d day. part two.

(2 of 3)

diagnosis day. part two.

Immediately following the news of Brooklyn's cancer diagnosis, Jay and I agreed we should call a few people to update them. I offered to call our three sets of parents, and ask them to share with the rest of our family.

I remember the exact spot I sat in, a crumbled heap on the floor.
I was outside 3B2, where a mechanical penny machine sits in glass.
I sat down on the ledge beside it, unable to walk any further.

It was cold.
Hard.
Exposed.

I didn't know where else to go. I think, in a way, I needed to be in a public place, and as it turns out God blessed me with a McMaster mom angel who stopped not once, but twice to check in on me.

"I can see you are having a hard day. Please let me give you a hug." she said. I was so shocked by her kindness, yet so grateful for her in that moment.

I called my mother-in-laws. One at work. One at home.
I also called my parents, my dad picked up the phone.

Never in my life have a stuttered like that.
Never.

I couldn't string a sentence together.
I remember saying 'Brooklyn... has... cancer.... surgery... biopsy....'
But I don't remember being able to say much else besides a quiet request that they each contact our siblings and extended family to update them of this news.

For the first time as Brooklyn's mother, I was useless.
There wasn't a thing I could do to stop the train.

A train which derailed, earlier that morning, and was speeding.
Speeding down a hill so steep, I was breathless.

---

Because Brooklyn was on the 'add list' as a registered patient in surgical, hospital OR time was very fluid and changed in a heartbeat. We knew she would have surgery later that afternoon, a laparoscopic biopsy, to test the tumour inside her abdomen.

What we weren't prepared for was hearing the head of oncology tell us they'd like to insert a port-a-cath into our daughter's chest. This tool was vital for chemotherapy, a medical procedure they believed essential given the potential for an advanced stage cancer.

I remember sitting in the social room in 3B2, surrounded by families playing games, laughing and participating in craft time.

I remember our table was not laughing.
Not having fun.
Not even close.

The rest of that afternoon was like a hyperspeed episode of a hospital drama.

From the meeting, to a child life specialist racing down the hall to tell us she was being taken for surgery.
To the OR holding area, only to be bumped and forced to wait almost two more hours for surgery.
Into the OR, where my daughter begged to go home, then fought every doctor and nurse who attempted to touch her.

I left my daughter in an OR.
Cancer in her stomach.
Her future resting on the results of a biospy only moments away.

I left her.
I couldn't help her.
I couldn't fix it.

I remember falling into Jay's arms, a heaping mess of exhaustion and anxiety.
I remember him forcing me upstairs to Brooklyn's room, to my waiting mother and aunt who, despite my best attempt to tell them to leave, stayed to care for us. Thank God.

I was completely numb.
I was shaking.
Thousands of pounds on my shoulders.
My head was exploding.

They made me a sandwich.
I sat in stunned silence.

d day. part two.
January 20th, 2016.

#CCAM #WarriorPrincess #TeamBrookie #MorePreciousThanGold

The moment the nightmare ended

Shortly before Brooklyn's surgery, the doctors gave her some medication to relax. She is so traumatized from the last month, we requested this to avoid another major OR meltdown.

She quickly relaxed, played her Shopkins game and waited for her pending surgery. Jay and I were a mess, every conversation with doctors over the last month skipping through our heads, every outcome flashing before our eyes, knowing that once again we were putting our little girl's life in the hands of others.

She couldn't form a cohesive sentence in the minutes before we moved into the OR, but let me tell you, she most certainly could once she rolled into surgery. She told every doctor off, saying they were meanies and she absolutely refused to lay down. The surgical team held her down while I rubbed her head and sang 'our song' to her, mask over her little face.

It was a moment that took my breath away.
I came out and fell apart in Jay's arms.

There was nothing left to do but wait.
And it hurt the greatest depths of my heart.

In the hours that followed, we were visited by nurses, child life specialists and other McMaster team members we met over the last few weeks. It really hit me then, that this wasn't just a terrible dream. We weren't making this a bigger deal than it was.

It also hit me that we had the entire McMaster professional team routing for us.
For her. For a positive outcome.

