My son has cancer. No, I don't have to say that anymore...

My son had cancer and is now a survivor. No, I can't say that yet...

My son is caught in cancer limbo... Yes, that's what it is.

We are somewhere between heaven and hell; the celebration of a war won and the torture of the faceless villain. Somewhere between the, "boy, he sure is tired," and the, "I wonder what his hemoglobin is." We are stuck in this place where we don't know if it's safe to assume a new virus is causing a fever, or if he has a life-threatening infection in his port. We know his loss of appetite is a direct result of this stomach bug working on him; yet Nana's eyes and mine still meet with trepidation from across the room when he eats only a few bites and says he's done, both of us trying our best to pretend we didn't notice the wave of panic in the other's face as we each secretly fear that this is a replay of this time last year. Cancer limbo.

Is this real? Has the last year truly happened to us? I can still feel the split seconds of nothingness before the pain caught up to me as the doctor told me, "I can't think of a reason it would be there... other than cancer..." But, did that really happen? Has my son really had a HUGE benefit in his honor? Did all of those thousands of people, many who we've never met, really reach out to show their support? I am still overwhelmed with gratitude, but still so numb to the idea. Did it really happen for my son?

I remember it all; every quiver of panic, every needle stuck, every strand of hair that fell.

I still feel it; the deep and piercing stab in my gut as I held my son down while he screamed in pain and horror, the hollowness in my chest as doctors taught me a new vocabulary, the burning in my throat as I fought back the urge to release even an ounce of the terror.

I'm acutely aware of the unknown future; it could come back, a different cancer could develop as a result of "treatment," what if he can't have kids? Will his teeth always be discolored?

Fourteen months ago, I knew about childhood cancer in the same way I knew about winning the lottery; it's a reality for some, but worlds away from us... Something you hear about in passing and then take a moment to imagine before forgetting about it because there are papers to grade or or a lesson to plan or a toddler pulling on your leg. And then it happened. But is it truly real? Is this actually our reality? Has this really happened to us? Cancer limbo.

No questions, no advice needed. Just needed to share and this is the safest place for me to do so. Tonight, as I am both haunted by the earth-shattering memories as well as soaking in every sound of breath he takes and every bit of the scent in his hair as he lay here on my shoulder, I am preparing my mind for what the doctors will tell me in the morning. Please send all of your positive thoughts this way for a continued declaration of NED (no evidence of disease).