"Tell her....tell Aunt Kristen mommy," Taylor whispered. My sister and I were pushing our double strollers through the mall, and I said, "Taylor's hair is growing back." Taylor proudly ran her hands over her head to show her little blond buzz with a sweet smile stretched across her full cheeks. Taylor loves it when my sister gives her girly attention. She likes to wear her fanciest dresses to Aunt Kristen's house, and I will never forget how pretty my sister made her feel the day she cut all her hair off.
I remember sitting wide eyed in my bathroom while my sister cut, and cut with Taylor sitting in the sink. They chatted and giggled, while I silently talked myself out of a hysterical melt down. I remember my sister saying, "Tay Tay, you look SO pretty!" after she cut it all off, and Taylor beaming at herself in the mirror. I'm sure my sister cried on her way home that day. I'm sure she cried a million other times, but only after she carefully convinced me I was fine. She would remind me how strong Tay is, how resilient she is, and she had hope when mine was lost.
I watched my sister cut up Max's lunch yesterday, and felt so lucky. (Of course I was too busy mauling her baby to notice Max was eating a strawberry with leaves on it.) I rocked her baby while we ate, and pretended he was mine to anyone who commented how cute he was (hehe). Simple days are such a blessing. It's not lost on me. I thanked God the whole way home, especially for my sister.
Have you done something with your hair? Lost weight? Been on vacation? You look rested! Something is different about you........These are the things people say to me now. I had quickly forgotten what a process "getting ready" can be. Taylor has a fuzzy blond halo of hair, and doesn't seem to mind my hair anymore. I haven't lost much weight, just took off my comfy yoga pants and started getting "dressed" again. I do feel like I have been on vacation, a vacation from chemo, and gosh it's wonderful. I sleep much better now. I don't wake up crying in the night anymore. I don't pace the house worrying. I don't wake up and work compulsively because I don't know what else to do. I sleep until my little Max wakes me... it's always before the sun comes up, God love him. Our days go by so fast now....it's amazing. I found myself motioning for my family to watch Taylor eat on Easter. She raced through the house with her cousins, squealing, and chattering with delight. I didn't leave my parent's house with that old familiar lump in my throat, with that gloom of treatment hanging over my head. I didn't see the pain in my family members faces when they looked at Taylor yesterday. I saw relief, joy, and hope. I think about what our families and friends have been through, and it breaks my heart and makes me so thankful at the same time. She is your girl too. You love her too. And when people ask me how I could have praised God through this nightmare, I am reminded that He loves her most. This hurt Him far more than it hurt me. Unimaginable but true. Life is sweet.
I didn't know what to say, so I didn't write. I didn't feel relief, and people want me to be relieved. It didn't feel over, yet we are done. (Well, not totally done.) This happened to me once before, in the beginning of our journey, when fear took over. It started waking me at night. Clouding my dreams. Stealing my happiness. This is what happens when I allow fear to take over.
Reality check. We are so blessed. Taylor is done with chemo and radiation. We are one clear scan away from a surgery to remove her port, and life to be normal for her again. Every day her immune system is getting stronger and stronger. People lose their kids every day. To cancer.... to tragedy..... to things that come without any warning at all. How lucky am I to have a changed heart at 32 years old? I know what's important in this life. Chris and I have walked through our darkest days, together, and somehow came out on the other side of this. So we have scans every 3 months..... we can do scans. Taylor is not a statistic, a prognosis, or some kind of ticking time bomb. She is an amazing, resilient, little fighter. My faith is in God, and now I feel relief.
The end is near. The bell is almost within our grasp. There is one treatment left, and we get our lives back. All of us. I remember sitting in the oncologist's office with tears streaming down my cheeks while he told us Taylor's stage and treatment plan. I had a notebook with me, to write down important things, and the only word written on my page was cancer. For months I was unable to say it, the word cancer, or that Taylor has cancer, I couldn't do it. I thought the treatment plan was impossible. How could we do this to her? How could her little body handle this? How could her spirit handle this? What about my 6 month old baby? My business? Our life....what about our life? And all of the sudden I realized that Taylor was crying, worried, and watching Chris and me fall apart. I decided that day to be an example of strength and courage to her. No matter how scared, or heartbroken, or sad I was, I would put a smile on my face and be a happy mommy in front of my kids. I kept myself on a strict discipline of keeping my eye on the goal, getting her through this, and did not allow myself to focus on the negative. We settled into isolation, and my breakdowns seemed to happen in the car, or the grocery store...those were really the only places I was alone. I remember wanting to stop treatment during radiation. It felt like too much, what if this was overkill, but her doctor's quickly gave me a reality check. Do it, or she may not make it through this. We have been living in this nightmare for a year. Is this working? Will she survive? How could we ever live without her? And all of the sudden, we are here. We did it.
