The Girl of The Year

Happy Everything, my Peachy Pie

Me and My Big Cliche

We’re closing in on the one-year mark, and I have no idea where the time went. I’ve told Peach that I feel like this was the fastest year of my life, and she agreed that most days moved so quickly, but some lasted forever. True. So, as a reward for her hard work, we’re celebrating her birthday, her diagnosis day, and a brand new year at Disneyworld, courtesy of the Make-a-Wish Foundation.

When we were checking out of the hospital way back when, the Child Life Specialist had all sorts of information about special programs Peach was eligible for, including Make-a-Wish. It was all I could do to hold it together and take that GD pamphlet, which I quickly stuck in the bottom of the pile, destined for the first recycling bin – or fireplace – I could find. Six days into this thing, I refused to “go there,” so I had no intention of discussing it with Peach any further.

About a month later, we were at the clinic for a long day, and the Child Life Specialist there asked Peach if she had made her wish yet. Shit. Peach said no, so, bless her heart, the CLS went into great detail about what Peach could wish for, and "here, let’s look at their website, and that kid over there did this, and that kid over there did that" … I was cringing. That is, until I caught a glimpse of their FAQs page, and the post for “Are wishes only offered to kids who are terminally ill?” And the answer is NO. Exhale.

After that, the process began in earnest, and we knew within another month or so that Peach’s wish to go to Disneyworld was granted. I say *we* meaning T-Bone and me. I didn’t want to tell Peach in case I needed “something” for incentive on a really rough day. Which, thankfully, we didn’t have that many of, and I was able to keep the surprise until our grand Back to School Feast. We’ll be going to Universal Studios, too, so the big reveal was done via owl and an official letter from Hogwarts, inviting Peach to enroll the day after her 11th birthday. She is beyond excited, but she told me last night that she doesn’t know what she’d be thinking right now if “all that hadn’t happened last year.” Me neither, my love.

If I did a word search of my posts for this year, I realize there would be a handful of buzzwords and catchphrases that are repeated ad nauseum. You know the ones. The words that everyone uses to describe cancer and treatment and people going through it. The phrases that every non-profit uses to promote their cause and tug at your heartstrings and encourage you to open your wallet. I don’t know how it happened, but I just slipped into that language (Cancerspeak?), and the clichés flowed like water. Or wine. You choose.

But here’s the thing: Cancer IS a monster. Treatment IS a battle, fight, journey. People going through it ARE brave, amazing, inspiring. And we MUST raise awareness, funds, and hope to find a CURE.

So, no apologies. Just immense gratitude for Peach’s success and for the love and light surrounding us. And for this disease? A lasting hatred that I’ve been told is – yes – inspiring.

Deja Vu

Has it been a month already? Hell, a whole year? Although my brain is working daily overtime, processing too much information that is way beyond my limited intelligence, I've tried to cobble together one focused post a month (with all apologies to July). Without loading you down with details, I just wanted to share a moment or an aspect of this experience and maybe get it out of my head, to make room for the next day's news. I hope you've been entertained (is that the right word?) or learned something or done something. Or something. I've been grateful for the friendly ear at least, so thank you.

Now as we barrel ever-faster toward the first anniversary of Peach's diagnosis (we celebrate these things in Cancer World, did you know? Oh yes.), I am nearly overcome by the enormous sense of deja vu. Me, who is ALL ABOUT the calendar, and special days, and traditions, and memories, and generally making a big GD deal out of everything, I can't help but recall every second of the last time we did this or that. Especially since this fall, when Peach was gearing up for her triumphant return to school and "normalcy," I have been struck by how quickly the time passed, how far we have come, and how much everything feels exactly the same and completely different.

When Peach was in the hospital, I came home on the third night to stay with Olive. I walked into the kitchen, and staring me in the face was the perpetual calendar we've had since we got married. It was still stuck on December 30th. Peach's birthday, the day everything changed. Again. I walked straight to our bathroom and quietly fell to my knees. But only for a moment, because Sweet Olive was close behind, wondering if I was hungry. The Amazing Mama Turista knew the problem in an instant, and that calendar was changed by the time I came out of the bathroom. If it were up to me, it might still be on December 30th, but what good would that do, really.

