two weeks

Like I did before the surgery, I both dread the prospect of the treatment ahead of me and feel eager to start it.  I’ve been reading a lot about chemotherapy and have read all kinds of stories.  I’ve read about chemo brain, I’ve heard stories about weight loss and fatigue, but one thing I learned but never truly understood until recently is that every person handles these things differently.  I can look up chemotherapy on the internet twenty-four hours a day for the next two weeks and still not know what’s really ahead of me.  Maybe it’s futile to try to predict how it’s going to go for me.  If anything, all of this information is making me paranoid.

I was feeling particularly doomy on Friday morning after doing some research.  Ryan was working from home and the boys were getting restless, so I decided to take them to the Bishop Museum.  We arrived right after opening, so it wasn’t very crowded.  In the science adventure center, I noticed a couple and two little girls.  The male half of the couple looked very familiar.  It took me a minute, but I figured out who it was.

It was Dr. Michon Morita.

Zachary was born with a skull deformity.  We were told when he was a week old that he would need reconstructive surgery.  We were referred to Dr. Morita.  He was very highly recommended.  We heard from the parents of other patients that he not only did top-notch work; he was also lovely and kind and professional.  During Zac’s recovery, all of the nurses in intensive care gave glowing reviews of Dr. Morita’s work.  He truly was a nice guy, and I like to think that Zac is a living testimony to his prolific skills.

I was too shy to approach him.  I was sure he’d worked on so many kids that he would never remember me anyway.  I was trying to figure out how to strike up a conversation when Zachary approached Mrs. Morita and started telling her everything he knows about volcanoes.  I took this as an opportunity.

“Is your husband a neurosurgeon?” I asked.

She said yes and I told her that he had worked on Zac.  I instantly was so glad that I had asked.  She called Dr. Morita over, and they smiled and talked to him, and Zac was so charming.  We all had a great conversation about Zac and our family and the doctor seemed so happy.

I was reminded of that time; of the surgery, and his recovery, and the fear I felt then, and the joy I felt watching Zac recover, and I decided that running into him was a sign. Some kind of sign.  I may not have fully worked out this whole God thing yet, but I know someone’s been listening to me when it’s counted, and I’ll keep asking for guidance.

 

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5 responses to “two weeks

  1. There are no coincidences, Jen… ;^) And, all that research? Maybe go on a Robin Williams marathon instead! Laughter rocks!

    healing smooches…Tutu

    • I fully agree. Things happen for purpose sometimes and this sounds like a good omen! But I recommend an Eddie Izzard bender for the funnies even though I do like Robin. Many hugs and smoochies!!!!!

  2. The process sucks but the end result is worth it. 🙂 The weird thing is that somehow you get through it and then when you are better and look at it a while later you wonder how you did it. A good doctor makes all the difference in the world. Plus an awesome support system, which you have.

  3. Passing this along, just in case you’re interested. I just rec’d my books from Amazon today; pretty uplifting stories.

    Very informative reading about everything relating to breasts
    Dr. Susan Love’s Breast Book:4th Edition 2005
    Susan M. Love, et al

    Chicken Soup for the Breast Cancer Survivor’s Soul: Stories to Inspire, Support and Heal (Chicken Soup for the Soul)
    Jack Canfield, et al

    Positive thoughts and cyber hugs!!

  4. Pingback: On Writing « Jen's Cancer Blog

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