In 14 days, Alex will be bombarded with radiation. He will have to hold still for 20 minutes while invisible rays obliterate his immune system. He will have to sit in a lead lined room all by himself, while Eric and I sit outside, and watch his sweet face through a monitor. The total body irradiation (TBI) will be repeated twice a day for four consecutive days. He will be awake, and conscious through the procedures. While he will not experience any pain during the treatments, the after-effects are overwhelming.
Some of the fallout from the radiation is dramatic and quick.
His bone marrow will disappear.
His hair will fall out.
His fertility will be destroyed.
His digestive system will be in chaos.
His jaw will throb with radiation poisoning.
His appetite will vanish.
His mouth will erupt in soars.
Other consequences of his treatment may take years to appear.
His eyes will develop cataracts.
His growth will be stunted.
His lungs will be scarred.
His heart will be weaker.
His brain function will be altered.
His body may develop other cancers.
I am overwhelmed with what my amazing boy will be going through. We have been busy, trying to flood his memory with good times, so that all of us can draw upon them when in the depths of his treatment.
All of this is weighing heavy on our hearts, including Alex. The other night, he told me:
"Mom, if some kid gets cancer - not me, but another kid - and he doesn't make it - he dies, his parents can always go adopt another kid".
My heart stopped as I digested this statement, this permission to love another child if he doesn't make it. My eyes welled up with tears, and I held him close and told him that while yes, it is true, the parents could adopt another child, they would never stop loving the child they lost.
Damn it - he is only 6 years old...