cancer.

wonder if evil people aware of their evilness ever think “why me?” when good things happen to them? like the rest of us do that aren’t mother theresa or Jesus but still manage to be surprised when the most innocent and good among us get hit by, for lack of a better word, evil.

nugget, you have cancer. ewings sarcoma presenting as a primary tumor in the left frontal lobe of your cerebellum. sitting on the locus of control for emotion, short-term memory and balance.

you started having headaches on may 26, 2015 after a day spent running amok at 5 mile park and then splashing in a river with your sister and Sackett. ibuprofen sent it running that night, but it was back the next morning and every 6 hours after that. you’d push your left palm into the middle of your forehead and squinch your eyes tightly, repeating, “ow, mommy, ow ow ow.” eye aches joined the party on saturday and then nausea on sunday night. you’d played t-ball that afternoon, proudly wearing your new helmet, pants and belt while you swung strongly, smiled broadly then ran directly towards 3rd base instead of 1st from home plate. daddy and i had grinned at your enthusiasm and shrugged off your misdirected plays as new sport confusion. he and i high-fived at the beauty of the day watching you play while enjoying Brighley clambering over our backs and Bryce’s field-side interpretative dancing…look at us our mutual smiles said, a normal happy family out here on this gorgeous day.

then the nausea showed that night, with the headache, and your begging me to push your forehead so that the ache would stop. i tried to make the peds appointment the next day but their computers were down and they couldn’t schedule anything and they asked that i call back tuesday. i did. we set an appointment and spent the morning trying not to think about what i knew was coming. your little dazed smile at me. atypical because of its cloudiness. your asking to quit Battleship since you couldn't remember coordinates --- a game you in which always-always school me. you stumbled 4 times that morning….not unusual for a 4-foot 5 year old still getting used to his rapidly lengthening body, but it was the way you stumbled and your distress after doing so. the last one was in the pond out back. you fell while trying to walk on the rocks, something you’ve done so many many times, and then HOWLED unconsolably about being wet, being scraped, being hurt, being confused —— and i knew. i knew as i watched you walk into the peds office. i knew as i watched your right foot drag and lose its flip flop. your keening to the right on the exam table as you tried to sit upright. your silliness when trying to walk a straight line for dr. stevens.

daddy has had migraines. dr stevens leaned towards treating for that because of his history and the hereditary potential. but, she said, lets do a CAT scan just to rule out anything else. 

watched you happily run out of that office, lose your right flip flop again, turn and ask “this button mommy?” at the elevator — and all i could think was i didn’t want to lose you. didn’t want to hear what was coming. you’d paid your dues, right? you’d spent enough of your babyhood in hospitals while supporting brighley’s journey… that alone was a buffer, a down-payment, a karmic excuse from any further medical complications, right?

wrong. 

the phone rang while we were sitting down for a hospital cafeteria hot dog. we had just left the radiology department 15 minutes ago. and here your pediatrician was calling. no one calls that fast for good news. “hi mrs hunt. its dr stevens. unfortunately i don’t have good news. scan showed a significant mass in his frontal lobe. i would tell you to walk over to ER to be admitted but they want you downtown at main campus. if you can drive him there, i am calling ahead to let them know you are on the way.”