I'm shaving my head tomorrow. On live television. Holy hell.
We've been fundraising for St. Baldrick's, an amazing organization, and the big event is this Saturday. Individuals and teams volunteer to shave their heads to support childhood cancer research, and one of the local organizers contacted us about doing an interview/live shave as a promotion. Ever the drama queen, I said YES, so off it comes tomorrow morning.
Compared to everything else she's been through, losing her hair hasn't really bothered Peach in the slightest. When she first heard that it would happen, not having any experience or even a passing knowledge about cancer, she got a little upset. But when I explained that her hair would grow back, and that Daddy's hair would never grow back, she laughed and hasn't given it a second thought since.
I'm excited to see what it looks like when it grows back - maybe the Shirley Temple ringlets of her babydom. As for mine, I'm confident that the silver mini-fro will be the next big thing in coiffure.
Also, somehow my FOUR year bloggiversary was in February. The hell?
March 16, 2010
February 3, 2010
Remission
Yes, you read that right. That's apparently how leukemia treatment works, when it works really well. Peach is in remission a little over four weeks after she was diagnosed. Amazing. Now comes the hard part.
The thing is, I can talk about all of this all day long (and I do, sometimes), and I can hear the words "cancer" and "chemotherapy" and "Peach" all in the same sentence, and still. STILL. There is a little part of me that can't believe, won't believe, this has happened. A little part that is just sure the next time we go to the clinic or talk to the doctor, the jig will be up, and they will know we've blown this whole thing out of proportion. When T-Bone was shaving her head the other night, I actually thought to myself, "Oh, here we're doing all of this, and it isn't really even necessary. It's all just a big mistake."
I know that "little part" is named Denial, I know. And try as it might, Denial's voice is very small and has absolutely NOT kept me from forging full-steam ahead on the treatment plan from Day One. But I do think Denial has kept me from losing my ever-loving mind at times because I have decided this: If a parent in this situation ever completely processed what was happening, they would be rendered useless. It's just too huge to fully comprehend and still be able to function. There's a disconnect in there somewhere. The first thing I said to the doctor when she gave us the diagnosis was, "Are you sure? Because I really feel like you're talking to someone else." And I still feel like that.
But she was sure, and she was talking to us, and now, it's been four weeks, and the leukemia cells are gone. The problem is, they have a habit of not staying gone, so now we begin six months of IV and spinal chemotherapy, followed by two years of maintenance therapy, during which Peach will take oral chemotherapy and have regular visits to the clinic. She should be able to return to school in the fall, and her hair will start coming back once she's through with the harder IV meds. She's tolerated everything really well so far, and the main thing we have to watch out for is any type of infection. We're lucky that she and Olive both are normally very healthy kids, without any chronic health issues (allergies, asthma, etc.) to manage on top of treatment. We have every confidence in her doctors and the facilities here, and we are surrounded by loving family and friends. We are truly blessed in many ways.
The biggest blessing of all? Peach. At diagnosis, I told the doctor that we had to fix this because Peach has many great things to do and anyone that knows her would say that she is a special, special little girl. And she continues to prove me right every day. She is confident, engaged, and actively participating in her treatment. She knows she will be cured but will have to fight to get there, and she proceeds as the thoughtful, quiet warrior that she is. How lucky I am to be her mother. I am amazed by her courage and happily bear witness to her incredible grace. And while I have my quiet moments of doubt, I am buoyed by a strength that is not my own, and I have never seen more clearly that God is good.
The thing is, I can talk about all of this all day long (and I do, sometimes), and I can hear the words "cancer" and "chemotherapy" and "Peach" all in the same sentence, and still. STILL. There is a little part of me that can't believe, won't believe, this has happened. A little part that is just sure the next time we go to the clinic or talk to the doctor, the jig will be up, and they will know we've blown this whole thing out of proportion. When T-Bone was shaving her head the other night, I actually thought to myself, "Oh, here we're doing all of this, and it isn't really even necessary. It's all just a big mistake."
I know that "little part" is named Denial, I know. And try as it might, Denial's voice is very small and has absolutely NOT kept me from forging full-steam ahead on the treatment plan from Day One. But I do think Denial has kept me from losing my ever-loving mind at times because I have decided this: If a parent in this situation ever completely processed what was happening, they would be rendered useless. It's just too huge to fully comprehend and still be able to function. There's a disconnect in there somewhere. The first thing I said to the doctor when she gave us the diagnosis was, "Are you sure? Because I really feel like you're talking to someone else." And I still feel like that.
But she was sure, and she was talking to us, and now, it's been four weeks, and the leukemia cells are gone. The problem is, they have a habit of not staying gone, so now we begin six months of IV and spinal chemotherapy, followed by two years of maintenance therapy, during which Peach will take oral chemotherapy and have regular visits to the clinic. She should be able to return to school in the fall, and her hair will start coming back once she's through with the harder IV meds. She's tolerated everything really well so far, and the main thing we have to watch out for is any type of infection. We're lucky that she and Olive both are normally very healthy kids, without any chronic health issues (allergies, asthma, etc.) to manage on top of treatment. We have every confidence in her doctors and the facilities here, and we are surrounded by loving family and friends. We are truly blessed in many ways.
The biggest blessing of all? Peach. At diagnosis, I told the doctor that we had to fix this because Peach has many great things to do and anyone that knows her would say that she is a special, special little girl. And she continues to prove me right every day. She is confident, engaged, and actively participating in her treatment. She knows she will be cured but will have to fight to get there, and she proceeds as the thoughtful, quiet warrior that she is. How lucky I am to be her mother. I am amazed by her courage and happily bear witness to her incredible grace. And while I have my quiet moments of doubt, I am buoyed by a strength that is not my own, and I have never seen more clearly that God is good.
January 1, 2010
New Year, New Normal
Two days ago, our precious, precious Peach turned 10 years old.
Yesterday, she was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia.
Today, our entire world, and everything in it, looks completely different.
Yesterday, she was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia.
Today, our entire world, and everything in it, looks completely different.
December 28, 2009
Luck o’ The Irish
T-Bone is one lucky, lucky so-and-so. Really, he is. And I don’t mean just because he got me for his bride. HA. I mean he is lucky in contests, sweepstakes, and all-around games of chance. Basically, he wins shit all the time. And as his aforementioned bride, I often reap the benefits of his aforementioned luck.
Now, I will have to buy some stuff to protect my delicate constitution from the Arctic Elements, but judging by the weather we’ve had lately, I may actually get some use out of it around here, too. I’ve got to wrap up a couple of things at The Job, but Peach and Olive are set for great adventures with Mama Turista for the week. So, other than an appropriate anniversary gift for T-Bone (it’s lottery tickets for Year 12, right?), I think I’m ready to go. In one week!
December 25, 2009
An Oldie But A Goodie
What a wonderful day we had over here. I hope you and yours are as fat and happy as we are.
I love Christmas carols, and while I'm pretty familiar with most of them, I've never read the full lyrics to this one, nor did I know it was based on a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Thanks, Public Education. Anyway, it really spoke to me the other day, so I wanted to share. Peace, y'all.
I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.
I thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.
And in despair I bowed my head:
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men."
Till, ringing singing, on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,
Of peace on earth, good will to men.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)