survivor, Em has reached the point where the possibility of reoccurrence of her original cancer is virtually nil, so we'll be dialing down the diagnostics to just blood and urinanalysis, plus a biannual tracking of her heart's development and lung performance as she grows into adulthood. In sum, he said, it was time to start treating Em as completely cured.
No, I didn't chop down the tree the minute I got home last night, and I don't plan on shaking my fist at the sky any time soon eitherónot with this China adoption trip looming.
Still, it was nice to feel like we had moved Em off of one worry list just in time to make room for another young girl to take her place. We've been extraordinarily lucky to have kept her these ten years, but we'll take as many more as we can get. Same will hold true for Vonne Mei Lingóno matter how many dead trees I may bump into on the long journey between Rhode Island and Jiangxi Province.
Here's today's catch:
Slow but steadier progress in Iraq
"Early Steps, Maybe, Toward a Democracy in Iraq," by Ian Fisher, New York Times, 27 July, p. A1.
"U.S. Seeks to Provide More Jobs and Speed Rebuilding in Iraq: A focus on large projects has been criticized as wasteful," by Erik Eckholm, NYT, 27 July, p. A7.
The knock on NOC's
"Paying the Pumper," J. Robinson West, Washington Post, 23 July, p. A29.
"Scrutinizing the Saudi Connection: Questions the 9/11 commission left unanswered," by Gerald Posner, NYT, 27 July, p. A19.
Let's see . . . plus up foreign aid or search every cargo container?
"At Nation's Ports, Cargo Backlog Raises Question of Security," by John M. Broder, NYT, 27 July, p. A12.
Good coffee is one thing, good leaders another
"Rwanda Savors the Rewards of Coffee Production," by Carter Dougherty, NYT, 27 July, p. W1.
China-Taiwan: the ties that bind often chafe as well
"China Raises Economic Heat on Taiwan," by Jason Dean, Wall Street Journal, 27 July, p. A15.
The inevitable public debate in Japan on foreigners
"Tokyo urged to open doors to foreign workers," by Mariko Sanchanta, Financial Times.com, 27 July, found on story.news.yahoo.com