Faith.

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.

 



Almost done.

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?

Eye on the prize....

"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.

Kindness Matters

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.

There is a light....

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. 









Happy New Year

I have spent the past year living in the right here and now. I couldn't look back, it was too painful. I couldn't look ahead, it was far too overwhelming. So I lived moment to moment, treatment to treatment, scant to scan. Today, I have found myself with that familiar lump in my throat, hurt in my heart, and sheet of tears glazing over my eyes because on new year's eve, you can't help but look back. Back to the bump, the pokes, the surgery, the diagnosis, more surgeries, leaving Max, chemotherapy, kids living, kids dying, radiation.....oh my gosh the hell of radiation, missing birthday parties, missing weddings, bad scans, good scans, isolation, and more chemotherapy. I can see myself dropping to my knees when she was diagnosed. I can see myself crying in the hospital bathroom until it was Chris' turn to go cry. I can see Chris and myself running through the halls of the radiation center to get our crying baby girl. I can see Max crying hysterically when my mom left after watching him for long periods of time, reaching for her and calling her mama. I can see Taylor...oh my gosh, and I pray that no parent ever has to witness their child suffer the way we have.

And in between all the heartache there was God's good grace, shining through, lifting us up, and carrying us through this nightmare. There was each and every one of you, throwing us a life preserver when we were absolutely drowning. My house was cleaned during our first long stay, my dog was washed, meals were brought, cards and gifts were sent, bills were paid, benefits were organized, smaller clothes for Taylor were left on my doorstep, hugs were given, and most of all,  millions of prayers were said. There were times, in the midst of my darkest days, I would feel complete and total peace, for a few moments my heart would stop breaking, and I know that was from all of you.

I called a friend the other day, in a rare chipper mood, and she said how great it was to see a glimpse of the "old Brooke". I know what she meant, the happy Brooke. I miss that Brooke too. Thank you for bearing with me. For waiting for me to come back. 2013 is about health and healing for us. Rebuilding our family, our friendships, marriage, and growing our faith. I can't wait to go on a date with Chris without the gloom of cancer hovering over us. I can't wait to really rest, and let go of all this heartache. I can't wait to stop torturing my girl every Thursday. But most of all, I can't wait to watch our sweet girl ring that bell, and get her life back. Happy New Year to you and yours.



Rule Breaker

I broke the rules today. Many of them actually. A plate broke and profanity raced off my tongue. Mommy fail. I meant to say "shoot" I promise. Taylor kindly informed me that ladies don't talk potty talk, and suggested I sit in time out until I could think of something nice to say. Clever little thing...I pulled up to our mall at 9:58am, it opens at 10am. "WHAT are we doing Mommy?!" Taylor asked me. "Max and I won't touch anything, we will just sit in the stroller, yaaay, the MALL!" she squealed. She knows the drill. Mask on, stay in the stroller, don't touch ANYthing. "I want to show you something." I told them. I raced them in, and they both starred in awe at the holiday decorations. We rolled up to an over sized chair and there sat Santa Claus. "SANTA?!!!" she squealed. We waved at Santa from behind the rope, and I saw the sparkle come back in her eyes. I couldn't look at the workers starring at us, I just kept looking at Santa. I saw kindness and empathy in his eyes. He made our day with a simple wave. We rolled away and Taylor looked back and said, "Mommy, will Santa make me sick if I go see him?" Ouch. I explained that Santa was just waving today, maybe another time we would get closer. She seemed fine with that, and giggled to Max about seeing Santa. The piano was playing in the department store, and I let my little ones out to dance for a minute. (Max went straight to the shoe department and began throwing shoes across the room), but Taylor danced....and pranced.....and hopped around to jingle bells. It was 10:15am, and we were back in the car. I drove home with a lump in my throat. Everything hurts. I'm exhausted. 9 more treatments, 9 more treatments...