Diagnoseversary

When I sit down to write a blog post, I often wonder how much of our lives to put out there. How much do you really want to know? What parts of my life should I share?

What may seem trivial and mundane to a reader might be a momentous occasion in our household. Do I bother to chronicle the lemonade ice cream, courtesy of President’s Choice, we tried for the first time this weekend? (It was heavenly—pink and creamy and so tart that your cheeks suck in and your eyes squint at the mere thought of swallowing it. Mmmm.)

Do I mention that the adorable baby Crocs Hubby snatched up at the Dollarama keep falling off Avie’s feet. As tiny as those shoes are, they are still too big for her!


Should I mention that we have already had a record strawberry haul, in that this week alone, Monique and the girls have picked (and then proceeded to eat!) three mixing bowls worth of berries?


Do you really want to know about Brooke’s sniffling the other night that kept both her and I awake until 1:30 a.m.—or how I’ve lost my maternity leave paperwork amidst a growing pile of bills and invoices and other things that are on ‘to be filed’ list? (Aw, man....I was supposed to look up that Service Canada access code again today. Ah, crap!)

I guess that’s what’s great about blogging. I can keep track of what’s important to me and you can choose whether or not you want to hop along for the journey.

You may have noticed that this is my 100th post. I’ve really been toying with what I should write for this post, as I thought it should be a reflection of who I am or what this blog is supposed to represent, what it has become and what it will come to be in the future—but, let’s face it, I just don’t have the introspective quality or the energy to be that philosophical. It’s a pretty shallow pool o’er here.

But, fittingly enough, today is her diagnoseversary. (I did not coin the phrase myself, I stole that word from someone on the DisBoards. I'm adding that to my personal dictionary, for sure.) A year ago today, Hubby and I were faced with our worst fear—our child was sick. She had cancer. She would need to undergo major surgery and an intense chemo treatment schedule. Her hair would fall out. She would lose weight. Turn pale. Feel tired. Catch every illness under the sun. She would have to make weekly trips to the hospital. She would need to take nasty meds that would make her puke.

I won’t lie to you. The thought of that day still makes my stomach queasy. I hope that the vividness of the day will begin to face, but I don't think I'll ever really get rid of the fear that the cancer could come back. Although each passing scan makes the next more bearable, I know I will never be able to put that notion completely out of mind.

It was a year ago, but I remember it as clearly as if it had just happened. I remember catching "My Sister's Keeper" on the movie channel a few days before, and crying uncontrollably as I watched one sister battle renal cancer and the other insisting she would give up her own kidney if her sister would just continue to fight. The tears were many more than is typical for me in watching a movie. It seemed an omen, to me. A sign I could not shake.

I remember bathing the girls with Hubby one night before the tests began and telling him "You know, this might be the last time we have healthy kids," as he poured bubbles over their heads to laughter. He told me I was being paranoid--and blamed it on that movie I'd just seen and some residual post-partum emotions.

It wasn't. It was mother's intutition. I see that now.

I knew something was wrong. That's why I called the doctors to begin with. And, I knew it was more than just a UTI. I'm glad I followed my gut and went to the ER that night rather than wait until September for an ultrasound. It didn't let me down, although it sure as hell gave me the scare of my life.

No, I won't ever be able to forget that early Wednesday morning, when I received the call. An ultrasound spot was available at noon at CHEO. Could I make it?

Well, I wasn't about to miss it.

I had just bought popsicles at Wal-Mart, when I got the phone call. We had gone out after Avie's immunizations to buy party hats for the twins' party that weekend. We were about to go home, but as the appointment was in an hour and a half, I just decided to go straight to CHEO.

I remember thinking that my popsicles would never make it in the heat and I would come back to a gooey, melted bag of groceries if I didn't act quick, so Brooke and I sat in the parking lot and devoured as many popsicles as we could. I threw the rest of the box out when we got to the hospital.

I can still smell that scent of hospital cleanser and Purell that permeates the halls of CHEO, as we entered 'the train room' (radiology) for the ultrasound test. I can still envision the discoloured Sesame Street characters peeling off the wall of the ultrasound room, the crooked bird mobile swaying lazily over Brooke on the table. I can remember thinking that I should go to the dollar store and buy some new vinyl stickers and give them to reception to brighten up this fading room.

Time seemed to stand still in that dark, quiet room. Just the sounds of jelly being squirted, quiet giggles from Brooke, noisy snoring from Avery and the clicks of the machinery as the tech twisted knobs and tapped keys. I can still see the surreal flash in Hubby's eyes as his darted over to mine and we communicated silently our daughters' slumbering bodies.