Our social media pages were oozing with prayer offerings, energy dedications and words of love and faith.

It was overwhelming.
I was totally numb.

And then, it happened.

Brooklyn's surgeon came out to see us.
Much earlier than anticipated, Jay and I flew out of our chairs.

She looked at us so calmly and said,
"I removed it. I was able to remove all of it. As far as I can see, 100%"

I was stunned.
I felt my knees get weak.

I told her she was incredible, to which she replied it wasn't that big of a deal. She knew the tumour was friendly and she knew she could do it.

To her, it was science.
Training. Skill.

To us, it was miraculous.
Prayers answered. A new beginning.

Our daughter, our little Warrior Princess, was going to be ok.

In the next hour, we were visited by her other surgeons, who were proud to say they also agreed that 100% of the tumour was removed. I hugged them so hard, I probably scared them.

Lastly, our oncologist popped in. Her words went like this,

"You better consider going on that vacation after all."

You can't even imagine the tears that followed.

#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess

_

Brooklyn is still admitted at McMaster, and she's moving through the ups and downs of post-operative recovery. While this week has been exhausting and difficult, we're confident she will make a full recovery in the weeks to come. Final pathology will be available in another ten days or so, at which time we hope to hear Brooklyn will only need to be monitored regularly and not undergo any further treatment.

Thank you for your continued prayers and love. xo

Grow with us

I am still trying to come up with words, to express how I am feeling right now.

Angry.
Sad.
Broken.

A good start, yes, but the pain I feel is so much deeper than that. So much more raw. It's as if someone took my heart out of my body and still expects me to be 'myself' without it. My brain is foggy, my body aches and tears fall in streams from my face without a moment's notice.

I look at my little girl and wonder how this will change her.

Will she go into medicine someday, hoping to change the world?
Will she refuse to bare her midsection as a tween because she's ashamed of her scars?
Will she feel a strong dislike for doctors, the very people dedicated to making her well?

I look at my sons, and I can see how this has changed them.

Ethan screams when being left alone, begs for us to sleep with him, wakes 10+ times a night and says things like, "Mom be careful, Brookie is sick." Nolan is, once again, highly sensitive. He is crying more often, crawling into my lap at least once a day and looking at me with eyes that shout dissatisfaction and worry about the current state of our life.

And then I look at Jay and I.

It's awful.
We are shells.
Breathing, yes, but otherwise void of our usual zest for life.
We are pale, exhausted and hurting.
Laughter is infrequent. Silly jokes are missing.

Our love for each other remains unspoken.
We are partners in this journey.

When I am ok, he is not.
When I fall apart, he is strong.
Every ounce of our energy is being poured into our kids, leaving an empty bucket for each other. But that's ok, because we know we are in this together.

I came across a video today, and I feel like everyone needs to watch it.
It's time to stop the 'not doing' and get to doing.
Living.
Being.
Appreciating all that we have.
Losing the regrets.

The silver lining, in all of this, is becoming evident.

Hearing friends say, I've taken too much for granted.
Seeing neighbours spending quality time together as a family.
Feeling family members give so much of themselves, in the name of family.

It's incredible.

Too many of us worry incessantly about the next step in our careers at the expense of missed hockey games, first home runs and cups of coffee with dear friends. Too many of us have become overly concerned with the next big style trend, the brand of car in our driveway and the roots of our dyed hair.

But wait.
What if we looked again.

What if we let the silver lining shine a little brighter.

Notice the way a hug feels around our neck.
Take in the smell of our spouse when crawling into bed at night.
See the love our pets offer us without hesitation.

You see, as much as I cannot breathe right now, as much as my heart is broken into a million pieces, I know that there are lessons to be learned. I know that my life will be enriched by choosing mindfulness in my daily activities. In appreciating the kindness and love of others.

I want you to be part of the silver lining.
I never want you to go through this with your child.
But I want you to learn from us. 
Grow with us.
Find peace along side us.

I want to prove that all of this happened for a reason.
And I want to hear about what you've learned.

xo

#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess