But you don't look sick

A couple of weeks ago Liz sent me this text message:

"Sometimes little things are quite sobering and smack me in the face about dumb cancer. I picked out a button up shirt for Eli and it took me 5-6 tries before I could do 1 button. All the while the boys just happened to be sitting on the couch watching me. I tried to act calm and not distressed but Cohen just looked at me so intently like he was silently willing me to do it. Incredibly hard. A seven year old shouldn't have to be your cheerleader."

Cohen's unabashed choice for his school's "Wear Pink Day"

We have a new reality now. We're almost to a year since diagnosis, and although the cancer was obliterated (WAHOO!), it can still come back. Liz has good days and bad days. But when she looks well, it's hard for folks to understand that she is fighting a battle every day. As another cancer survivor wisely put it: "It's not that we are seeking pity, but we need the support of our family and friends...We look healthy. We aren't. We are sick. We are vulnerable. Even if we don't look like it."

How quickly some people forget what she is dealing with, both physically and emotionally. I forget sometimes too. But some people don't -- a phone call, a hug, a ladies night out, her favorite chicken noodle soup magically appearing on our doorstep on a particularly difficult day. These are the people who give her the strength and will to keep going. They remind me of an inspiring quote from Mother Teresa:

"I used to pray that God would feed the hungry, or do this or that, but now I pray that he will guide me to do whatever I'm supposed to do, what I can do. I used to pray for answers, but now I'm praying for strength. I used to believe that prayer changes things, but now I know that prayer changes us and we change things."

Cohen shouldn't have to be his mom's biggest cheerleader, but he is. Each night, if I'm home early enough, I help put the boys to bed. I recently asked Cohen what he wanted to read before going to sleep.

"Dad, can we draw in the cancer book?"

We bought a great workbook last year to help Cohen open up about his questions, worries, and help him deal with the emotional reality of cancer in his home. He drew six boxes on the "Questions I have about cancer" page and filled them up: medicine bottle, germs, IV tubes, bed, and hair. He left one of the boxes blank. I asked him to tell me about each box:

Medicine bottle: cuz Mom still has to get her medicine at the cancer center every three weeks.

Germs: cuz we want to kill them all and make sure cancer doesn't come back.

IV tubes: that's how Mom gets her medicine to keep the cancer away.

Bed: Mom had to spend a lot of time in bed to kill the cancer and have lots of "engery" for her boys.

Hair: cuz all of her hair was gone with the cancer medicine and now it's growing back.

Blank: this one is for our whole family, cuz we love Mom and we are going to be together forever.

Yes. Yes we are.

Go Team Liz.