I’ve been watching my african violet, waiting for it to bloom. It usually blooms in January, but I forgot to water it in December and it went dormant. I’m longing for flowers and so I’m watching the bud stalks slowly creep upwards. It’ll probably be in bloom next week. This african violet was given to me in January of 2000 by some good friends who knew it was the anniversary of radiation therapy and wanted me to have flowers in the winter. It has given me flowers every winter since then and I love it every year.

I got my wish about lots of snow and I find that, while snow is better than bleak, what I really want is spring. But before spring comes I want to be completely done with writing about my radiation experiences. It sent tendrils into my life in many unexpected directions. Some of the tendrils are so sneaky that I didn’t even know they were there until I began writing these entries. Mine was not the only life affected.

Kiki was three during my radiation therapy. She was not old enough to fully comprehend what was happening, but she was definitely old enough to be made insecure by it. At the beginning of the therapy she was able to fall asleep by herself in her own bed. By the end of therapy I was having to lie down with her every night until she fell asleep. It was one parenting task that was still within my capabilities even when things were worst. I could snuggle my little girl. It was 6 months later before we gently transitioned Kiki back to falling asleep by herself. The effects on Kiki were greatly lightened by my mother staying with us. Having Grandma live at our house was like a huge holiday for Kiki and Link. Grandma took them for walks, planned crafts, told stories, blew bubbles in the back yard, and generally made life pleasant. But Kiki was still aware that mommy was very sick. I didn’t fully realize that until a year or so after therapy was over when I came down with the flu. I was laying in bed and Kiki came sneaking into the room and snuggled with me. We talked a little and it came out that she was afraid that mommy was going to be very sick again. Kiki still has vague memories of the radiation therapy, but years of me being well seem to have dispelled her fears.

Link was 18 months old during my radiation therapy. Link was such an easy going, mellow toddler that he seemed completely unaffected by my radiation therapy. He was happy, ate regularly, went to bed easily, and played with Grandma joyfully. It wasn’t until a year later that I began to worry about him. At age two and a half Link could speak a total of 30 one-syllable words. Most kids that age make 3 word sentences. Even more telling Link only understood about 40 words when most kids that age understand just about everything that is said to them. I finally had some developmental testing done hoping it would show me that my fears were groundless. Unfortunately they weren’t. Link was a year behind in his language development. Over the next few years Link went through an early intervention program and a preschool for developmentally delayed children. We had developmental testing done at intervals and he always tested a year or two behind his peers.

I spent a lot of energy trying to figure out what had happened and why. Howard and I both scanned our memories. We both have a memory of an event where we were playing with one year old Link and Howard was saying “clock” and Link was repeating “gok.” That is normal and the way that kids usually acquire language. But somewhere Link lost the ability to imitate. It was a skill I had to carefully teach him during the early intervention programs. So not only had Link failed to progress, he’d regressed. There were words he knew at one year old that he no longer knew at two and a half. What happened to my little boy? I felt horribly afraid that somehow my radiation therapy had caused Link’s delay. That my unavailability prevented him from growing in the ways that he needed to. At the very least the radiation therapy and it’s aftermaths prevented me from noticing that there was a problem earlier.

There was definitely a problem. Link’s brain was failing to make connection after connection that other kids seem to make naturally. I stepped in, identified the needed connection, and then devised lessons or games to teach it to him. I had lots of help from preschool teachers and other child development professionals. Link would learn the connection he was missing and a whole new world of communication would open up for him, until he ran up against the next connection he was missing. Now, at age 8, Link is a normal and happy second grader. A stranger who met him would be unlikely to notice the fact that he still struggles with words. Link knows what he wants to say, but finding the words is frequently hard. Some of his syntax is odd. I still work with him to help him communicate more smoothly, but I no longer feel sadness and panic that my little boy is trapped behind wordlessness. He can read. He can write. He is fine and will continue to be so.

Our best guess for “what happened” is that at the very time Link’s brain was actively developing language he had an allergic reaction to a pertussis vaccination and the reaction damaged his brain. That vaccination was given to him at his 18 month check up just after I was finished with radiation therapy. I was not at my most observant just then, so this conjecture is not confirmable by any observations I made at the time. Neither Gleek nor Patches were immunized for pertussis until after they were speaking in full sentences. I did that deliberately. They are both highly verbal children. Anecdotal evidence at best, I know.

Link’s developmental delays have made my heart ache for years. He would be completely oblivious to things that were basic knowledge to his peers. I remember teaching 2 year old Link how to imitate facial expressions and repeat words using small candies as a reward. I remember spending hours playing game after game to teach colors to Link. I remember sitting teaching 4 year old Link the whole concept of male and female which is a concept most kids just pick up when they are two. I remember multiple conferences with his kindergarten teacher who felt like he was lost without friends in a world of his own. We still find gaps in Link’s comprehension of the world, but the gaps are smaller now and easier to cross. Before too long I’ll be able to teach Link to notice his own gaps and bridge them himself.

In the end Link’s challenges are not really connected to my radiation therapy at all. But emotionally they are linked and thus it got stored in the same emotional box which I’m attempting to empty.