My granddaughter has leukemia

I have spent way too much time in hospitals this fall, I think I have experienced just about every human emotion in the process. Having managed to graduate from college without taking a psychology course, I had to look up human emotions to see how many there are. Apparently, there are differences of opinion on the matter, but I will go with one of the shorter lists: happiness, sadness, anger, surprise, fear, and disgust.

It started this Fall with a bittersweet mixture of surprise, happiness, and sadness, as my family gathered around my mother in her final moments. Most recently there was much happiness and surprise when my daughter from Chicago went into labor, during our Thanksgiving weekend gathering, blessing us with our ninth grandchild right here in Cedar Rapids.

In the midst of this emotional whirlwind, between the sorrow of my mother's passing and the joy of welcoming a new grandchild, we received a real gut punch: my 12-year-old granddaughter, Phoebe, was diagnosed with cancer.

It happened so quickly. Phoebe wasn’t feeling well, and her mom took her to the doctor. After some routine blood tests and a prescription, they thought little of it and returned home. But the tranquillity was shattered in the middle of the night by an urgent phone call: my daughter-in-law was instructed to immediately rush Phoebe to the nearby children's hospital. After running more tests, the medical team discovered that Phoebe had an aggressive form of leukemia. Thankfully, we were informed that the prognosis for successful treatment in such cases is quite promising.

As if things weren’t complicated enough, Phoebe and her family live in Baltimore and were in the process of selling their house and moving to Cedar Rapids. When we learned about Phoebe’s diagnosis, my wife and I immediately flew to Baltimore to be with Phoebe and help around the house with the other kids. She started chemotherapy right away and it was frustrating being so close by yet unable to see her while she was in the pediatric intensive care unit.

By week's end, we received heartening news: Phoebe was responding positively to the treatments. They transferred her from the PICU to the regular oncology floor, a significant step forward. As soon as visitors were allowed, we rushed to see her. Greeting us was Phoebe, remarkably happy and upbeat despite everything. She was keen to draw, and tell stories, and her room was full of unicorns, her favorites. She had one request; she wanted a pizza from Costco and it broke my heart to tell her that I wasn’t allowed to get her one.

Phoebe was diagnosed with cancer less than a month ago, but it seems like it has been years. Since my wife and I have returned home from Baltimore, we now get updates in the form of phone calls or text messages. One day her numbers are up, the next day they are down and I don’t yet know enough about leukemia to really understand what it all means. Friends who have been through this experience with their children or grandchildren have told us that fighting cancer is a marathon, not a sprint.

We are nearing the end of the initial phase of this journey, Phoebe will finish her inpatient chemotherapy this week. If all goes well her mother will bring her to Cedar Rapids and she will begin outpatient cancer treatment at the Staed Family Children’s Hospital at the University of Iowa. We still have a long road ahead of us, at least nine months of outpatient chemotherapy.

This is not the first time our family has been touched by cancer, but it is the first time it has affected one of our children or grandchildren. Somehow it is different when it hits one of the little ones. We have been so blessed, others who have been down this road have reached out and offered to help or even just to listen.

As the Apostle Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians 1:3-4, “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”

Before I even found out about Phoebe, one of my young friend’s two-year-old daughter was diagnosed with some form of leukemia. I had the chance to sit down, eat lunch, and pray with him before he took his daughter to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital in Memphis for a two-week stay. At the time, I was at a loss about what to say or do. Since then, I have talked to him and let him know that now I understand at least a little bit of what he is going through. I have been comforted and when I am given the chance I want to be able to comfort others.

David Chung is a Gazette editorial fellow. david.chung@thegazette.com