I want to write and share about it, but I am certainly not sure how to begin. With my emotions? With the chronological order to which it happened? With my advise to the next people that may encounter such tragedy?
So I will ramble. It will make little sense, but I promise it will be honest.
I think that I am still in shock. It has been exactly one month since we found the tumor. Her third birthday was noted most significantly by the amount of hair loss we experienced today. Other things to note - it was a day I did not have to administer a shot, she pooped twice, and everyone who visited promised me they were healthy and washed their hands. Life certainly has changed around here.
I am out of control. The entire situation is beyond my capabilities to fix. Taking control of the moment to moment needs has worked well for me as a coping mechanism. The big picture rips me apart. Focus on the little picture. She is handling the chemo well this cycle. She eats only a little, but she does eat. Oh! There is a daily poop - we don't have to administer the poop medicine today. Small victories, but victories never-the-less.
I am one of those exceptionally lucky people who is surrounded by love from my family and friends. Everyone wants to help, but I have to keep explaining that there is only so much to do. We may be perfectly fine when all is said and done. We may not be at all. Either way it is out of my control and their's as well. My parents explained that we are "living every parent's worse nightmare". I would agree. So I know my fellow mothers are like me and want to fix this. We can't. It isn't that I don't have hope, but rather I know where my capabilities begin and end. I can't cure cancer.
I love my daughter. Like any good toddler, she willingly participates with most hospital procedures because her parents tell her too. She may be afraid, she may say she doesn't want to, but she does it. She trusts us. It is no different to her than the first time we tell her to let go at the top of the swirly slide. She trusts that while it may be scary, a safe landing is in store at the bottom. Her parents said so.
I HATE that I cannot promise a safe landing. I hate that I give her those trust-me-it-will-all-be-okay eyes and that I can't deliver. I want her to feel strong, comforted, and loved. These are the things I, as a mom, can do. But I can't promise we are okay this time. I must throw endless love and energy into a situation that may totally blow up in my face. Some days I can handle it. Most nights I can't. This is a crazy heavy situation.
We have a great "chance" of beating this thing. But when you are one of only 20 children in the US who even get this cancer type a year, you stop believing in "the odds". I believe what I know to be true.
- We are loved.
- We are at a top hospital
- My girl is tough as nails
- My girl has excellent health with the exception of this gargantuan tumor
- Nobody is taking this news and tucking it away. We have meals being made, drugs being looked into, cleaning being completed, cancer research being reviewed, etc. This cancer will not be beating us because we didn't know better. We will know all we can. We will advocate on her behalf. And when we have done all we can in a day, we will relax and we will sleep (because that is important to).
We have a lot going for us right now and I pray that it will stay that way for the rest of our days... or at least for the rest of hers. She is my beautiful baby girl. Here's to you lovey-dovey on your third birthday. You continue to teach me so much. I am so unbelievably happy you are a part of my world. Stay with me girl. We can do this. We can do this. We can do this.