This is taking too long. What is he looking for? Something's wrong, isn't it?

I can remember swallowing hard when Jerry, the ultrasound tech turned to us and told us to go back to ER and wait for "someone to come talk to you about the results there." That didn't seem like normal procedure to us. If there hadn't been anything, it would have been a "You'll get results next week. Have a good day" instead.

I can still feel my pulse quickening as we fairly flew to ER, anxious to find out anything. I can still see the nurse at reception shake her head at me. With a newborn who had just been immunized that morning, she wouldn't let me into the ER waiting room where we might pick up an infectious disease. I went around to the front entrance of the hospital with Avery, while Hubby and Brooke stayed behind.

I can still feel the knots in my stomach, the plastic handle of Avie's carrier cutting into the flesh of my upper arm, the plushy fur between my fingers of the monkey I bought in the gift shop, just knowing that this monkey would be hanging from a hospital bed.

It couldn't have been more than 20 minutes. I had time to pick up a magazine and a granola bar, trying to force myself to read and eat to keep from staring at the numbers tick by on my cell phone. I remember the wild look in my husband's eyes when he came looking for me. The breathlessness of his words, the way he cradled my eldest in his arms as if he would never let her go.

I can still hear the sounds of the rolling office chair scratching around on the floor as we wheeled around the waiting room trying to keep a bored two-and-a-half year-old busy, while waiting in agonized impatience for the doctor to arrive. The way the door opened and he slipped in and closed it quietly behind him. His young face, pained with the thought of having to tell us that news. The hesitation in his voice.

I wonder if we are the first family he has ever had to say that to?

I can still feel the prick of the tears that began welling in my eyes as he spoke. I remember trying desperately to suck back the tears, while Brooke wiggled in my lap. And, most of all, I hear her little voice, as she turned around to pat my cheeks with her tiny, warm baby hands and told me "Don't cry, Mommy. Don't be sad."

Those memories won't ever go away. But, they needn't be the only ones that are tied to this diagnoseversary.

This day also marks the day when we started to cure my daughter's illness. When we found and removed the tumour that would have eventually killed her. This day was the beginning of a completely different perspective on life for us. I like to think that this day changed our lives in a good way--we are better people for having undergone the dark days that followed the diagnosis.

And it has just been a year. We are very fortunate--some cancer patients are on treatment for years. Leukemia treatment plans, for example, can last as long as three years--that's an insane amount of time for families to carry such burdens. Three years? Can you imagine how financially, emotionally, physically draining that must be for everyone involved? I can't even fathom it.

Brooke only underwent chemo for six months. She never had radiation. She never had any blood transfusions. She never had any hospital admissions. She never caught any of the illnesses that are typical with low-immunity systems. Overall, she had it easy.

And, the biggest blessing of all? She has graduated into the post-treatment clinic just after New Year's. The hospital visits are fewer and farther in between. Brooke is beginning to forget the nurses' faces. Today, she is cancer-free.

I think I'll toast to that.

Making a difference

Every May, Hubby participates in the CN Tour--a cycling and walking event that raises money for CHEO (Children's Hospital of Eastern Ontario) and the local Candlelighters chapter (an organization that provides financial, emotional and medical support for families with children suffering from cancer). He's probably cycled in this yearly event for the past four or five years.

And every year, the same scenario plays out--he forgets he's signed up for it until about two weeks before the event and then he makes a half-hearted effort to raise funds. He often ends up getting a few donations, but the bulk of it is a self-donation he makes as a result of feeling guilty for not canvassing enough. He generally raises a few hundred bucks, but never anything significant.

Not 2011. This year, cycling the 70km for CHEO and Candlelighters means so much more than it has ever before. The tagline for the event is 'Help Kids with Cancer.' Uh...yeah, as you can imagine, we're pretty emotionally tied to that one.

Over the course of this past year, we have been on the receiving end of the support offered by these great organizations. The programs. The compassion. The thoughtfulness. The respect. The amazing staff. Words are simply not enough. Both organizations have been behind us 125% during this whole process. We've seen how the money they raise is actually spent. We've seen how much more is needed. (Trust us, there was a period of time, we wondered how we could afford to purchase one of those expensive, but oh-so-wonderful blanket warming machines. We so desperately wanted to get one for Ward 4North!) And, in the end, we know how much these deserving organizations appreciate our help--in whatever form we can provide it.

Although it is a big fundraising event for CHEO, it's not the only one--but, the CN Tour is the premier fundraising event for Candlelighters. Last year, the event brought in over $570,000 for both organizations, which is fantastic--but the need is great. So, once again, the goal for this year's event is blowing last year's total out of the water!

