Every single time I do this. Unconsciously of course. I start to notice things. Google things. Compare things. I asked my sister to send me pictures of her kids legs today. She could have said " calm yourself crazy", but she didn't, she promptly sent the pictures. She reminded me that Tay is an active girl, and there are lots of explanations for her bruises. Truth- my worry for her will never end. It just won't. I walk a fine line of letting her live, yet letting nothing go. Scans are creeping up and it makes me feel like I can't breathe. Because cancer is out of control in this world. It's running an absolute muck. Stealing our loved ones....the suffering it's caused....the heart ache,....the worry. I ran from it when Tay was done. I sold our house, moved back home, and tried to start over. I remember not wanting to put in on her school medical form. My sister said " this is a part of her story", and that really hit me. It is. My prayers are that it is a story of survival. Scans do something to me... I won't be right until I know that are CLEAR. Please pray for my girl. Scan Date- February- 4th.  *Three year post treatment date- February 14th!!!!

Scan Time

The oncology unit was usually filled with faces that became familiar. We shared the same treatment days with several families, and although our journeys were different, our mission was the same. Save our kids. I felt so blessed with the amount of support we had. Our friends, co-workers, families, and most of all each other. I watched marriages crumble and felt my own turn into a something it had never been before. Sometimes it felt like Chris was the only person in the world who understood me. We formed an amazing friendship through this process, and honestly a more genuine love. One that could find a way to make me smile on a chemo day, laugh after days in isolation, and find hope in our darkest hours. I'm so thankful we made it. I remember looking for another mom for several weeks, her sweet little girl.....And what happened to my little buddy, the ward of the state.....and where is the little girl often mistaken for Tay.....Finally I put the pieces together, and it would wreck me. How can this happen? These kids....dying from this awful disease. Heart wrenching. I can't imagine that loss, and the fear of it rests quietly in the back of my heart. Every three months it stirs inside me, puts a lump in my throat, and keeps me in a constant state of worry until scans are over. Life seems to pause while a divine choice is made.....continue on or go back to the battlefield. 

I remember a new face on the unit, but something was different about this little one. She had rosy cheeks, long shiny blond hair, and a bouncy energy level that wasn't like the others, she wasn't like my skinny, frail little Tay that was watching her in awe. The mom looked at Tay, and at me ( I imagine I looked like a total hot mess), and asked what type of cancer, how many more treatments left, and seemed to know this life... She then explained they were there for scans, her little girl was two years post chemo and also had a sarcoma like Taylor. I congratulated her, and honestly wished I was in her shoes with Taylor. She then said something that at the time I thought was really insensitive, but now I get it..... she said, "It doesn't get easier you know, I mean it does as far as treatment, but it's never over."  She had tears in her eyes, and a trembling lip. I was confused by her statement, they called Tay's name to head back for an eight hour treatment, and I wished her good luck. Her words have haunted me. "It's never over." I know what she means now. Don't get me wrong, I am so grateful for the position we are in. We can handle scans. Taylor is strong, and resilient, and every February 14th her prognosis goes up. We are almost TWO years post treatment, and I have all my eggs in the basket that her scans come back clear. But I would be lying if I told you I wasn't packing life in, every single day of it, with this little family of mine.

Love.

Just found this post from October. I forgot to publish it, but better late than never. 


I just celebrated my 8 year anniversary. I honestly cannot believe I have been married for EIGHT years….that makes me old (ha!), and incredibly tolerant (wink Chris), and in all seriousness, truly blessed. I heard a lot of “wow, you made it past the seven year itch…”, and lots of comments of how it’s incredible we are still standing.  It has made me think about marriage, what it means, what I thought it meant 8 years ago, and how a little perspective can change your whole life.

