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.
