Ten April's

April 11th, 2008 changed my family's life forever.

The day started like any other Monday. I had the day off; my wife ran errands, including shuttling my 8 year-old son to the dentist. While on the road, my son complained of sharp pain in his arm and chest. So, instead of an oral check-up she detoured to a local pediatric urgent care. After several hours of blood work and scans, the on-call doctor shared the diagnosis. The physician found a mass in his chest. She asked my wife and I to choose a regional children's hospital and explained a life-flight helicopter would transport him to whichever one we selected. Knowing nothing about either hospital network, we chose St. Louis Children's Hospital. Within a few hours, the crew whisked my son away, and my wife, parents and I drove three hours to meet him there

We pulled on to the spacious Children's Hospital Campus and sprinted through the mostly empty parking garage to Patient Information. A kind receptionist directed us to the Pediatric ICU. Within a few minutes of our arrival, a kind young doctor named *Allison* introduced herself and the department she represented...pediatric oncology. Occasionally, news in life feels much like being punched in the gut. Hearing the word "oncology" served as one of those moments.

For the next few days he resided in the intensive care unit, the doctors describing him as the healthiest kid there. It's hard to imagine Non-Hodgkin's T-Cell Lymphoma, Stage 3, as being healthy, but my son exuded optimism and shared his wit and good-natured joking with all of the staff. During the first week, we waited for the medical team to form a plan for fighting the disease. Finally, Doctor *Allison* ushered my family to a conference room and shared a couple of treatment options. Both involved chemotherapy and multiple hospitalizations over a two-year period. Another gut punch. There's a saying that goes, "Time flies when you're having fun." This was not even close.

I started writing down my thoughts in a little black notebook. I faced an intersection of faith and fear. Writing out my thoughts helped me focus on the truly important things and enabled me to vent my true feelings when I felt my lowest. I remember the morning I opened the Scriptures and the Bible fell open to Psalm 121. That verse begins, "I lift my eyes to hills, where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth..." I claimed this text as a gift and often meditated on those words when the cancer journey threatened to drown us all.

The next two years involved hospitalizations, planned and unplanned, countless three hour road trips for check-ups, multiple lumbar punctures and watching our son's hair fall out in clumps... on two separate occasions. At one point, the chemotherapy stripped my son of his ability to even walk. One morning, I heard a thunderous crash coming from his bedroom. My son, not realizing his leg strength was gone, fell from his top bunk. For several days after this, we carried him from room to room or pushed him around in a wheelchair.

During the second year of his treatment, his health improved and life returned to a semblance of normalcy. He continued to receive treatment, but with modifications to medicines and dosages, the side effects diminished. The scans and labs heralded the news that the cancer was in remission. In April of 2013, my son rang the bell, announcing the completion of his treatment. What a ride the two years had been! After my son's cancer journey, my wife and I focused on the bills stacking up. The helicopter ride on Day One, cost over $30,000. Though the bills concerned us, we celebrated our son's healing and there is no price one can assign to that.

So, why is this titled "Ten April's." April 2021 marks the ten-year mark of his diagnosis and eight years since he rang the bell. The soon coming anniversary, will be truly a month of celebration.

* name changed for privacy purposes