Twenty

Posted On February 20, 2022

Three great things have happened in the last three weeks.

First, and most importantly, all of Tate’s bloodwork is looking good! He has had four checkups since his last chemotherapy treatment in September, and everything is right where it’s supposed to be. His white blood cells are still on the lower side, but the Nurse Practitioner Angie said it’s not abnormal for them to hover there for a while. Tate has lost a little weight, but it’s a product of his walking across ASU’s campus carrying a heavy backpack and not a reflection of declining strength as it was in the past.

Second, we got to celebrate Tate’s 20th birthday! 20! It didn’t feel like anything short of a miracle that we got to do something so normal yet momentous as meet Greg’s side of the family at Tate’s favorite pizza place and have a birthday lunch. Tate hasn’t had any “normal” for almost four years!

Unfortunately, Tate got sick about half-way through his birthday lunch, and it took him four days to recover. It was so sad. I called my sister, crying, and ruined her day too, because misery loves company. I sobbed and complained that nothing ever goes right for Tate and that the universe clearly hates him. She cried with me and agreed it wasn’t fair for him to be so miserable on his birthday. Then she assured me that it wasn’t Tate versus the entire universe. It was Tate versus a very bad stomachache.

The third thing – and this is really big – is that Tate played in his first concert since his 2018 leukemia diagnosis! Tate only gave us 2 days’ notice he even had a concert or we’d have tried to invite some people or make a celebration of it. And maybe that’s exactly why he didn’t tell me sooner; it’s possible he wanted to ease back into it without a lot of attention. Ironically, the night of Tate’s first concert back was also the first night I was expected to be at a work function since he got sick. I don’t really share much about my job here – it never felt appropriate – but I will say that I have been supported by the management team in ways I never dreamed possible. Thursday night was no exception; when I asked my boss if I could cut out of work early to go to Tate’s concert, she gave me a hug and told me she’d see me the next day.

It’s kind of hard to explain, but when Tate was sick, I was surprised every time I saw him. I never got used it. But seeing him on the stage at Gammage this week, swaying with the music as he played, felt like the most natural thing in the world. Has it really been four years since he played in a concert, or was it a very long, very bad dream?

I’m still putting fresh flowers in Tate’s bathroom every week. It was a small thing that brought some beauty during very difficult times, and now I always want them to be there. The flowers I buy are never anything very fancy, and I don’t have the right words for it, but having them there means something.

For the most part we’re doing okay. Greg and I are both still working at the same respective places and more grateful than ever for the friends and family that kept us close even when it wasn’t easy. Tate transferred to ASU, and he’s there Monday thru Friday working towards an Electrical Engineering degree. His determination and dedication amaze me. He fought hard for a second chance at life, and he’s not wasting even one minute of that miracle.

When Tate first got sick, one of my friends put me in touch with someone from her church whose teenage son was diagnosed with the same type of Leukemia a few months earlier. She turned out to be a great person to commiserate with, and her husband posted updates on a blog similar to this one. They shared their good days, their bad days, their hope, their fear, their faith. When their son completed his treatment, their posts stopped for the most part. I didn’t understand it at the time, but I do now – it’s whiplash. Everything was moving at a certain pace for us for more than three years, and one day it stopped. It stopped, and four months later we’re still trying to crawl out from under the weight of it all. It’s a very strange feeling. There’s joy, to be sure, but I don’t think we’re the same people anymore. I hope some of the change is for the better – I’m certain it is – and I hope it helps us move through this world with bigger hearts and an improved understanding of how our actions impact others.

Switching gears a little bit here, although this definitely qualifies as a post-chemo casualty. 2021 was the first time in my adulthood that I did not send Christmas cards; I just didn’t have it in me. But if I had, this would have been the picture in the envelope. Our little family, happy and healthy.