This year, with Brooke as his inspiration, Hubby decided to set a CN Tour goal for himself. His team's fundraising target was $2,000 and Hubby's personal goal was half of it. $1,000 seemed a far reach, but he was determined to make it--even if he had to donate the remainder himself, he was determined to see it through!

Well, here we are a week from the event and he's at $1,150! We are so proud of him.

Of course, every bit counts, but this year, it feels good to say we've done our best to make a significant contribution (or at least a genuine effort to make others aware of how wonderful CHEO and Candlelighters has been to us and to many other childhood cancer families in our community). We feel really good about being able to give back to these organizations that have helped us so much this last year.

Anyways, all this to say, that we've set a new goal for ourselves! We are trying to make it to $1,500 by the end of the week. So, if you haven't been completely tapped donating to your own personal causes and have a spare $10 to give to a good cause (tax receipt supplied, of course!), please check out Hubby's site: CN Cycle for CHEO. We would be most obliged!

And, if you are interested in participating, it's not too late to register or volunteer! Lots of races (cycling, walking or in-line skating) to partake in and lots of good, old-fashioned, kid-friendly fun (think bbq, Little Ray's Reptiles animal demonstrations, moon bounces, clowns, face-painting, Craz-E-Crew stunt show, magic show, slides, etc.) that will take place at the Canadian War Museum parking lot (at the Lebreton Flats) during the races and afterwards. You can even bring along the family dog. Definitely not an event to be missed!

Hubby will be cycling the 70km on the morning of May 1st with his team from work. B, Avie and I will walk in the Family 5km. Well, the girls will be waving like royalty from the fine comfort of their little red wagon, while I'll be the one hoofing it, but it'll be fun nonetheless. Hope to see you there!

Smilin' and lucky

Top o' the morning to you!

I wouldn't be much of an Irish girl, if I didn't stop by today to wish you all a very green, beer-filled and potatoey day, would I? So, here I am. Tapping out a quick post while I still sit in jammies at 10:30 a.m. Maternity leave lets you do that. (And, yes, my kids are dressed. But me? I'm last on the list.)

We started our day out with green scrambled eggs and green milk with a green straw and green grapes and orange slices. (Okay, I couldn't make the oranges green. So kill me, already.) Brooke was thrilled. Avie was wary, but she ate her toast and grapes and yogurt sans question.

Been a crazy, cabin-fever past two weeks. Hubby has been out West for two weeks now (well, he was home in the wees hours of last Saturday, but flew out again on Monday) and the girls are missing their daddy and I'm missing him, too and we're all just missing getting out of the house! We've been grocery shopping twice this week just to have something to do.

I am sooooo sick of snow. It's always this way with me come March, but it is especially trying this year because I know I only have four weeks leave before I go back to work. I crave days playing on the back deck or afternoons sitting on the sunny lawn. I want to spend my days digging in the dirt or playing kickball with the girls. I want to hold Avie's little fingers as she learns to take her first steps on the green grass or to run alongside Brooke as she peddles madly on her bike on our semi-paved driveway. I want to eat cut-up watermelon slices and drink from juiceboxes on the porch. I want to blow bubbles and make rainbows with sidewalk chalk.

Now, I'm really kinda regretting not taking an extended leave so that I could have another spring and summer with my girls. I can't believe how much I will miss spending every day with them!! Reality is settling in.

Meanwhile, yesterday I received a photo from my mother of my grandmother when she was 18. Couldn't stop staring at it. My Granny is gorgeous--then at 18 and now at 80. I hope I look half as good as she does when I'm her age. She's beautiful and wonderful and I can't wait to celebrate her birthday with her--and I know both her and her sister, Auntie Alice, are so excited for the party.

Anyways, back to the photo--I'm going to scan the photo and make tiny copies, then pop them into frames as placecards for the tea party. I think everyone will love having a photo of Granny as a young lady for a little souvenir of the special day. I know I will!

By the way--gotta an awesome vintage hat from Etsy for the tea party! It's 80 years old (how fitting is that!?) and bright turquoise with bows and fragile little netting and...and...and it's gorgtastic. I can't wait for the package to arrive.

I was also busy last night making decorations for Avie's upcoming birthday. Sweet things as cute as my Aviecakes! Just love the Neopolitan ice creamyness of it all! Here's a few sneak peeks for you! Maybe I should finally send out the invites? Yikes. A month today!!!

Lastly, even though I have a million things to do before returning to work (haircut much? Need work shoes, too. And gotta finish weaning Avie off of nursing....the list goes on) and I don't really relish going back to the office, I still count my blessings for having what I can call the Luck of the Irish.

