Friday, June 24, 2011
Oh, The Places You'll Go
I walked with my son today through a door that read Oncology. In the three weeks that we have been traveling the detour, I had been busy making plans and dealing with family and friends. I had not allowed myself to deal with the fact we were on the detour. There in black and white, were the letters O N C O L O G Y. Seeing them made my stomach flip. At the registration desk, my son must have noticed my reaction because he asked me if I was okay. I composed myself and said yes. I felt silly for being the one affected. I mean he is the one with Hodgkin's Lymphoma. I am just the mom.
As we were sitting in the examination room waiting on the doctor, my mind raced back to all the times I had taken him to the doctor's office. I remembered his first visit at two weeks old. The doctor laughed that his blue eyes were going to be hard to say no to. The trip to get stitches when he was 2. He fell at the daycare on my first day back at work after maternity leave. I viewed that as a sign I needed to be a stay-at home mom. The day before 1st grade when he fell and broke his wrist after his little brother dared him to stand on top of something. Most times, the visits were for nothing. Today, it was for something really big.
The doctor came in and explained in detail what would be happening during the course of treatment. He kept assuring us that this is very treatable and the survivor rate is exceedingly high. He asked about his health history. I relayed everything and commented that "he was always healthy". The doctor looked at me and said "he still is". At that moment, I felt intense gratitude to the man I had just met.
In two weeks, we will start a new journey on the detour. That is when the treatments start. We are both glad it has come to the point where the enemy has been identified and will be battled. My son decided he will dye his hair a wild color right before the treatments. It was a suggestion from two of his female friends. They will join him in this adventure. They figure if he has to lose his hair, it might as well be colorful.
Last year when my son was getting ready to head off for college, I pulled out one of his favorite books from his childhood. It was "Oh, The Places You'll Go". The sentiment seemed so perfect for that time in his life. This afternoon, sitting in the doctor's office, my mind wandered back to the book. Again, the sentiment seemed perfect to me. Oh, The Places You'll Go....