Katertot,
Sigh. I’m late again, baby girl. I’d like to think that by NOT posting exactly on the 15th of each month, that means that we’re getting a bit more used to the craziness that is your treatment schedule and that the anniversary of that day just simply passes my memory. That’s not at all the case…I always, always reflect on that day and what all has happened in the last seven months. I hate getting used to this, but if it means we can bring a little more normalcy to your life because of it, then so be it.
Seven months into treatment and a few things have FINALLY changed for you. Consolidation is loooong and, while we’re still in it now, it feels more like there is a real, actual light at the end of the tunnel and not just that of another oncoming train. We have no more doxorubicin anymore, having replaced that every-three-week infusion with weekly methotrexate instead. That’s still an awfully big mouthful of a name for a chemical being fed into your tubey, but it seems to be a bit less toxic on you. You really only get one or two doses of zofran (to be proactive) and by the next day you’re pretty much back to normal. Your ANCs have been great and you’re really doing quite well. Steroids still remain the ever-present thorn in our side. After this last pulse, I knew we had to seek out some additional relief for you and it has come to us by way of Ativan. You had it in the hospital with great success (none of us will ever forget the night when, after not talking for days, you sat straight up and saw Grandad’s gumbo and said “ooooh Grandad, what you eatin’?”) We’re all counting down the days to maintenance (May 27th!) so those steroid doses drop by 2/3!
We are getting out more – letting you stretch your legs a bit at story time at the library, which you’ve always loved. We’re even planning a birthday party for you in June and you’re going to get visits all summer from family. First from the Florida family in June followed by the Nebraska family in August. We have a lot to look forward to, doodle bug.
I remain in constant awe of you and your strength. You don’t know any different, but I do, and I’m so proud to be your mommy. 7 months ago, I don’t think I could ever have imagined being here…with your eyebrows and hair slooooowly starting to reappear, maintenance in close sight and hearing things like “this is your last dose of XXX” or “soon you’ll have your last XXX.” We’ve come a long way, baby, and I love you beyond measure.
My cup runneth over,
Mommy