Brooke is doing wonderfully. She is getting her balance back, her hair is growing (almost long enough for barrettes!) and she is gaining back both weight and height. AND--we got fab news last week--next Thursday she will have her surgery to have her port removed!

Finally--she will be in full remission. Cancer-free status. Once that thing is outta her, this whole cancer ordeal will be done (well, as done as it can be when in remission). No more port flushes. No more blood tests. No more impending surgery. Just her regularly scheduled CTs and MRIs. We can't wait! We will definitely have to celebrate that event in style, too.

We were at the hospital one day when a fellow patient received his last chemo treatment. His mom brought in a huge sheet cake, all decorated with fondant clowns and pennants and balloons and fireworks, and then she and her son, his brother and their dad spent an hour going around the MDU, pushing the cart with the cake, handing pieces and spoons to patients and nurses alike.

Made me tear up. I accepted the cake graciously, wished them well and a gave the boy a hearty 'congratulations!' The whole family looked so happy. What an awesome way to celebrate the triumph over cancer. I told Hubby right then and there that we had to do something similar for B when her port was out. He totally agreed. Was a good cake, too.

Well, I probably have about 10 mins left before Avie wakes up, so I best get dressed. Have a Merry Leprechaun Day, folks!

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Well, not really. In fact, I can't recall a November as non-wintery as this, but it's beginning to 'look' a lot like Christmas in our house. Almost all of the decorations are up (with the exception of the trees, as we have decided to go with two real pines this year), Diana Krall is on the CD player and sugar cookies have been baked and iced (in hideously garish fashion!) and now reside in a Tupperware container on the kitchen island, awaiting eager little hands.

Still, I feel every bit behind this year. Not much shopping has been done (beyond a few Etsy orders and a last-minute trip to the Samko and Miko sale, that really only produced a few books), the Christmas cards have been ordered, but not yet started and the Santa letters, although in the works, have not been completed. I still have to attempt a new recipe for a Christmas cookie exchange next week, buy some decorations for the float Hubby has been working on putting together for this weekend's parade and RSVP some holiday invitations.

Plus, there's all the things I would like to do, but feel we will simply not have time for this year. (For example, I wanted to sew up somnot e presents and do some crafting in time for the holidays, but realistically, I know that that is going to happen.) This isn't unusual. I always have a huge 'to-do' list each holiday season, but I generally get most of it accomplished with time to spare. This year, I'm really feeling bogged down by it, though.

Why am I dragging my feet a little this year? Is it simple lack of time or a deeper hesitation? Not sure. I'm usually all over Christmas. And, as excited as I am for the parties and family visits, turkey dinners, twinkling lights, mailboxes full of glittery cards and delighted faces Christmas morning, lately, I've been preoccupied with other things.

A lot of it has to do with Brooke. She's been a superstar throughout this whole cancer ordeal--tolerant and rocker tough, but the chemo treatments have finally caught up to her. I find the meds are really taking their toll on her these last couple of treatments. She has not tolerated them as well as she has in the past. And, although her numbers are usually quite high, she's feeling the effects of the treatment.

Lately, her appetite is nil. And, because of mouth sores that she has developed as a result of the chemo, it hurts to eat. She's fed up of medication and having to take upwards of five syringes of medication a day (usually just two, but last week, she had an ear infection, so had more meds to take.)

Her balance and equilibrium are completely off-kilter, so she has been falling down and running into things more than usual--even for a naturally clumsy kid. And, of course, she bruises like nobody's business now, so the bumps and scrapes really look worse than they are. And, we think, because of her balance sensitivity, she's become prone to motion sickness. We've had a few vomiting incidents of late that seem to suggest she can't handle more than 30 minutes in the car any longer.

Sometimes, she seems so tired, or rather tired of being sick, that she just curls up in my lap and says ''I want you.'' It makes me want to cry.

This morning, I cajoled her into taking her medication and allowing me to swab her gums with a medicated mouthwash. It was so painful and/or yucky, she began to cry. I gave her some water to wash out her mouth and she spit it out. Then, she just lifted her hand up and patted my cheek and crying said. ''I just want you to colour with me.'' So, off we went.

She's pale, she's skinny and she's sniffly. She's sick of being sick and I'm sick of having a sick kid. I want my robust, rosy-cheeked, cheerful girl back. It sucks.

On the bright side, it's almost over. My little Fuzz Buzz only has to endure another month of pokes and bandaids and anti-nausea medication. Another chemo treatment on Monday and the final one four days before Santa makes his big trip. To be done with this whole thing will be a relief--and the best Christmas present of all.

