Anguish

I can barely type this without being sick. Literally.

Some really bad language is ahead, so if this troubles you, please avert your gaze now or stop reading before the last few paragraphs.

Over the years we've come to "know" many CaringBridge families--some we've been fortunate enough to meet in person, some just through their CaringBridge pages.

From almost the first week Finn was sick, I found Zach's page through another CaringBridge page. When I first "met" the Finestone family, Zach was four years into his battle with neuroblastoma. All pediatric cancer is hideous in my book, but neuroblastoma is particularly awful.

Yet here was Zach, defying the odds. Living long past doctors thought he would, torturing his parents with his crazy teen antics, and ratting out his Dad, Scott, when he once broke wind in public (possibly my favorite Zach story). I got used to hearing about Zach's day-to-day life as an American teenager. I didn't forget that he had cancer, but he was focused on living and I was focused on reading about it.

And then things started to change this fall. Cancer came slamming back with a vengence.

Just days before we left for Finn's Make-A-Wish trip, the Finestone's learned there were no more treatment options for Zach. In all the excitement of making plans and looking forward to the NYC trip, I felt a terrible pall of sadness and anxiety. How could we be so happy and yet another cancer family is suffering so badly?

Reading Scott's updates is heartbreaking. I feel physically sick for this brave family that has fought so hard for so long--nine years. Nine. Fucking. Years. People. Would you have the stamina to go that long? Well, of course, we all would if that's what we needed to do, but just the thought of it is paralyzing to me. And then to have it end this way. Well. I don't know what to do with these feelings.

I want to say it's unfair, but I don't know what fair is anymore.

Please say a prayer for the Finestones.