I am not dwelling in "the past," not any more than in your run-of-the-mill "they grow up so fast" sense, and I am beyond hopeful for the future. But I can't ignore the seismic shift in our lives since the last time we put up Christmas decorations. Will it get easier as the years go by? I think so. And I also think it's okay, at least this first year, to struggle with the New Normal's impact on the Old World Order.

Give thanks.

And Now, a Word About Olive

Outstanding.

Lest you think the talk around here is All Cancer, All the Time, I can tell you it is most assuredly not. In our never-ending quest for normalcy, we have had many moments of laughter, levity, and downright joy, but one of the brightest moments has been The Blossoming of Miss Olive.

Absolutely remarkable, this one. Olive hates everything to do with the doctor, and at first, I was so worried that she would be forever traumatized regarding all things medical after watching Peach go through treatment. In fact, I caught myself thinking, God forbid, if this were Olive, it would be a whole different story - compliance-wise. But now? I'm not so sure.

We have all been pleasantly surprised by, and immensely proud of, the way Olive has handled herself and made her way through all of this. She cried the very first night because she didn't want Peach, T-Bone, and me to spend the night at the hospital without her, but after that, and a few heartfelt, age-appropriate conversations, she has been solid as a rock. Pink granite.

She is so empathetic, just patting on Peach and cheering her on at every turn. She is a huge helper, bringing Peach a cold rag when she's not feeling well and making sure we're all quiet when Peach is resting. She was genuinely more excited for Peach to get back to school than for herself, and the first time we saw one of the American Cancer Society's "Happy Birthday" commercials, she reached over to pat Peach and just smiled at her. It was just the sweetest thing. She so GETS it, but she's not afraid of it.

So in the waning hours of this, her birthmonth, I want to celebrate my brave, beautiful 7 year old girl and say Happy Happy Birthday dear Olive. I love you!

Genesis

I had A Moment at the dance studio the other day. To promote the upcoming Nutcracker auditions, the lobby television was playing a DVD from a past production. It took me all of three seconds to realize it was last year's production. The one Peach was in two weeks before her diagnosis. Try as I might, I couldn't look away, and as the time for her number grew closer, the knot in my stomach grew, too. As per usual, the few other mothers that were there were too busy bitching and kvetching to even notice the TV, so I stood up right in front of it, put on my sunglasses, and cried as I watched Peach dance. And then I went out to the car and called T-Bone. And I bawled.

I haven't cried that hard in a while. I just don't have time for it, really. But seeing Peach doing what she loves so much, smiling and enjoying herself without a care in the world - it just undid me. "It" was all there, and we just had no idea. She wasn't showing any of the signs that ultimately led us to the doctor two weeks later, but It had already started.

I have spent way too much time and energy trying to pinpoint the exact moment this all began, and the truth is, we will never know for sure. I look at pictures from weeks, days, even hours before diagnosis, searching for the tiniest indication of change - any evidence of what was to come - and I can't find it. And it drives me crazy. Even though I know we caught It as early as we could have, and much earlier than many people do, I can't get over the fact that there was A Moment when a cell in Peach's perfect little body decided to wreak havoc, and I didn't have the opportunity or the capacity to stop it.

In the first few days and weeks after we came home from the hospital, I had a hard time seeing healthy children, out and about in public with their happy parents, enjoying their holidays. I wasn't envious or angry, just very sad. For them. I thought how blissfully ignorant those parents were of the fact that their baby could get cancer. I wondered if it ever occurred to them that their healthy child could ever get so sick, seemingly in an instant. And, of course, the answer is NO. Because I used to be them, and as much as I worry about everything, real and imagined, it never truly occurred to ME that this could happen. And that's saying a lot.

People ask me questions all the time about leukemia and blood cells and chemotherapy, and they often apologize, saying, "I'm sorry. I just don't know much about all of this." My answer is always, "Of course you don't. Why would you?" I didn't know much about all of "this" either before now, and I'm learning all the time because I have to. I need to. I want to. And with all the learning and emoting I've been doing, maybe someday I'll be able to let go of my obsession with Its birth. Even better, maybe I'll finally be able to accept (without having to remind myself first thing every morning) that this is actually happening at all.

September is National Childhood Cancer Awareness Month. Please consider supporting CureSearch's efforts to fund life-saving research for all childhood cancers. Peach thanks you.