I think that's what I'm really looking forward to this year--not really Christmas, so much as the New Year. Starting 2011 healthy and happy. Hubby and I have already decided to spend an LCBO gift certificate our friends gave us on a bottle of champagne to ring in the New Year. It will be a clean slate for all of us. I can't wait.

Until then, Brooke and I will finish her Santa letter. I'm going to include a post-script at the bottom to let Santa know just how great she's been this year. Brave, patient and the best big sister Avie could hope for. I think he will agree that she is deserving of an extra-special present this year.

P.S.: Wrote this yesterday--mailed Santa letters today. Got some shopping done yesterday and RSVPed to a few shindigs. Feel like I finally accomplished somethings. Good thing, too--only one month to go!

P.P.S.: The close-up of the cookies--yikes. Brooke has the benefit of impatience and lack of dexterity on her side. I don't know what the hell my problem is. And, yes, sadly--that's my batch.

P.P.P.S.: To my French-Canadian readers, Happy St.Catherine's Day! To my American readers (should I have any?), Happy Thanksgiving!!

Random whatevers

Woke up this morning from a dream so remarkable that it would have made for a fantastic video game if only I could remember the thread of the plotline, rather than just fragments of my dreamself telling my dreamHubby ''Do you remember that cool time-travelling video game I used to play when I was pregnant with Brooke?'' (I don't play video games, so I know this wasn't just deja vu.)

Hate that. I woke up to B crying that Bunny had fallen on the floor and completely lost the details of the dream, which I just knew would have made for a phenomenal story if only I could have remembered it. Besides a few sketchy moments, all I can remember is the end of the dream, which simply morphed into an odd re-cap of the Friends Show Finale, as prompted no doubt by my watching Friends re-runs last night.

(In case you were wondering, my dream version of the Finale ended with Phoebe primping for Rachel's farewell in a bathroom with Ross and Joey. She then turns to Joey and asks him to help her stuff one of her black gloves with a giant foam finger (the kind you get at sporting events) before jabbing her own hand into it.

''I want to make sure that the last thing Rachel sees makes her smile,'' she explains before the whole group traipses outside to a time-travelling manhole and watches as Rachel travels backward 10 years to the wedding day that never happened and instead of seeking out Monica at Central Perk, she beelines it for an ill-fated Starbucks, forever erasing a decade of sitcom hilarity. Meanwhile, as everyone is waving goodbye and Rachel is disappearing into the ethers of the time continuum, Phoebe raises her hand and gives her the finger. Would have made for a much more dramatic ending to the show, no?)

Tangent aside, I also woke up to autumn in the air. A cool breeze wafted through the windows early this morning with the scent of falling leaves on it. Won't be long before the trees start to turn. Can't wait. Love the fall. Well, frankly, I love the beginning of every season, but especially the fall....

Cozy sweaters, crunchy leaves, crisp apples, tart cranberries, new leather boots, bright bonfires, copper and gold wherever you look, and celebrations galore! Love it.

This weekend was also cause for celebrating. On Friday, we discovered that B's CT scan came back clean, which was wonderful news! Looks like the chemo is working. You can only imagine the dancing all four of us did that night.

On Sunday, we baptized Avie (she looked simply sweet in her little dress and was so good at the ceremony. Not a peep from her or little LG. The same could not be said for B and the twins, however. Those three were running all over the place, giggling like fiends.), so we had a little get-together with family back at our house. Not exactly the bbq weather we were hoping for, but still a great little party. And, of course, both Avie and B were spoiled. We finished the day with $65 in ice cream cakes, but totally worth it!

On Monday, we got the full report from the oncologist. As it turns out, the receptionist was not wrong--the CT scan did come back with no trace of any cancer. The doctor went on to explain that yes, the lesion on the lung had completely disappeared, but there was in fact no change in the kidney.

According to the CT scan folks, there is no tumour there. They feel that there never was any. They weren't convinced of it from the get-go and now after nearly two months of weekly chemo treatments and no change to the spot, they are even less convinced that it was ever cancerous. They believe it to be a part of the kidney that collects the urine.

They only treated it as a tumour in its infancy based on the Washington group's analysis. It was a better-safe-than-sorry scenario and now the CHEO radiologists are even more convinced they were right with their diagnosis in the first place. I hope they are right.

Of course, that means that the only way to truly tell if the spot is not cancerous is to perform a biopsy on it. Brooke will have to undergo another surgery, but the doctors won't do it until after her chemo treatment is completed. So, likely early January.

In the meantime, we'll wait for the Washington group's analysis of the CT scan. Hopefully, we'll know what they think soon. Still good news at the moment, so we'll take it.

