could be...might be...maybe is...good news

Remission: noun, 1. (medical) the state of absence of disease activity in patients with a chronic illness, with the possibility of return of disease activity; 2. (theology) remission is the forgiveness of sin.

This whole little wrestling match with the dark angel of leukemia has taught us both to live one day at a time avoiding any possible future tripping, either negative or positive. For the last two weeks I've found myself saying to so many people, "You know we'll just have to wait and see. This isn't a time for making plans."

Thus much to my surprise it was with a bit of trepidation that I took in Tad's voicemail this morning: "I've got real good news. Call me back."

I actually heard the message as I was leaving the pool and was pretty sure I knew what he meant. I decided to go out for lunch first.

I played the voice message for my friend John who also immediately knew what it was all about. The day before the oncologist had told us he would probably be getting back the preliminary results of the second biopsy which would tell us if he had indeed blasted the cancerous cells out of the park or not. He also told us nearly three weeks ago that if we got to "remission" Tad would only need to have two more of these five week stints in hospital with chemo. He finished rather ominously by saying, "And if we can't we'll have a discussion to see where we go from there."

John was giggling with excitement: "Wow - that's such good news!! I'm so excited." Still I wasn't willing to go there for some reason.

Two weeks ago I had no logical explanation for why I would burst out in tears one moment and not the next. Why one song made me cry but not another. Why walking down 20th Street near Dolores Park made me cry more than say 14th Street. Why a friend's mention of the Monterrey Aquarium suddenly brought on tearful memories with Tad but not a mention of Greece.

So unpredictable was this whole emotion thing that I actually found myself saying the most surrealistic thing to my friend Ross: "I know that I just told you a whole litany of really tragic things and I have no idea why I did it with such a matter-of-fact voice or why in ten minutes I may start crying again."

(And I'm not the type to hold back tears out of shame or modesty.)

After lunch I called Tad and told him to wait til I got to the hospital so that he could tell me face to face.

When I arrived he said: "Your wish came true" with a funny smile.

I knew he was referring to all those times the first week when we sat in the hospital room holding each other, crying together and me saying, "I really don't want you to die. I hope we get to spend a lot more time together."

So what we now know is that -
1) quantitatively the cancer cells are no longer perceptible in his bone marrow and
2) qualitatively this leukemia is the genetically the easiest kind to knock out.

The difference between 'remission' and 'cure' however is vast and is measured in years. Five years to be exact. If after five years the little bugger hasn't started replicating like crazy and taking over his immune system again then he is considered cured.

As the definition says - remission is the absence of disease activity, not the absence of disease.

Inch allah!