8 years ago I was filled with dreams for my life. I had never been loved in a way that I was by Chris, truly and unconditionally. He made me feel like in my most unlovable moments that I was the best thing that ever happened to him. I could be myself…no makeup, sweatpants, sick as a dog, whole nine yards, and perfect in his eyes. He asked, I said yes, we had the most beautiful wedding, fun honeymoon, and life began. Years in, the honeymoon phase wears off (sorry newlyweds reading this, wink) and thank goodness we had this amazing friendship that made life really fun. We grew up, grew apart, questioned our love, but always came back to the commitment we made Oct 14^th, 2006. I lost myself in mommy hood. Literally, it was like “Chris who?”…bless his heart. We had our precious girl, soon after our little Max, and then cancer came in and wrecked our life. It literally came in and popped our balloon of happiness. We went into survival mode. Get her through this…. get her out of this alive. That’s all that mattered. Max was shuffled back and forth between my mom and sister. He would scream for my mom when she left at the end of the day. It killed me. My sister would bring him to the hospital to vist, and I remember watching her walk away, kissing his chubby cheeks down the hallway, and thinking “this isn’t the life I thought I would have.” I turned to see Chris watching him too, tears in his eyes, hurting too. At the end of the day, he was my husband, but also the only person in the world who truly understood my pain. He made me laugh during chemo days, smile after radiation, distracted me during Tay’s surgeries…..he worked every non- chemo day. He was my best friend during the loneliest, saddest time of my life.  I’m certain I didn’t wear makeup for a year….and he assured me I was still the best thing since sliced bread. That’s love.

We dedicated this last year to getting back to where we started. We went on dates again, vacations, and had honest conversations about our marriage. Our marriage isn’t perfect, but it’s an honest work in progress, and I truly believe that we get stronger every year. That seven year itch had nothing on us….

5 years and counting.....

Our little love turned 5 today. I sorted through pictures of her and couldn't bring myself to say anything about wanting to "stop the clock", or "freeze time", or "never let her grow up". My mommy goals for her are just the opposite. Every month that she moves closer to remission is a milestone. Every day outside treatment is an absolute blessing. And although my heart is not in absolute anguish anymore, I remember the feeling all too well. I am stunned by the way God has blessed our lives since Taylor's diagnosis. I am grateful for the way He changed our hearts, and redefined our priorities. I have so many hopes and dreams for Taylor. Yesterday our home was filled with friends, numerous times she pulled me aside to double check that they were her friends there to celebrate her birthday. Friends!?, how fun to finally have friends. She flips and spins and bounces at her gymnastics classes, she shoots hoops tirelessly with her daddy in our driveway, she whirls and twirls with her baby brother in our family room to her favorite songs.... and I have moments where fear will wrap around my heart and leave me terrified that her cancer may come back. I put my blinders on and force myself to look ahead. To enjoy this day. And to be grateful for this beautiful girl that made me a mommy. We are one year and 7 months post treatment, oh my gosh, so blessed. Just typing those words made me cry. Thank you so much for your continued prayers for our sweet girl. Scans are creeping up, October 9th, and I feel myself moving into panic mode. So I put my blinders back on, I remind myself to be thankful for this day and the health of my amazing 5 year old. Life is much sweeter with her in it. 

