Can you believe I just called myself lucky?

Matthew is feeling great today. The break from the Chemo this last week has been really good for him. He seems stronger and happier. There are lots of giggles. He's eating well, and I can tell. I swear his little body feels bigger and more solid to me every time I hug him, which is about 9,000 times a day. We have another blessed week off before he starts Delayed Intensification. The winter will be rough for him because DI is when he will receive his harshest chemo treatments, but I'm glad he has this nice break beforehand.

Here's what's been on my mind lately:

It's interesting how something bad can happen to you, and then it changes your view of what's really bad.

Don't get me wrong. Matthew's cancer is really bad. It's definitely a burden on us. I usually try and keep the blog as positive as possible for a lot of reasons, including not burdening the rest of the world, not being a complainer, keeping a record of this that Matthew can look back on when he's older. That hasn't been hard, either, because a crisis like this really reveals to you some of the best things that mankind has to offer. The true meaning of charity, grace, service. How deeply small acts of kindness can touch somebody's life. The fierceness of protecting your child at all costs. Steven V. Thulon said, "Conflict builds character, while crisis defines it." It's true. It brings out your true colors. My family is stronger, my children more empathetic and caring, my faith cemented. Those are the good things, which I always try to share. What can I say? I've always been a glass half full kind of girl.

But some simple truths are that I've been fighting off some hearty depression because of it. It's a constant thing for me, and I've had to really focus on ways to keep my mental health in good shape, because we're just barely getting started, and I wasn't prepared for a marathon. Matthew's having some behavior issues, too, because of the isolation. Thank heavens he gets so much individual attention, because when he's at the other end of this dark tunnel, I want him to be a good person with healthy relationships and habits so that he can lead a long, happy life, and be a productive member of society. We probably won't get to spend much time with family this coming holiday season, which is really sad to me, because right now we need the support of family more than ever. Also, so many of the things that used to be important just aren't anymore. Cancer is that all-consuming.

Anyway, back to my original point: Of all the childhood cancers, his type and subtype combined with his age group has the best prognosis possible. He will most likely beat this. Those words are very comforting to me. Statistically, he has VERY good odds. Maybe as high as a 95% chance at the end of his protocol (the 3 years, 3 months of his treatment). Plus, if he's one of the 5% that isn't cured then, there are still even more options. Harsher treatments, but still more chances of saving his life. I honestly haven't ever feared for his life. Not for one day of this battle.

I've met a lot of families who aren't so lucky. (See? Can you believe I just called myself lucky?) I see stories every day of kids who aren't going to make it - or didn't make it. Or families who have to move to Memphis so that their child can be treated at St. Jude's or have had to move here to Utah so their child can be treated at Primary's. They seriously have to drop their jobs, hope they can sell their home, and leave their lives behind. Can you imagine? I've seen kids who have to live at the hospital for months at a time, or lose their sight, hearing, or ability to walk. Kids who lose their spleen or gallbladder. I know a girl whose growth is stunted forever. She's 9 and wears size 3T clothing. The list goes on and on.

I'm a huge fan of another blogger, Mary Tyler Mom. She lost her 4 year old daughter, Donna, to cancer in 2009, after 31 months of treatment. This year in September, for Childhood Cancer Awareness Month, she wrote a post every day about each month of Donna's treatment. The idea was to raise awareness of what the family of a childhood cancer patient goes through. It was beautifully written, and wildly honest. It had a profound affect on me. One of the things she said that really touched the heart of what I'm trying to get to here was this: "You know your kid is sick when you're jealous of another kid's cancer." That was in this post.

In the beginning of all of this, I would look at these families who had it so much worse than us, and I would cry for them, and mourn for them. And I would feel guilty that I was so depressed about Matthew's cancer. After all, they would probably give anything to be in our situation instead of their own. I should be grateful. Believe me, I am. I am grateful for his prognosis, for the research that has gone into his particular type of Leukemia. For all the people who sacrificed extra blood and bone marrow before him so that the treatments would improve and he could live, even though they might not have. And I am mindful that it could be worse. Whenever I struggle with some crappy thing about his treatment, I remind myself that it's better than the alternative. That's a cold, hard truth. And I know that we are lucky.

But I realized not too long ago that I had to give myself permission to be sad about it. If not, it would eat me alive. Just acknowledging to myself that it really sucks made such a big difference for me. I had to allow myself to mourn the loss of our way of life. To mourn the loss of Matthew's innocence. To mourn about sharing the last few years when my whole family will live under the same roof with this ugly beast. (Alaina will be almost 20 when his treatment is done, and will likely be gone to college. I wanted to have so many vacations and fun outings during these next few years!)

Suffering has such a broad spectrum. Friends or family will have something happen, like asthma or an injury or diabetes, and they always say, "It's not as bad as what you're going through." And I honestly feel that their thing doesn't suck any less just because of what I'm going through, and I can in fact empathize better than I used to, even with small medical issues. Especially when it affects a child.

Likewise, I honestly believe that the families who are going through all those cancer horror stories I mentioned (or others I don't know of or fully understand) don't think I'm silly for being upset about Matthew's cancer. I don't believe for a minute that any of them would begrudge me his good prognosis. How would that improve their situation at all? The truth is that cancer freaking sucks! In all its forms.

So do Asthma, Diabetes, Arthritis, Tendonitis, Sprained Ankles, and any other malady. It's hard when you're unhealthy, and it's even harder when your children are, despite your best efforts.

To anyone reading this: Please don't feel hesitant to talk to me about your problems, or your children's health problems. It will only serve to make me feel more isolated. I thrive on friendships and social connections. Please don't feel like you can't confide in me - or ask my advice! - when your child is having health problems just because they aren't as bad as cancer. And please, please, please don't let what we're going through make you feel guilty because you're sad about something you're going through.

I refuse to let this make me a bitter person. I will not be that petty old lady who compares all of your problems with my own just to show that mine are worse. It's apples and oranges. I still have 3 other kids who go through regular stuff, and I get that even with cancer in the family, it sucks when you're 13 and your best friend ditches you for a boyfriend.

We must go on with life. All of us. The Burr family will catch up. We already are, slowly but surely. It seems like every day another little piece of the puzzle falls back into place. Our broken hearts are mending, and we are being redefined, and we WILL prevail!