Gam zeh ya'avor

“Shit! That hurt!” I yelled as the nurse jabbed a very thick and very long needle up my arm.

“Sorry we couldn’t access your port. We didn’t want to clog it up with contrast.”

I closed my eyes and was overcome with a warm sensation. The dye was working. The thin table that I was lying on automatically slid forward. When I opened my eyes, there were only six inches between my face and the walls of the scanner. This is it, I thought to myself. This test would determine whether or not my body was still infested with cancer. If this were the case, I would need radiation and perhaps more chemotherapy. I felt unprepared. This wasn’t the kind of test I could study for.

The table automatically slid back. “Hold your breath,” said a monotone female voice. My upper body steadily moved out of the mouth of the humungous donut. It was now scanning my pelvis.

The ring shape of the machine that surrounded my body reminded me of a folktale from my childhood:

King Solomon once requested that his most trusted minister fetch him a very special ring. “You see,” he said, “this ring has magical powers. If a happy man looks at it, he becomes sad, and if a sad man looks at it, he becomes happy." The king knew that no such thing existed, but he hoped to give his minister a sense of humility.

Spring and summer came and went, and still the minister had no idea where to find such a ring. One night, as he was walking through the poorest quarters of Jerusalem, he came across an old merchant who was laying out his goods on a shabby rug. "Have you by any chance heard of a magic ring that makes the happy wearer forget his joy and the broken-hearted wearer forget his sorrows?" The old man selected a fine gold ring from his collection and engraved something on it. Upon reading it, the minister smiled.

"Well, my friend," said Solomon, "have you found what I sent you after?" All the other ministers snickered and Solomon himself grinned.

"Here it is, your majesty!"

As Solomon read the inscription, the smile vanished from his face. The merchant had written three Hebrew letters on the gold band: gimel, zayin, and yud, which began the words "Gam zeh ya'avor" -- "This too shall pass."

My scans came back negative, and I am now officially in remission. I wish I had remembered this tale much earlier in my journey, through all of my pain, tears, mucositis, infections, neutropenia, fainting, fatigue, transfusions, bruising, bleeding, loneliness, and fear because this too did pass. I’m over this bump and moving forward on this winding road we call life. On Sunday, I’m returning to school, I’ve been accepted to a college, and eating no longer hurts. Now, if only someone would tell my nose hairs to get their furry asses back into my nostrils, my life would be much more pleasant.

I am thankful for how much this cancer transformed my family. My younger brother has practically become my older one, as he is constantly looking out for me and reminding me to take my meds; my father has transformed from a virtual workaholic to overly protective nurse, caretaker, and friend; and my mother has always been with me for every blood draw, procedure, and emergency room visit, always bringing with a supply of food to meet my special dietary needs. I am thankful for learning the definition of true friends: the ones who ditch school to accompany me to the hospital, the ones who go out of their way to pay me surprise visits, the ones who join me on long walks in the Botanic Gardens, and the ones who make me delicious muffins, gheimeh, mandel bread, plum tart, pumpkin bread, and soup. I am thankful to all of the wonderful doctors, nurses, and hospital staff who took such wonderful care of me. I am also thankful to my aunt Tania, who was particularly instrumental in my diagnosis. Lastly, I would like to thank you, dear readers, for sticking with me for so long.

Soon after being afflicted with this disease, I realized that I was fortunate to be receiving the great healthcare that I received. With the knowledge that not every child battling Hodgkin’s Lymphoma is as fortunate as I am, I wanted to make a difference. Approximately six weeks ago, I was granted a wish by the Make a Wish Foundation (http://www.wish.org/). My wish was to save a life. Currently, I am waiting to hear back from them as to if and how they can help me accomplish my wish, and I hope to report back to you in the near future. Perhaps this blog will continue with a second life, dedicated to that worthy cause.

The great Persian poet Rumi once said, “What strikes the oyster shell does not damage the pearl.” My bald head and spirit are shining with all their might. Now that I am this much closer to a full recovery, I must always remember never to take my health for granted. Gam zeh ya'avor.

Matt holding my hand before my CT scan.