On July 19, 2019 our world was shattered when we heard the words that no parent ever wants to hear: “Your child has cancer.” Those words hit us like a train and left us momentarily paralyzed. The shock was too great. The news was too unbelievable. This could not be true. That day marked the day that our lives would be forever changed and marked first of many paralyzing moments in this cancer journey.
On Thursday, January 16th, 2020, we hit the fourth paralyzing moment of this cancer journey. It came on a day that was filled with joy and celebration as Greyson had finished his final inpatient chemo phase. He still has a long road of chemo ahead (another 2 full years to be exact), but the phase we were most dreading was done. Barring an illness, or relapse, we shouldn’t have to return to the hospital for an overnight stay. We were ecstatic. The nurses and staff at Women’s and Children’s had thrown Greyson a party. They bought a cake, signed a card, sang a song and gave him gifts. I’m not much of a cryer, but during the party, tears began to fill my eyes. The realization that this phase was finished was overwhelming. The love that the hospital staff has for Greyson and our family was heartwarming. This was a joyful day. This was a great day. And then we got home.
The same train that barreled over us on July 19 was waiting for us the second we walked through the door. I walked in the kitchen after unloading the car and Karla asked the question I had been dreading for weeks, “Should we shave his head?” I could hear the train on the tracks, I could sense the paralyzing dread welling up within me. I knew the right answer. Greyson’s hair had been coming out for several weeks and was now patchy. We knew Greyson’s hair-loss was bothering him, he was always scratching at it. I knew we needed to shave the patches off. But I didn’t want to. Something in me caused me to freeze. I had felt this same feeling on the day of his diagnosis, on the day his chemo began and on the day we learned that he was not in remission. I hated this feeling. I knew that I had been dreading the moment of shaving his head, but I wasn’t quite sure why.
We sat him down and shaved his head. Afterwards we swept up what little hair was on the ground and saved some in a ziploc bag. This was, after all, our baby’s first hair cut. That’s when it hit me. I glanced down the hall, took one look at Greyson and saw the reason why shaving his head was so hard.
Baldness won’t let you forget.
Believe it or not, there have been days on this cancer journey that we have forgotten about cancer. There have been days where Greyson acted like a completely normal, energetic toddler. He would run down the hallway and tear off his diaper and all we would see is a bare bottom running away from us as fast as he could. There were days where we would put a plate full of food on the table in front of him, only to watch him smile as he threw it on the floor. He would laugh at the TV and he would yell when he was hungry. He was normal. And on those days, cancer was easy to forget.
Not anymore. Now he looks like he has cancer. Maybe he did before, when his hair was patchy, but some days it was just easier to forget. But now…now it’s unforgettable.
Before, we could go out in public and someone would comment on our cute little baby. Now people are in shock when they see him. We understand the shock, it’s hard to know what to say to a parent who has a cancer baby in the shopping cart with them at Wal-Mart. We’re used to the puzzled, inquisitive looks (we are two white parents with two bi-racial children). What we aren’t used to is the deeply curious, can’t blink, “what am I seeing” type of stare. We know it’s curiosity and concern that drives these looks. And we generally get the sympathetic nod when our eyes meet their eyes.
Greyson’s baldness won’t let us forget that he has cancer. And that’s the reason I was dreading shaving his head the most.
What if baldness could show us something else?
If you know me, you know I’m always trying new thought projects, experiments and trials. I’m always trying to see things differently, and often trying to find the Lord’s perspective on events that happen in my life and in our world. So, as I examined my paralyzing dread and our inability to escape reality, it dawned on me that maybe I was looking at baldness and cancer all wrong. Maybe my framework needed to be replaced, away from the negative frame and towards the positive frame. What if I began to see his baldness as a reminder of all the ways God has blessed Greyson and our family through cancer rather than seeing it as just cancer?
What if instead of seeing a disease I saw a description? A description of who Greyson is and not what Greyson has. Greyson isn’t a “cancer baby”, he is a strong baby who is fighting a fight he knows nothing about with more strength than he realizes. Beyond that, Greyson is our son, given to us by the very hand of God. He is more teacher than student in this journey and has shown far more strength than he has weakness. He has this disease called cancer, but this disease will not define or describe him.
What if instead of seeing how much his body is going through, I see how far God has brought him? God has given this little toddler an unbelievable joy in life. His laugh is contagious, his cancer is not. His smile can’t be defeated, his cancer can. God has helped him endure round after round after round of chemo. He’s endured spinal taps and bone marrow biopsies. He’s been through nauseous days and sleepless nights. God has seen him and us through much and I have zero doubt that whatever lies ahead, God will be there, faithfully bringing him through each wave of this storm.
What if instead of seeing his baldness as a side effect of chemo, I see his baldness as a side effect of life. Greyson is in remission and we are prayerful it never comes back. His baldness is not a reminder that he has cancer, it’s a reminder that he’s beating cancer.
The thing is, perspective matters. The proper perspective matters even more. I believe that part of our daily prayers should be that God would help us to see the way he sees, that he would give us the proper perspective. My prayer is that God would help me re-frame Greyson’s baldness, aggressiveness, sickness and whatever else chemo brings our way in a proper way.
And my prayer is that he does the same for you. We know that his baldness is a shock to you. We know that you aren’t quite sure what to say and we understand the inability to look away. But when you see his baldness, don’t think about the negative side of cancer, see the positive side instead. God has used Greyson’s cancer to change our lives. God has used a little boy with very few words to teach me lessons about life that no one else ever could. And I’m confident if you listen closely, God will teach you a few lessons through him too.
So, what about you? What trial are you going through? What painful event in your life has brought you that paralyzing fear? When it comes, take a minute and pray, asking God to help you have the proper perspective. When it comes, question it. Why do you feel paralyzed? What is your greatest fear? Stare deeply into the eyes of that fear and then hear Jesus whisper to you, “Fear not.” Finally, take that next step, even if you aren’t quite sure where it leads. Take it. Trust God and simply walk ahead. Instead of allowing fear to paralyze you, flip the script, take a step and decide that fear won’t paralyze you because God will paralyze your fear. Pray for perspective and take a step.