So we go back and forth, back and forth, completely certain that one choice is right until a half hour later when suddenly the polar opposite seems the wisest option.

After twenty-four hours of research and discussions and lots of mulling, plus a  quick meeting with our oncologist, we’ve narrowed down our decision to two options: All or Nothing. Either we remove the kidney and finish the next twelve weeks or we stop.

First of all, temporary dialysis is not an option. As Mark and I figured out on our own last night and then had confirmed by the docs today, there would be no way for the body to save its waste fluids for a dialysis catheter if a working kidney existed. We also learned that we can indeed do this next scheduled chemo with a GFR of 27, plus the one scheduled three weeks after that, but not the two that follow. And in the cancer world, there is no point in doing half a protocol — the strength is in the combination of drugs. Again, it’s all or nothing. So if we decide to move ahead with the chemo he was supposed to start tomorrow, we would essentially be committing to removing the kidney within six weeks’ time.  “Essentially” nothing, we would be committing to removing the kidney within the next six weeks.

Or we stop. Right now, today, done with treatment. We assume we’ve done enough, that if chemo’s gonna work, it’s already worked. That our decision back in December to do the most aggressive radiation would have taken care of any potential spilled cells. That oncologists are so prone to over-treating, especially with children, that they never risk treating just the right amount. It’s the old hammer versus chisel analogy: We could probably treat this cancer with a chisel but we just don’t know so we use a hammer instead . . . and cause all sorts of collateral damage. We could figure we’ve done enough — we surgically removed the tumor, we blasted the entire area with radiation, we further blasted it with chemo, and that’s that. We could hold onto that kidney and hold our breath.

It is the choice between a bad thing definitely happening and a terrible thing maybe happening.

Some of you may be reading along and thinking, “Wow, how could they ever risk another relapse? Why not avoid it at all costs?” Well, I’ve thought that too in the past day but, like I said, I’m vacillating and after learning a little more about dialysis and transplant, I’m thinking that too should be avoided at all costs. It’s one thing to hear from the doctors who say things like, “Kids do well on dialysis” and another thing entirely to hear from the parents who say it’s worse than cancer treatment. I’ve reached out to some parents I “know” (in the virtual sense) and asked about their experiences with dialysis and transplant and what I’ve heard isn’t encouraging.

Worse than cancer treatment. (And this is from people who truly know, who’ve done both.) Worse than chemo and radiation. Harder on the child, harder on the parent, harder on the family.

I’ve heard about people feeling tired and letharigic all the time, even people (like Austin) who didn’t feel that way with chemo. I’ve heard about severe fluid restrictions and rigid diets, much much harder than the seriously modified renal diet we’re currently following. About kids taking forty-plus oral meds a day, when we’re forced to cajole and trick and bribe and threaten to get Austin to take a mere four or five right now. About kids with stunted growth because dialysis leeches the protein out of their system, starving their muscles of all their fuel.

I look at him today and he’s fine. Fine. A totally normal little boy, who is still growing and still playing and still eating and still peeing, and I wonder how I could subject him to something so horrible. How could I willingly take away something that is still working, maybe not perfectly, but still working to give him something I don’t know he needs? Something that, in addition to possible good, can also give him secondary leukemia or leave him deaf.

It is not a good place to be, not a decision any parent should have to make. We are both going back and forth, back and forth, every few minutes taking a gut check: “Which way are you leaning now, honey?” We’re good at communicating, me and Mark, we trust and respect each other completely. And I think we’ll come to a decision together so we can move forward together. We’ve postponed tomorrow’s chemo until at least Monday so we’ll have a little more time (so if you’re scheduled for a playdate or a dinner, you’re off the hook for the time being). Of course, neither of us is sure what will eventually make one decision stick over the other. I welcome your input, even if it’s based on nothing more than intuition. I won’t feel pressured to follow any one person’s advice and I’m certainly not asking anyone to make this decision for us, but I find it helpful to hear all sides and to consider all perspectives.

Sometimes I feel as if I’m standing outside myself, watching my life like it’s some tear-jerking episode on a family drama, like it couldn’t actually be happening to me. Of course, such a dilemma would probably be resolved within a television hour. Ours is more like that frustrating season finale where you’re left hanging because it may be years before we know if we’ve made the right decision. If there even is a right decision.

Maybe the right decision is simply whichever one we make.