Some wise person once said that the more you focus on something, the more you see it. We've all had experiences with this. It's kind of funny how our perception of everyday life changes with our experiences, isn't it? Your mind becomes focused and you start to notice similarities all around you. This is true for any circumstance we face, whether it be relationships, pregnancy, or cancer.
Cancer. The thing I now focus on. I hear the word everywhere I go; in other people's conversations, in my own conversations, and it's even in a surprising amount of books these days. It's like my eyes and ears are trained to raise a warning flag anytime the word is uttered: BEWARE! CANCER! I concentrate on it, thinking about it every time I hear the word, praying for the people who have to deal with it.
And the terrible part is that it wasn't until Mason was diagnosed with cancer that I finally noticed just how many people have it. Because there are a lot; many people who I never would have guessed.
Did you know I have family members with cancer? I'm talking about other family members besides Mason. And did you know I also have other family and friends who have had cancer for years, and I never knew it? Well, I know now. My cancer detector is getting great at finding this stuff out.
It seems like I can't have a conversation with someone without finding out that either they, or their son/daughter/brother/sister/aunt/uncle/cousin/niece/nephew/dog has cancer. And my intent in saying that is not to be rude. Not at all. I am merely stating it because I am appalled by the sheer number of lives this disease is claiming. Whether it claims lives literally or only claims parts of it, it's still claiming time; those months--and sometimes even years--spent fighting the disease. Time is precious.
A year ago, I was your typical mother, trying to raise a child. Today, I am your typical mother, trying to help her son win a war against cancer; a description that is becoming frighteningly common. And with cancer spreading just so, even with Mason doing so well, it's hard to look around and feel like we're winning. With each new step Mason takes forward, I feel held back with news of the doings of cancer elsewhere. It's like being in a cycle, and I have no idea if I feel this way because it's really this bad, or because I've been focusing on it too much.
Anyone knows that even after you're done focusing on something, your mind can have a hard time letting go. With the news that Mason's Tumor is gone, I feel like rejoicing--I AM rejoicing. But I can't help the whisper in the back of my mind that says it's only a matter of time before it returns. And if it does, with this type of tumor, there's almost no hope. So where's the point when I actually give up hope? Haven't I already, merely by thinking this? I don't think so. I'm not ready to give at all, in fact. But at the end of each day, the last thought I keep finding myself with is:
Will there ever be a cure?