As for B: She is doing well. Week 7 chemo came and went as usual. (Another double dose, but she tolerated it smashingly.) A small amount of water came back up after a hasty drink on Monday night, but that was it.

Her blood count numbers are back up, so she is no longer neutropenic (sp?), which is great. She has lost considerable amounts of hair (a lot of it fell out in Week 6, not so much this week), so I will have to start getting her some warm hats soon. (If my kid weren't so damn cute, I'd compare her now wispy, fly-away hair to Gollum's from The Lord of the Rings. I won't, of course, because she is my daughter and that little CGI-guy is creepy as hell, but you know what I mean.) She hasn't been bothered by the hair loss, though. In fact, she seems to like her short locks at the moment. Much cooler for the summertime.

In other news, country life has its downfalls. I had to interrupt this post for a half-hour, while I tried to sweep a chipmunk out of the house. (Thanks, Ferg, for bringing the terrified critter indoors.) It skittered from room to room, into a closet, down the hall and has now found its way into the walls (from behind the dryer).

I can hear it chittering somewhere overhead. My only hope now is that it finds its way out again and doesn't burrow into the insulation and die. Trying to locate a putrid chipmunk corpse trapped within the walls isn't exactly what I consider a good way to spend a weekend.

To breath again

I feel as if I have been holding my breath for two months now. The news came back about 20 minutes ago--it's gone. All of it--lesion on the lung and lesion on the kidney--no trace of either!! And nothing new. Nothing but healthy goodness. I'm beside myself with joy!

Of course, she still has another 18 weeks of chemo, but this is fabulous news and I couldn't wait to share. Hubby and I will meet with an oncologist Monday and see the scans ourselves. Happy tears are pricking my eyes right now.

It will be a real celebration of life this weekend.

Thank you, everyone, for all of your prayers, good wishes and positive energy. It has paid off.

Must jet. She wants me to help her build a puzzle and frankly, there is nothing more in the world I want to do at the moment.

A blissfully bland morning

Sometimes, on days like today, I can almost forget that we are a family dealing with cancer. Everything about today has been ordinary: cartoons during a Froot Loop and Cheerios combo breakfast, a dance-off between B and myself with Avie judging our skill and finesse (I lost, not surprisingly), painting Princess pictures on my bedroom floor (every princess with the exception of my Ariel is purple), B's deft avoidance of her lunch by insisting that we eat alfresco and then dashing into the sandbox when my back was turned. Everything was exactly the same as it was before the diagnosis. The smiles, the laughs, the sunshine on the back deck.

Then, a call from the Interlink nurse from CHEO (nothing to worry about, everyone! Just an appointment rescheduling) and I am reminded of the illness. Oh yeah...cancer, right--I almost forgot.

It's easy to forget that she is unwell when there are no more symptoms present. It's easy to forget when the surgery scars are healing so well. It's easy to forget when B has sailed through two chemo treatments so smoothly and with, thank God, no complications so far. I know it will not always be like this, that she won't always seem so healthy, so happy, so perfect--but I can't help hoping that the worst is already behind us and that the simplicity of this blissfully bland morning remains.

Either way, I know in my heart of hearts that we will beat this thing. Some days, I must remind myself to draw strength from my daughter's overflowing good spirits--she has more than enough to spare--and when I do, I know that she will overcome cancer. That she will walk in the Survivor's Circle at the Relay for Life next summer. That she will wear her decades-old scars, her badges of honour, with pride. That she will one day show her grandchildren her courage beads and tell them her story. Until then, all I can promise her is more smiles, more laughs and more sunshine on the back deck this summer--and every summer thereafter.

First chemo

We went into CHEO on Monday for B's first chemo treatment. When we arrived, we finally got to sit down with the doctor to discuss B's tumour and situation. Another surprise awaited us.

Apparently, a tiny spot (so tiny it's naked to the invisible eye) has been found on her lung. So, it looks like the cancer has spread a bit, no longer contained to kidneys. My heart dropped like the Tower of Terror into the pit of my stomach. Small or not, it has spread. The doctor was surprised we weren't aware of it, as if someone should have told us last week. Once again, we feel as if we have been ambushed by drips and drabs of information.

Pas told the case manager, in no uncertain terms, that we understand that they don't have all the information at the outset, but that we feel as if they have been withholding information from us. Then, when we receive it, the person giving it to us always seems stunned that we weren't informed of the latest developments earlier. It is essential for our peace of mind that we know EVERYTHING they know.

