Meredith's Mom
In the Spring of 1998 we wanted to sell our house and move. Although we hadn't formally put our house on the market, a neighbor made us a very acceptable offer and gave us a deposit towards the purchase. We were elated. Four days later, our 14 year-old daughter Meredith was diagnosed with acute lymphocytic leukemia. Our world collapsed.A persistent backache and fever led Meredith's family doctor to order blood tests looking for a possible bladder or kidney infection. Her blood work didn't look "normal," and we were referred to a pediatric hematologist at Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center. I remember receiving directions to the office in the pediatric oncology clinic thinking there was some mistake we must be going to the wrong place! But we weren't, and the day we received the diagnosis of leukemia (D-Day) was one of the longest of my life.
This began a nightmarish journey that we have described as a train ride. We weren't asked to hop on board and we couldn't jump off. Overnight our world turned upside down and we were exhausted from tears and lack of sleep. There was a barrage of statistics, medical terms, and treatments to learn. We were asked to make important decisions when we were feeling so frantic and helpless. The support of family and friends was extremely helpful and the number of people praying for Meredith's recovery filled hundreds of pages! Initially, when we faced this cancer diagnosis, each day seemed awful and grim. Joy seemed to come from the simplest things like the warmth of a hot cup of coffee or the beauty of a sunrise. Somehow the motto "one day at a time" seemed to fit perfectly, as we tried to piece our lives back together and go on.
Cancer never appears at a "good" time, and we also learned that it has its own timetable. Meredith's first unscheduled hospitalization came on an 85 degree summer night, our first night in our new house. She was shivering under blankets with a high fever, so off we went to the emergency room. Over the next nine months she would have nineteen hospital admissions, some planned and some, like this one, in the middle of the night. I kept a bag packed constantly and became the master of post-it notes as we made a hasty exit from the house "Dinner's in the oven," or "Pay this bill tomorrow," or "Let the dogs out."
Each day, each week, each month, we learned to cope a little better. I say "we" because it was "we." Cancer was with us all: Meredith, me, my husband, and our other children. About four months into the chemotherapy, I somehow had the feeling that we were coping as best we could. There were times when people asked me, "How can you do this?" or "How do you cope with all this?" Honestly, I can say there were times when I felt and wanted to say that I couldn't go on anymore. When these times crept up on me I tried to assess what was going on around me. First and foremost, I saw my child possessing extraordinary courage and strength in dealing with her illness. I thought if she can do it, so can I! Second, I witnessed the incredible caring wisdom of the doctors, nurses, and support staff. Somehow I drew from their drive and dedication that we were doing what needed to be done. Lastly, I observed the courage of other parents who were sometimes coping with far more than me. I gained strength from their amazing ability to keep going.
Leukemia is a horrible disease to cope with, and Meredith's treatments will continue for several more years. We have had tears, anxiety, and loneliness, but we have also shared the incredible hours together during car rides, playing games, watching television, and laughing. The positive points, the pluses in our lives and in our relationships, have only gotten better. We will continue to cope and travel on this train ride called cancer.