It's never really over

The thing about trauma is that it's never really over, per se.

Thoughts.
Feelings.
Painful memories.

They linger.
They take up space in our busy brains.
They can easily take over one's ability to feel happy, whole and in control.

The last couple of days I've been marvelling at how all roads in our family life led to the last 6 weeks. Gave us a 'tool kit' so to speak, for dealing with our family trauma.

I spent the last year engaging in meditation and mindfulness practices, resulting in the ability to see light during the darkest of our last six weeks. Friends, both old and new, who allowed me to entrench myself in their personal and family cancer experiences the last number of years, took it upon themselves to prop me up every single day of this journey. The practical way Jay and I rebooted our finances last fall, so that me being without work right now is a setback, not a sinking ship. The family yoga classes that Brooklyn and I started prior to her diagnosis  attuned her to the power of her breath, and taught her a simple song that calmed her worst fears and silenced her tears during our 15 odd days of inpatient treatments.

All of these roads have led to today, and just weeks after I posted about my self-declared 2016 Year of Celebration, we found ourselves stuttering and gasping for breath, trying to verbalize the sentence, 'Brooklyn has cancer' to our closest relatives. I will never forget making those phone calls, in the third floor hallway of McMaster Children's Hospital, a pile of mush on the floor. Trying, so so hard, to breathe.

I could be angry.
After all, it feels entirely unfair that a five year old should fight cancer.

I could be depressed.
It was painful to see my daughter, my own flesh and blood, in intense pain.

I could feel anxious.
After all, there are more results pending, and there will be follow up tests for many, many more years.

I could loathe God.
Many people do, following a trauma.

The thing is, I don't.
I have moments of anger, sadness and anxiety.

But I mostly feel gratitude.
Intense gratitude.

For the 'doers' who carried my family and I through this journey.
For my husband, whose love for our family carried us when I fell apart.
For my dearest, most incredible friends who lived inside my head throughout the last six weeks, offering daily support, checks ins and countless opportunities to say they loved me.
For my body, which carried my soul.

You see, we will all experience trauma at some point.

We will lose people we love.
Parents. Siblings. Babies. Neighbours.
Some of us will fight cancer, disease and mental illness.
Be unemployed, battle addiction and see our children struggle to succeed.

We will hurt, deep down in our souls.
We will feel like we cannot go on.
Like the world is better off without our pain.

But wait.
We can choose another path.

Gratitude is a conscious choice to look at every single interaction in our day as a gift, a silver lining through the thick grey clouds of trauma.

Let's be honest here, trauma brings out the best in the people we love. Coincidentally, trauma also showcases the tragic flaws in others, some of which I can personally say have been disappointing to witness.

But I can still choose gratitude.

I can choose to feel 'lucky' that Brooklyn's type and stage of cancer was the best possible outcome in the medical books. Even if being truly 'lucky' is having a child that never experiences cancer at all.

I can choose to be grateful that I am home with my children, snuggling and caring for them, despite the fact that this means my income is nil for the foreseeable future.

I can choose happiness.
Peace in my soul.
Love in my heart.
Faith in God.

A very wise friend said to me, once you battle cancer it's never really over, it just becomes the new normal. You live for today, and you make a choice not to worry about tomorrow.

And so it may never really be over, per se.
But I firmly believe the aftermath of trauma is manageable with a heart full of gratitude.

#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess

Warrior Princess

What does it mean, to be a Warrior Princess?

 A warrior is brave.

 

 

 

 

 A warrior has a strong heart and fighting spirit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A warrior defeats pain and is left with bravery lines.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 A warrior believes she can do anything, even if it’s really hard.

 

 

---

 

 

A princess is beautiful, inside and out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A princess cares about and loves others.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A princess knows a twirly dress makes everything all better.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A princess believes she can do anything, even if it's really hard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 

She is the perfect combination of warrior and princess.

And we are so proud of her.

 
 
 
 
#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess
 

Perspective

We've been home for 48 hours now.
Not quite back to 'normal', but definitely the closest we've been in five weeks.

Five weeks.
January 18th to February 18th.

That astonishes me.
Five weeks felt like five months.

Every single day the first thing I thought about was cancer when I woke.
Cancer when I closed my eyes at bedtime.

Dreams unlike any I'd ever experienced before now, dreams I pray I never experience again.

When my friends and family posted photos on social media of their fun events and happenings, I wanted to scream, "My daughter has cancer! How can you be so inconsiderate!"

When I checked out at the grocery store and the cashier asked me how I was, I wanted to spill my sadness all over the register, talk about my daughter's pending cancer tests and treatment.

Every moment, of every day.
My daughter has cancer.
It was written in my mind, on my heart and sat on my lips.

I knew I was struggling.
I knew no one else did anything wrong or spiteful or malicious.

But my heart was hurting so badly that everything I saw, read or experienced just hurt me more.
Bruised deeper.
I couldn't control my feelings, they raged beyond my heart.

