Parenting

Thoughts on Overcoming Defeat as a Cancer Parent

/ KP / Leave a comment

Defeat. You will go there as a cancer parent. I felt defeated, and many days, I was defeated, whether by circumstances or my own mistakes.

But what I kept going back to is that, no matter what happens, my soul cannot be defeated in Christ. Now, believing this will not fix your circumstances or relieve physical pain or mental stress in the moment. Not at all. Nope, it really does not do that. It will not cure your kid’s cancer or make you any less exhausted or pay your bills or do your laundry. It may or may not stop you from taking that drink or eating that whole cake or whatever vice or bad habit you’ve picked up along the way.

But this FAITH gave me HOPE.

I think they, whoever “they” are, say we can live through anything except having no hope. People with all good intentions said a lot of things to me about self care and yoga and kale chips and walks in the woods that never helped a thing. I won’t do that.

But one thing I did and do is hold onto hope by the tips of my scrawny bitten fingernails.

To Live Through It

/ KP / 1 Comment

To live as a parent of a child, formally a blood cancer patient. What does it mean to live through it?
Long after the last drop of your child’s blood is medically deemed unpolluted with an alarming number of mutated leukocytes, fear still lives in you like a latent virus infecting your own cells. Dormant. Inactive at times. But, still, it is alive. You almost forget it is there, until, what otherwise might be a minor event or innocuous comment, somehow inflames panic.
The fear virus.

The fear virus flares up like a raging case of dermatitis. You feel the painful swelling and annoying itch, yet must carry on with your duties. But you know it’s not your best work. You attempt to cover the defenseless, raw blemishes. But you know others can still see them. You lament the discomfort; the whole sleepless, joyless, listless ordeal.

You apply ointments and balms, oils and antiseptics. But nothing works. You just have to let it run it’s course.

All you can really do is wait for it to pass.

Likewise, you wait for the fear virus to pass. You pray and you wait and you pray. You hold tightly to God and hope. It doesn’t leave your body, but it does leave your sight. It does pass. It will pass. You will live through it.

Grace be with you, parents and friends.



(Former) Cancer Mom Confession

/ KP / 1 Comment

Justin says he has a headache. Okay, no problem. I give him water. Maybe some ibuprofen.

It was always Tylenol before. Ibuprofen does something to your blood. Leukemia patients can’t have it. I can’t remember why, but I remember Tylenol never did much for the pain.

And just like that, I can hardly breathe. A random thought memory sends me reeling back into the rooms with awful lights. Awful smells. Pain. A bag of stranger’s blood and a bag of chemicals dripping down into my child’s veins.

I am there again. And I can’t get out. I can’t get out unless I anchor my mind to something. Something good. Sometimes a good memory. But, most of the time, it is words. Words on a page force my brain from the disarray of fight or flight to whatever part is more logical. To me, the amygdala is completely unreasonable, but can be commandeered with words and sentences.

So thank you for reading my words and sentences that, even after 7 years, are still needed to quell the panic attacks, bring me back to the present and make me breathe.

Justin is not sick anymore. He is here. His eyes are full of life and he is holding a baby chick. So carefully. So tenderly. God is faithful.

Two Years Post-Chemotherapy

/ KP / 3 Comments

Many times I am still asked how Justin is doing and many times I am reminded we did not walk alone.

Thank you for that.

Justin has now completed 6th grade with good grades and a leadership award of all things. This is the same kid who hid in our closet on many school mornings, hysterical with anxiety.

Justin played intramural basketball, bravely said his lines in school concerts, went camping for the first time and scored above average on a cognitive abilities test.

We signed a mountain of paperwork listing possible side effects of chemotherapy, including physical, mental, social and emotional.

Justin experienced some in each category. But with patience, prayer and an endurance that can only be explained by the grace of God, he has struggled and fallen, struggled and persevered, struggled and conquered.

I hope our story encourages you. Keep praying. Keep pushing forward. Just keep getting up. Stay down for a while to rest but don’t quit. If someone offers to help, take the help. And when it all feels too heavy and too dark and too impossibly difficult, hold onto hope.

“See I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; Do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in a wasteland.” Isaiah 43:19

If you are a parent of a childhood cancer patient in need of support, please feel free to reach out. I get it. Grace be with you.

Hills Not Climbed

/ KP / Leave a comment

I am thankful and grateful for how far pediatric cancer treatment has come, but I can tell you about hills not climbed.

Patient and parent PTSD is real. I’m not ashamed to admit it and will gladly talk to anyone out there who is interested in initiating an intensive, comprehensive, therapeutic survivorship program. And I’m not talking about verbally trudging through feelings for an hour on zoom, attending a nutrition class, taking physical therapy or throwing survivors free baseball tickets. I mean that’s great and all but the fall-out from three years of chemotherapy, illness, trauma, fear, confusion, getting loads of attention then suddenly none, not being treated normally then expected to blend into “normality” runs MUCH deeper.

…they are also “fat” and “a loser”

I am talking about teaching and guiding survivors on how to re-integrate into just being a kid again:

Social skills.

Conflict resolution.

How to accept failure.

How to not use illness to manipulate circumstances.

How to distinguish between anxiety over being sick and actually being sick.

Understanding that they are no longer the center of attention every single minute.

Realizing that kids are actually mean sometimes and now that they are “all better from cancer” they are also “fat” and “a loser” or any of the other adolescent-go-to criticisms that insecure kids (survivors) actually believe.

For now, I’ll just keep making it up as I go along

I have other ideas, just can’t think of them all right now. But I plan this maybe-too-idealistic-unattainable therapeutic process in my mind often. For now, I’ll just keep making it up as I go along. Every day I see how Justin struggles. I struggle. We struggle. But there is also learning, reward, success, healing, growth, change, beauty, faith, joy and HOPE. God is good.

I really don’t pray for change in circumstances too much anymore. What has to be, will be. I pray for change in ME. Give me strength in mind, body and heart to press on.

And grant us a measure of grace for one more day.

Day 1588

/ KP / Leave a comment

Justin was in at CHOP clinic Friday for a physical exam and blood draw. He is still cancer-free.

Just like residual anxiety, relief hits me at the oddest times. Today it was while baking. Overwhelmed with gratitude, I bawled all over my pumpkin batter. Those muffins will be interesting.

Thank you for continued support and prayer!