Fine Lines

I teeter on the edge of fine lines. That narrow path between joy and absolute heartache. I find myself cramming life in, because I am so scared of it being taken away. On the outside I am a happy girl. I have a husband who loves me much more than I deserve, and two precious kids who have taught me about a love so precious and innocent that I never knew before them. I’m an entrepreneur making my way in my industry, humbled by my new ability to give to others, but fear sits in the back of my brain, reminding me that all can be lost in a few months of hospital bills. How do I know? Well it’s happened once before. About two years ago. I called my little Tay’s teacher after the Valentine’s Day party. I remember sobbing to her on the phone, asking if Tay was happy….why was she lying in the corner of the room sleeping while the other children were enjoying the party? I would soon learn there was a 2 pound cancerous tumor in her abdomen that changed our lives forever. It rocked our world and re-defined our lives. No parent should watch their child suffer as we have, but life is much sweeter now. Her hair has grown back thick and wavy. Her lashes are long and shade her always sparkling steel blue eyes. Her scars have faded to fine lines, and her cheeks are full again. She is brave and funny, and has the kindest little soul. I took her and Max to the museum and I saw her looking at a boy and his mother in front of us. Her face was full of concern. “Mommy, is he getting chemo?” His mother turned to look at her, a mixture of shock and disbelief on her face. She moved herself in front of her little love, who was sick…. clearly very sick. His hair was gone, his body was frail, and his mask was on. He was hooked to an IV pole, but his eyes were sparkling as he took in the museum. I knelt down to Taylor, and said, “I’m not sure, I think he is excited to see the museum, just like you.” She shook her head, and said, “But I don’t want him to be sick.” His mother was confused. How could this little girl know anything of cancer? This healthy little girl? “Mental health day?” I asked. I told her about our days we just had to get out, risk the germs, and lift that mask off to let smiles be seen. That was 46 chemos, 25 radiations, and countless transfusions and infusions ago. I hugged her, and never felt more connected to an absolute stranger. She is in the trenches. Fighting for her baby, and my heart was overtaken with empathy for her. Taylor’s next scan is just around the corner and we are almost to her 1 year mark since her last chemo treatment. I decided to have pictures taken to mark the day….but of course not until the 14^th (her anniversary), and not until we’ve had a clear scan. I decided to shop though, hehe, this can’t just be any little dress. I found one that I loved, but it was much more than I wanted to spend, much more than I would spend on myself for heaven’s sakes….but I bought it. I don’t want to have regrets about things I did or didn’t do for her. There is a part of me that is terrified that could be taken away from me…so I bought the dress. My hope is to share that picture in just a few weeks. I hope I am able to be filled with joy and hope for my sweet girl who deserves a cancer free life. I would be lying if I told you I’m not scared. I’m human.  So I walk the tight rope, the fine line of joy and heartache…praying for my girl, and making the most of this one fragile life we are given.  

Hope

It's amazing how life can change in just a few months. We are now 8 months post chemo. We moved to a new house. We had to. After being in isolation for a year, we needed a fresh start. That house felt like a treatment facility to me. Emergency numbers posted all over our fridge, bottles and bottles of medications engulfing our counter tops, buckets throughout the house for sickness, and memories in almost every room that flashed me back to a place I don't ever want to be again. Life is so busy now, teetering on too busy sometimes. Scans creep up on us every three months much too quickly. We have another month of freedom until I wait on those results again. It's terrifying and humbling at the same time.

I watch my 4 year old Taylor embrace her classmates at preschool, beaming at me, and introducing her new friends. She proudly announced that her cancer is all gone now, so she can have friends, and my heart swells with hope for her. She sits in front of the mirror in my bathroom, smooths her short pixie cut with my hairbrush, and runs to find her daddy so he can tell her how pretty she is. She is often a WILD woman, happy and sassy, no longer the quiet little girl resting on my couch. We are packing our days full of fun, full of thankfulness, and full of hope for our sweet girl. We continued to be humbled by those still fighting. My heart breaks for those families. There isn't a day that goes by that I am not so thankful for the health of my little Tay Tay.

Pray for Tay...

"Aunt Brooke, Aunt Brooke, I want a messy bun like you!" squealed my little niece. "Well, come on into my beauty shop, and I will give you a messy bun!" I told her. I scooped up her long blonde curls and put a sweet little top knot on her head. She pranced away happy, and I looked up to see my sweet Tay with tears in her eyes. My heart sank down into my feet. "I want a messy bun too mommy, I want to play beauty shop." she whispered. I unraveled my own hair tie out of my mess of a bun, and pulled her down on my lap. We gathered a tiny little tuff of hair, and I wrapped my hair tie around it. "There, a messy bun for you too!" I told her. She shot out of my lap, and showed each person in the room her "messy bun". My heart was so happy for her. My how far we have come... And then I felt myself starting to panic, and had to step outside to catch my breath. Scans. Scans are coming. How on earth are we just days away from scans? Fear has crept back into the back of my mind. It makes me sit up in bed in the middle of the night and cup my hands over my mouth. I pray myself to sleep, and life resumes. My little love starts pre-school tomorrow, and I can't help but be so thankful. I was drowning about this time last year, heart broken as all her friends went back to school while we shuffled back and forth from the hospital. We moved to a new house, in a new town, but I still have my same old fears. Here I am again, asking you, please, to pray for my girl.