Anyways, the news doesn't seem to change the game plan at the moment. They will treat her as as a Stage 4 (affected lungs) instead of a Stage 5 (bilateral kidneys), but the treatment protocol is the same. Six weeks of chemo and a reassessment at that time. They are hopeful that the drugs will shrink the two spots (on her lung and remaining kidney) in a two-for-one chemo deal. If it doesn't, they will either intensify the treatment (add in radiation) or biopsy (surgery) the spots out of her. Naturally, we're hoping the chemo does the trick.

After the news, and much administrative time-wasting, we finally got on with the chemo treatment. Poor Brooke was already desperately bored with having spent five hours in an exam room with nothing but a few crayons and colouring pages and Snow White running over and over again. Still, she was a trooper.

On Monday, Brooke received two of the drugs--one (Dactinomycin) that she will only receive once and which is the stronger of the two, and the other (Vincristine) which she will receive on a weekly basis. A third drug (Doxorubicin) will be added to the mix in Week 4. What does all this mean?

It means that we have a med schedule now. Yup, my kid who has never needed anything beyond Tylenol to cure what ailes her is now on a med schedule. She will require some special antibiotics over the weekends to prevent a certain type of pneumonia that is difficult to treat in cancer kids. She has anti-nausea medication for days after chemo. She has a special prescription for a $50 jar of powder to ensure she does not become constipated on her other meds. (The expense for these meds is ridiculous, too--I can't imagine how those uninsured or non-Canadian parents deal with the financial burden that comes with cancer. I am only glad that I am not one of them.)

Anyways, B wasn't thrilled by the poking around her port and, overtired, fell asleep while the Vincristine was added and then slept through the Dactinomycin injection. When she awoke, she was very upset, but she is always very cranky after a nap.

Concerned that she was in pain or felt awful, we held her and comforted her for a few minutes, finally forcing her to open her eyes and look around. As soon as she saw us, she just sat up and decided she wanted to paint pictures. She was perfectly fine after that. No complaining of belly aches or headaches or tiredness. She was just her usual self.

We stayed for an additional two hours to observe her and ensure that she had received adequate post-chemo hydration. We were the last ones to leave the clinic, well over two hours after it had closed. Apparently, it won't be like that next week. Just go in, get the Vincristine over the course of an hour and leave right away. We'll see, I guess.

Later that night, B who was in great spirits, ate dinner like it was going out of style. A huge plate of KD, a bowl of cucumber slices and red pepper strips, a fistful of crackers, a popsicle, a glass of water and two mini ice cream cones. Does that sound like a kid who is fighting off nausea?

And she was fine the next day, too. Woke up after a very good sleep with a big smile on her sunny face and ready to face the day ahead. She didn't eat much in the morning, but made up for it with a big lunch later on in the day and a great dinner.

The only blip in the day? She kinda spit up a mouthful of apple juice in the morning. I took it for vomit, but after trying the apple juice myself, I decided it was off and threw the rest of the juice boxes out. (They had been sitting in my trunk for a few days, so maybe they turned in the heat?) I would have spit it out, too.

So far, so well on chemo. And, it was the BIG chemo, too. Obviously, the drugs will eventually take their toll on her, but for now, she has reacted very well to the treatment. We will have to become hyperviligant parents with regard to infections and fevers, but at least if she has to have chemo, it couldn't have come at a better time.

Not only will she never remember this time in her life, but I am on maternity leave. So, no daycare (or daycare illnesses) to be concerned about. She is the oldest, so there are no older siblings in school bringing home colds. It's the summer and not exactly flu season, so that's a bonus. B isn't in school yet, so she won't feel as if she missing anything when September rolls around and her swim classes ended just prior to her surgery. And, luckily, Avie is so tiny, that she will never feel as if our attention is too focused on B this summer.

Bad news comes in threes, and frankly, I think we're full up. First, she was diagnosed with Wilms, then it became bilateral, and now it's on her lung. Maybe this means that our luck will start to turn now?

Coming home

Looks like the end of this week is finally near. B's morphine drip was removed today and she has been powering through all afternoon and evening on Tylenol alone. ('Powering through' is hardly the right expression. The kid bounced back like a rubber ball. She's restless, impatient and in desperate need of a change of scenery and a walk outdoors.) The doctors deemed her ready to go home and were willing to discharge us tonight.

Hubby, however, wasn't willing to risk waking up the grumpy bear for a fifth time today. Seems like each time B falls asleep, some nurse or IV tech hovers over her, trying to disconnect her many wires or take her vitals. All very important stuff, of course, but irritating to a 2.5 year old, who hasn't napped properly in a week.

So, Avie and I will go and pick them up bright and early tomorrow morning. I'm certain Hubby and B will be glad to see CHEO in the rearview mirror, if only for a few days.

