And Then There Were None

September 11, 2001. A day we had been waiting for and dreading at the same time had finally arrived. Our up close and intimate relationship with childhood cancer was about to take a turn for the better. After 15 months in active treatment, Ethan would get his very last dose of chemotherapy, and he would enter what is called the 'surveillance' phase of his illness--the period of time that follows active treatment, where we watch for a return of his cancer. Where we look for something we hope never to find.
In his case, the stakes were high. There was not a treatment regimen for relapse that worked very well, so no 'standard treatment' option. That is bad news for kids who need a second chance, so we were left not only with waiting and watching, but also knowing that Ethan's best shot at living to adulthood had already happened. As a physician, I knew his fix was in, but as his mother, ending treatment also meant that we stopped actively doing anything about that, and I had very mixed feelings.
He was, as always, happily propped up in his bed as the cytoxan coursed through his IV, watching Mulan for the dozenth time and loving it just as much as he always did.

While Ethan was in one bed, my husband and I were in the empty bed next to his, watching what everyone across the world watched unfold that morning. First the plane hitting the World Trade Center, watching CNN to learn more about it. A plane hit a building? How could that have happened? And then the other tower getting hit--No, that could not be a coincidence, what was going on? And so on. The terror, the destruction, the disbelief, the loss of life, we watched it all unfold.
The nurses on the pediatric oncology floor dutifully presented Ethan with a cake that afternoon, and clapped when he left, bravely putting his important milestone ahead of all the fears that abounded that day. But even now, nine years later, it is hard to face the anniversary--and even now, I do not know how much of it is what happened to my country that day and how much of it is being emotionally unraveled by what had appened to us.