Today marks three months that we have been battling the beast and slaying the dragon called cancer and…I think we’re doing quite well, little fighter of mine.
The last month hasn’t been our best, but we’ve come through it with a little more knowledge and a few more unanswered questions. You finished the CNS phase with another spinal tap (and you sweetly slept off the “drunk” and managed to keep your anesthesia down this time!)
We started the long road of the Consolidation 2 phase on October 28th which was, to be blunt, quite brutal on your sweet self. You took your chemo like a champ, but it knocked you down with nausea for the few days following. The whole week was wrought with frustration and tears due to the steroids pulsing through your too-tiny-to-handle-such-nonsense-body. It is heartbreaking on so many levels to force feed you the medicine that tastes so icky down to your tummy that feels so grumpy all while you’re battling with all your strength because you can’t control your emotions. We heard you say hurtful things you didn’t even know you were saying and you missed your first trick-or-treating experience and pumpkin carving fun because you just begged and begged for bed (I think, because you just wanted to be alone.) Those of us who love you struggled quite a bit that week, too, as we watched you helplessly. We all felt quite humbled by the cumulative effect of the chemotherapy that you have seemingly coasted through before. Then, on day 6 you woke with such exuberance and joy that it was truly contagious. We spent the next two weeks trying to keep up with the 150 new words you’d learned, your hilarious antics and delicious giggles.
I read the most telling blog today; a fellow momcologist by the name of mindithemagnificent.com. She said “Having one foot in darkness and one foot in light is a humbling place to live. Yet, I find it easier to express the darkness than the light.” I really relate to that because this entire week that you’ve been off treatment, I’ve struggled to live for NOW and enjoy the moment. I kept thinking about what awaits us on November 18th as we start cycle 2. I say all the time that I just want to climb into bed and sleep away the next 2 years. Oh, but Katie, the joy I would miss…your smile, your laugh (oh Lord, your laugh!) I told your daddy today that if it weren’t for your cancer, I would keep you this age forever. I simply love my Kate Olivia at 2-and-a-almost-half. Sometimes it really is easier to write about the dark but there is plenty of light in our days. YOU will FOREVER be the light in my days. Katie, I love you. Do not ever, ever forget how much.
My cup runneth over,