Yet, I made it.
My boys made it.
Brooklyn my Warrior Princess made it.

And in the darkest moments, I gained perspective.

When my anger boiled over Brooklyn's incision infection, the  night nurse told me a story about a family admitted for nearly three months due to raging infection in their newborn.
Perspective.

When I wanted to scream on day seven, that we were still admitted, Brooklyn's surgeon shared that she had been walking the wards trying to find a room for a little wee boy who's surgery was about to be cancelled for the second time due to lack of beds.
Perspective.

When, on day ten, Jay and I sat in the play room watching Brooklyn.
When I wanted to get into the ring with all of the negative thoughts still lingering in my brain.
When I wanted to lose it on the doctors for suggesting we 'wait and see' one more day.
When I could feel the literal boiling of my blood.

A husband and wife team carried their daughter into the playroom.
Sick from treatment, without any hair, feeding tube in her little nose.
She could do nothing but sit.
Stare.

Opposite my daughter, moving about in the little play kitchen, attempting to bend over and find new plastic food to feed her baby doll.
So much perspective.

Now, we are home.

My body is no longer running on adrenaline.
It is intensely achy, throbbing at times and struggling to stay awake.
My brain is foggy.
My legs are weak.
My eyes hurt.

I quit my teaching term.
I pulled our wee man from day care.

Life, as I know it, is only a fraction of 'normal'.

But I managed. I breathed through it. My body held my spirit together.

For the first time in years, I am proud of my body.
My physical self carried my spiritual self in a way I didn't realize was possible.

Perspective.

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

The night before

The last two days have been awful.
Every single one of us, kids and adults, feels uncomfortable, sad, worried and downright angry.

There have been yelling matches.
Hockey sticks to the forehead.
(for the record, this was Ethan to Brooklyn, we are good parents I swear)
Walls slammed with hands.

Tears.

So
Many
Tears.

And lots and lots of hugs and cuddles.

Its hard to imagine how Brooklyn is feeling, but given her two enormous angry outbursts (one at home and one today during pre-op) my guess is she's deeply disturbed and scared. She's trying so desperately to be in control of absolutely anything right now, that simple things like 'turn off the tv for dinner' have become heart-wrenching meltdowns.

My head is pounding.
My back hurts so bad I visited the chiropractor on 15 minutes notice today.
My cheeks are continuously flushed.

But now, our bags are packed.
Toys and colouring books from family and friends overflow their bag.
Scentsy buddies are filled with hugs and love at home, in mommy's absence.

New ipad apps.
Snacks, drinks and fruit.
Lots of advil.

Yaya the dolly.
Annie the angel bear.
Blankets.

Now we need your prayers.

For the surgical team charged with removing this ugly tumour.
For our warrior princess, that she digs deep inside her beautiful soul and find a way to smile.
For our boys, left behind to live out the week under the guidance of amazing family.
For Jay and I, that we find peace during the surgery, remain calm should complications occur and meet the day with radical acceptance and gratitude.

I do not anticipate posting any updates here until we are home from the hospital. We appreciate all the kind comments and love left on this blog, and promise to update you as soon as we are able.

#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess

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

Official Update - February 5th, 2016

I posted this update to my personal Facebook page on Friday. For anyone who missed it, here are the results of our meeting with the oncology team at McMaster Children's Hospital.

 

I'm going to refrain from talking about our emotions tonight, and just share the facts for now. If any of this sounds too technical, read on via the link below.

 

Brooklyn has a tumour in her abdomen, which lands on the spectrum of something called a neuroblastoma, or childhood cancer. The amount of malignancy in the tumour is still open to interpretation. Here's what we know:

 

1. Her blood work, bone marrow, ECHO and bone scans all came back clear of cancerous cells. This means... if this is cancer, it has not spread beyond the tumour.

 

2. There are contradicting results of two other tests. Her tumour biopsy showed that the tumour is benign, which is good, however her MIBG scan showed a lit area of what they believe are neuroblastoma cells, inside the tumour. This leads the oncology team to believe that the tumour may be a mix of benign and malignant cells.

Brooklyn will undergo a 3-4 hour surgery on Tuesday morning to remove the tumour. If her surgeon can remove the entire mass, then regardless of the pathology of the tumour, she should not require additional treatment. If the surgeon cannot remove the entire mass, then the pathology will be crucial in determining if Brooklyn requires further treatment, most likely chemotherapy.

If you could, please focus your prayers on asking for divine support for Brooklyn's surgeon, Dr. Flageole. That she execute a safe, effective and full removal of this tumour. That her team support her efforts, minimize complications and that, when the moment finally comes that she speaks to us post-op, that her smile is wide and bright with the news that she removed the entire tumour <3

If you'd like to read more about Brooklyn's situation, check out this link (provided to us by the McM team): http://curesearch.org/About-Neuroblastoma

‪#‎TeamBrookie‬ ‪#‎WarriorPrincess‬