March 22, 2018
YOU DON’T KNOW UNTIL YOU KNOW
Before we heard the words “Your daughter has Stage IV Cancer,” I honestly did not know a lot about what that really meant. When we entered the world of pediatric cancer, we had to quickly educate ourselves on everything…it was like we entered another world with an alien language.
Now, after a year of my daughter battling this horrible disease, I realize that the general public has really NO IDEA what a child with cancer goes through. At first, it used to anger me, because I would share about all of the things she would have to endure and feel like no one cared or really understood. What I have realized since is most people just don’t know what is involved.
ONE DAY I WILL SHARE EVERYTHING
One day I want to share all of London’s journey and our journey as a family including every chemo treatment, stem cell harvests, every horrifying surgery, every stem cell transplant, every radiation appointment, and now immunotherapy treatment.
I wish I had documented this on a blog for everyone to really understand what she has been through, but my shock at first and then my relentless attitude to remain positive and grateful that my baby was being treated didn’t allow me to journal about all of the horrors that you see as a pediatric cancer parent. (I remember them though…every single one of them and one day I will share…once I get through some more therapy.)
Today I want to give you a little glimpse into what every Sunday involves in our cancer world.
After she got through her chemo treatments and her two surgeries to remove her tumor (which was the size of a softball), we had to move onto her stem cell transplants. I will share more about this in another post one day, but in order to do them she couldn’t just have her port-a-cath (which is inserted in her chest and is used for administering meds into her body + taking blood out.) She had to have a broviac catheter inserted into the other side of her chest.
Every Sunday, I prepare a side table by L’s bed so we can change her dressing for her broviac. Wipe down the table (check), adhesive removers (check), alcohol wipes (check), sterile gloves (check), chloraprep (check), saline solution (check), caps (check), Tegaderm patch (check), Heparin (check), bucket for trash (check), her squeezie hedgehog to squeeze when it hurts (check), our phone with the Calm app to relax her (check) and her Daddy by my side as my trusty assistant (check).
Every Sunday usually involves tears (less than a year ago, but still tears.) It is so hard to see your child go through this.
My hope is that one day she doesn’t have to anymore.