I have cried all week. I feel relief, but I also feel so scared. What happens when she isn't being watched so closely. What if it comes back? I wanted her oncologist to tell me it never would..... and he can't do that. I believe that everything will be okay. Through this process I wished I could do this for her, and now I can. I can carry the worry about scan results every 3 months, while she enjoys her life. I can continue to pray for her life, while she rests easy. I got my wish. I can't ask for anything more. I put 100% of my faith in God through this process.... that He is stronger than cancer, and I am so thankful that we shared the same plans for my girl. I can't wait to see all that is in store for this one beautiful life we are given. It feels like someone just hit the "play" button after a year of being on "pause". We blindly followed our oncologists treatment plan, trusted that he knew best, and as I sit down to write him a thank you note, I don't know where to begin. How do you thank someone for saving your child's....your most prized possession's.... life?
"I want to see it mommy, the bell, I want to look at it," so after ten plus hours of chemo I rolled her over to the bell and she just stared at it. After a minute or so she said, "Ok, lets go." and we rolled away.
My three year old beauty was lounged back in her stroller, quiet, and seemed to be a million miles away. I buckled her into her car seat, and handed her the travel bucket in case she was sick. "Mommy.... that bell was so high....will my daddy lift me up to ring it?" she asked. "Of course he will, of course," I managed to say. She drifted off to sleep, and I cried the whole way home. Is that what she was thinking about? Worrying about? I love her.
A few weeks earlier I noticed a teen oncology patient really watching us.. .Taylor and me. It was hard to read his face behind his mask, but his eyes almost looked like tears were threatening to spill. I smiled, and we headed back to the infusion room. Later that same day I stepped outside of Taylor's curtain after she recovered from a melt down. I took a deep breath,and before I could turn to walk back in I heard, "She won't remember this..." and looked up to see the teen. "I was little when I started, and I only remember what people told me." It was so comforting, so kind, so heartbreaking all at the same time.
I feel out of sorts..... Is this really almost over? I felt a wave of guilt when a doctor sang out that we had just a few treatments left. A women across from me looked at me and smiled, but I could see the hurt in her eyes. She wants her baby to be done too. All these kids are united by their disease, their bravery, and their will to live. No child deserves it more than another, they are all equally entitled.
I called a supply store I use for my business on Thursday because I needed to pick up a few things without going in. They know our situation, and often process my payment over the phone and meet me outside with my items. One particular worker there is quiet, and rarely meets my eyes when I see him. The times we have been able to go inside he gives Taylor an extra wink, and kneels down to her level to talk to her. Sometimes he gives her a party hat or a beaded necklace, it always warms my heart, and makes her day.We pulled up, after a long day of chemo, and he came out in the rain to put my boxes in the car. I thanked him, and turned to get back in my car. "Brooke? We are here for you." I heard him say. I turned to see him with tears in his eyes, looking straight into my eyes. He glanced into the car, and looked at my sick, sleeping girl, and shook his head, "No kid should have to go through this," he choked out. Isolation didn't feel so lonely in that moment. How kind of him to step out of his comfort zone and show his support. Being kind matters. It saves people. It strengthens people. Kindness can give people hope about their situation, and the state of this world in general. Kindness matters.
I registered Taylor for pre-school this Fall. I signed her up for a mother's day out program at our church for this Spring. I'm looking into tumbling classes that she and Max can do together. Swimming lessons are in the works. I finally located our library.... I booked a trip. I bought Taylor barrettes for when her hair starts growing back. We all get our lives back soon......6 more treatments my dears. There is a light.
