It's Not About the Why, It's About The Win

Everyone’s a Winner

Andrew has always had a strong competitive streak. When he plays, he plays to win. And when he loses, he cheats… or at the very least, he scowls and sulks. He’ll argue about the sky being blue, and somehow he’ll convince you he’s right or wear you down until you concede. He’s particularly passionate about any competition involving his brother, even though most of it’s entirely in his own head as Michael barely has a competitive bone in his body. So I’m never surprised when Andrew wants to know, between the two of them, whose experience is stronger, sadder, scarier or whatever. We were talking about the worst days of our lives one time, and I listed mine (I’m sure you can guess at least a few of them). Andrew listened and said, “Yeah, well, I almost died MORE.”

Okay, I have to give him that one… Andrew wins on quantity. I’ve feared for his life more times than I have for Michael’s. The list is long, and started years before cancer was in our lives, when he was just nine days old in fact. But, much to Andrew’s chagrin, Michael wins on quality… or, I guess I should say, he wins on impact. When Andrew was first diagnosed, the word “cancer” was immediately followed by a statement like “It’s very treatable, he will survive this.” With Michael, we got a lot of worst case scenarios and “We don’t knows” for quite awhile following his accident, starting exactly two years ago today. July 17, 2009, is not a day that is easy for me to think about, though it’s been uncontrollably creeping up in my mind all week. The visual memory alone is so powerful, and the emotional pieces…. well, let’s not go there.

Instead, let’s go to where we really are. Today, two years have passed, and Michael has turned all those “we don’t knows” into triumphs. His physical recovery exceeded all expectations, and he works hard to rock at life despite his few lingering neurological deficits. Later this summer, he’ll have a follow-up appointment with his main neuro-rehab doctor, probably another MRI, and a full and hopefully final neuro-psychology exam to help us understand where he may need the most assistance in school and even throughout his life. His freshman year of high school went better than I anticipated, and he’ll be ready to hit the ground running when he starts 10th grade in August (whether he likes it or not). This two-year mark is an important milestone, and though it reminds me of a time I’d just as soon forget, it also offers perspective that’s important for me to remember.

To even the score, I have to say that Andrew hit an important milestone recently too. His official off-treatment date is July 8, 2012, so at this point he has less than a year of treatment to go. It’s crazy how the date I long for so deeply is also one I fear so intensely. Once he’s done with chemo, there’s nothing to stop that damn leukemia from coming back. Nothing, that is, except Andrew’s will. (Sorry, leukemia, but I don’t think you stand a chance.) Overall, he’s doing okay and has been able to enjoy the summer for the most part. It seems like the treatments are getting harder lately as he’s had more joint pain from the steroids, more neuropathic pain from his monthly IV chemo, and more nausea and fatigue from his daily and weekly oral chemo doses. His counts, which had been running a little too high for comfort, have now plummeted with no known reason. My professional momcologist theory is that his body has had its fill of all these toxins, and the heightened side effects and bouncy counts are his way of saying, “Enough already, leave me the hell alone!” I think we might be in for a long and challenging year, but the light at the end of the tunnel gets brighter with each passing day.

Andrew is quick to remind me that July 17 is more than just the anniversary of Michael’s accident. It’s also his half-birthday, so today he is closer to being a teenager than he is to being 12. In true Andrew style, we have debated what makes this day more important – his half-birthday or that whole Michael-almost-died thing. I told him I thought it was a tie. Both events remind me to be grateful for how far they both have come. Both events remind me that their strength and courage have shaped them in powerfully positive ways. Both events help me to look forward to bright futures for both of them. Most importantly, both events remind me that every day with my boys is a gift, a privilege to be treasured, even when they drive me batty. Andrew doesn’t much like a tie, so he can go on thinking today is more about him. That’s okay, I don’t mind. As long as he holds on to that fighting spirit, all is good in my world.

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We spent some time at my parents a few weeks ago, and the beauty and power of that place never ceases to amaze me. Our friends the Kowalskis went with us, and we all hiked to the top of one of the hills behind my parents’ house and above the lake (the slideshow above chronicles our effort). For me, I could feel the stress coming off my back as I trekked up the rocks, and by the time I got to the top I felt like I was walking on air. I guess that’s the real Rocky Mountain High.

I don’t think I’ve said it enough lately, so it’s definitely time to say again that we continue to be so thankful for our families, friends, and even complete strangers who continue to support us and keep the boys in their thoughts and prayers. It’s been such a long road, and if you’ve read this far, I know you’re one we owe a thank you to. So… “thank you” – those two words never seem like enough, but know they come from a very special and genuine place. We’re also incredibly grateful for the opportunities we have to enjoy the Colorado mountains so close to home and with people who are so important to us. We can’t wait to go again with the Espinozas in a few weeks, and then spend some extra time at my parents’ with my brother and nephew.

Enjoy the rest of your summer, everyone, I know we will…