We will return on Monday to see the Oncology Clinic to discuss chemo treatments. Even though the full pathology report has not yet been released, the doctors did confirm this morning that it is in fact, a Wilms' tumour. Yeah! (Shaking cancer pompoms and cueing the victory music.) Good news is good news, after all. And frankly, we've been waiting all week for some good news, so I'll take what I can get.

Just another thank you to all of our family, friends, neighbours and co-workers for all they have done for us--be it good wishes, prayers, food, gifties, homemade cards, meditation circles, mass intentions, grass-cutting, chicken-tending, babysitting or heartfelt offers of help. We truly are very blessed to be surrounded by such wonderful people who care so deeply for our family. Brooke is a very special little girl and it brings me great joy to know that others can see the strength and spirit in her that we see each and every day.

You love her, you really love her.

And, we love all of you!

Normalcy

More than anything, I wish I could rewind life, turn back time to last week, when our little world was normal and ordinary and bordering on simple. Normalcy, however, has gone out the window and I wonder if it will ever come back. Basically, we went into CHEO yesterday to run some tests on B's suspected urinary tract infection and instead came out today with a diagnosis for a cancerous tumour on her kidney.

Were you SHOCKED by what you just read? Did the mention of the BIG C make you freak out just as much as we are currently FREAKING out? Did it STOP you in your tracks, fill you with DREAD and leave you feeling like you have NO IDEA where to go from here? Well, that's where we are right now. We are devastated. We are awash with overwhelming emotions and unanswered questions. Tonight our lives were changed forever. We heard the news that no parent wishes to EVER hear about their child.

I just got home from a long--and unexpected--day at the hospital, leaving behind two of the three people in the world who mean the most to me. My husband (who experienced cancer as the son of a survivor and now experiences it again as the father of a patient) and my sweet, innocent little girl (who hasn't the foggiest idea about any of this. She thinks she is having a nice sleepover with Daddy at the hospital. She isn't even in pain, so is a little unclear as to why she is there), who is utterly undeserving of this shitty news.

I am heartbroken. I just endured the longest and most lonely car ride ever. Do you believe in pathetic fallacy? I do, now. The world wept right along with me as I drove home; Avie cooing quietly in the backseat, completely oblivious to the tears coursing down my face.

The medical story is a long one, but the short of it is this--Brooke looks to have a sizable mass on her right kidney. The doctors suspect it is a Wilm's tumour (?), which is apparently quite operable and has a very good prognosis of being cured with surgical removal and/or chemo. We meet with the encologists in the morning to discuss when the surgery is slated to take place and what the treatments will likely entail. We pray for the best. We could use your prayers, too. Thank you in advance.

The upside? Other than the blood in the urine (which is why a bladder or urinary tract infection was suspected), Brooke has no other symptoms. Her bloodwork has come back negative for whatever it is they test for in bloodwork, so she seems fine on that account. She has no abdominal pain, no fever, no vomiting, nothing else. Perhaps we have caught it in time? She's bouncing on hospital beds, giggling about party hats (it's her twin cousins' 4th birthday today--Happy Day Gracie and Dilly Dog!) and playdoh. Frankly, this toddler normalcy is what makes this whole ordeal all the more scary and surreal.

My kid looks healthy. She acts healthy. But she is not healthy. And, it is a good thing we went with our gut and brought her to CHEO yesterday afternoon, rather than wait for her scheduled ultrasound in September. They took our complaints seriously and more tests were run. Luckily, we had an ultrasound scheduled within 12 hours, but it's really never a good sign when things move that quickly.

Now, I just wish for last week, when my greatest worry was what to make for supper.

I wish for last week when the most exciting thing I had to post about was our first crop of strawberries.

I wish for last week, when I was busy planning the family bbq we were going to have this Saturday, in honour of the twin's birthday, our wedding anniversary and Father's Day.

Most of all, I desperately wish that it was yesterday and Brooke was asleep in her bed, just 15 feet away from me.

P.S.: July 17--Some of you may be wondering why we chose to relay this news in a blog post. Hubby and I agreed that making the announcement via blog was one way of avoiding having to repeat the story to everyone individually. As you can imagine, the telling of it has already become quite tiresome. So, I apologize for the rather blunt way of sharing our announcement, but there you go.

As for the latest news: A CT scan is scheduled to take place tomorrow morning, after which much should be revealed. We should know soon what kind of tumour we are facing, but it looks like surgery will be taking place early next week. As for Brooke, she is her usual happy-go-lucky self, charming both CHEO staff and other patients alike with her adorable antics.

Thank you again for your thoughts, everyone.