This morning was a tough one

Brooklyn and I went up to Mac for her three month check up, sprinkle donut in hand, singing loudly to the 90s mix on the radio.

 

We arrived on time, and B was happy to be there.

She ran to the far right desk in the entrance of the 3F clinic, proud to know her way around.

She grabbed her paperwork, and in we went.

 

The 3F clinic was quiet. We may have been the first family to arrive.

She was happy to play toys and wait for the doctor until we found out she required a finger poke, as oncology teams call it, down in the lab.

We hadn't been there before.

A finger poke was new.

She was used to IV lines and major blood draws.

Because of this, she immediately shut down the moment I told her we needed to take a walk.

 

The child life specialist and I bribed her with ipad time and treasure chest rewards.

She was leery, but she went.

 

Upon entering the lab, her switch flipped.

 

Happy, agreeable Brooklyn was gone.

Angry, anxious Brooklyn had taken over.

 

The nurse, child life and I couldn't convince B to walk into the finger poke room.

She literally dug in her heels, crossed her arms over her chest and started shouting NO WAY.

 

My heart sank.

My body started to shake.

Tears formed in my eyes.

 

A beautiful, teenaged cancer kicker (who was waiting for her own finger poke) noticed.

With her thin frame, cute hat and positive smile, she came over to Brooklyn.

 

She was in for her second finger poke of the week, she said.

Do you want to come and see how we do it, she said.

It's really ok, she said.

You even get to pick the bandaid, she said.

 

Brooklyn's shoulders dropped a little.

Leery once again, she held my arm tightly and entered the finger poke room.

 

This gorgeous cancer kicker, with her wide smile, talked Brooklyn through the process. Why they warm her finger, how quick the poke was, how she looks for a cool bandaid while the nurse works in order to stay distracted.

 

B watched.

B listened.

 

In the end, it didn't matter. Brooklyn has post-traumatic stress associated with needles and her fight or flight instinct did kick in. She completely lost herself, kicking and screaming and hitting and crying so hard she was sweating.

 

It was overwhelmingly sad.
My heart broke into a million more pieces.

Cancer fucking sucks.

 

But, this girl, this teenager who's fighting cancer the way a boxer would his opponent, she reminded me of something.

 

Even when our bodies feel weak.

Even when our spirit is on empty.

Even when every single OUNCE of our mind tells us life isn't fair.

 

We have to fight back.

We have to stay focused.

We have to lead with love.

 

This girl, she led with instant and genuine love for my Warrior Princess, and for that I am so grateful.

 

This morning was a tough one.

I will take some time to cry.

Grieve.

Hurt.

 

And then I will pick myself back up and love, the way this beautiful girl demonstrated today.

I hope you'll do the same <3

 

#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess

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

Coping

Brooklyn has finally completed the last of the required tests.
Her only scheduled appointment next week is a surgical follow up from her biopsy.

Now we wait.
Wait for a diagnosis. A treatment plan. A timeline.

It's the scariest feeling ever, to know something so important rides entirely on others. Highly intelligent and well trained others, but still the lack of control takes my breath away more than once a day.

I feel sad.
Empty.
Anxious.
Shaky.
Weak.
I've really pulled into myself, the way a turtle crowds it's shell during times of danger.

I worry about my boys and the trauma this has caused each of them.

E has endured nightmares. He needs to know where I am going and when I'll be back. He asks lots of questions about where his siblings are, and he was so angry last week when we made it clear he wasn't allow to hug his sister because of her boo-boos. He cried the most gigantic, most heartbreaking tears last weekend as he spontaiously told me how hard it was to go from the babysitter's house to his grandparents' house and back. His entire routine was disrupted, despite our best efforts.

N is sullen, at times unable to decipher what he's feeling. He made a feeling picture with the Child Life Specialists yesterday, of our faces before B got sick and since B has been in the hospital.

Left - before B became sick . Right - after B became sick

This image brought me to tears. He is right and its hard to know he's hurting as much as we are, despite our attempts to be as warm and normal as possible. He is a feeler, a deeply emotional child, and he knows that this is serious.

When my mind wanders, I sometimes think about the worst case scenario.
Chemo. Hair loss. Extended hospital stays.
A daughter with self esteem issues... her first set of incisions really upset her.

And then sometimes I focus on the beautiful party we will have when this is all over with.
The music. The jumpy castle. The cold drinks and big hugs.
Tears of joy.
A chance to thank everyone for their support.

The entire next week is out of our hands, all there is left to do is pray that hope becomes reality.
I find myself too tired to pray these last few days, and so I am grateful for all of your spiritual dedication to my family.
xo

#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess

Any other day

It began like any other day.

My focus was on getting my kids dressed, packing lunches and loading them into the van in time to make the first bell. Nolan, age 7, and Brooklyn, age 5, love to play for a few minutes with their friends before classes officially begin.

Drop off. Check.
Coffee run. Check.
Morning visit with my wee man Ethan, age 2, to our local early years centre. Check.

Around 11 o'clock that morning E and I headed home. Thursday is our special day together, one I so cherish. I put his favourite show on TV and headed upstairs to make him some eggs for lunch.

Cue the phone.
I always check my call display before answering, and when I did, my heart dropped.

It was my kids' pediatrician's office calling.

In the three seconds or so that it took to pick up the receiver, my mind raced.

B had just gone the previous day for an ultrasound on her abdomen, specifically looking at her bladder. After recurrent UTIs, random unexplained constipation and complaints of it hurting to sit on the toilet, I asked her doctor to consider more testing.

I couldn't take her to that appointment as I was just beginning to teach my first week of the winter term, thank goodness my amazing parents jumped at the chance to spend time with B. The technician had told my mother it would be about 5 business days before results would be available to our doctor.

But the pediatrician's office was on the phone now, on this very normal, average day.
Asking me to come in regarding the results of the ultrasound.
I hung up the phone and my chest hurt.

Not 15 minutes later, the office was calling again.

This time, our pediatrician was on the other end.
"I've reviewed the results and referred you up to McMaster Children's Hospital. There is a mass in her abdomen which requires further investigation. I have spoken directly to the surgeon, he is aware of your case."

That day, two weeks ago, was just like any other day.

The same arguments.
The same requests for cooperation.
The same snacks in my kids' lunch bags.

Never, in my wildest dreams, would I have guessed our very busy pediatrician would call me at home. That McMaster would call the next day and tell us to come in three days later, promptly at 9am.

To be admitted.
To begin a very, very difficult two weeks.

CT scans.
IV drips.
Blood work.
Urine samples.
Biopsies.
Hearing and eye tests.
Echos.
Bone marrow biopsy.
Bone scan.
MIBG scan.

Days so long, tears flowing uncontrollably and questions nearly impossible to answer:

"Why do they keep touching me? They make me feel worser Mom! Make it stop!"
"How many more tests mommy, I hate tests!"
"Why can't I eat, mommy? They never let me eat here!"
"Mommy I am not sick. I am fine. Take me home?"

Seeing my little angel, my precious baby girl, in pain. Suffering at the hands of the people who were put in place to help her. Feeling entirely helpless, hopeless and trembling at the thought of one more wheelchair ride, one more gurney trip around the hospital.

Watching her little eyes close, body full of drugs, knocking her into a deep sleep over and over again for the sake of something that did not exist a few weeks ago.

Trusting strangers to care for my baby as they would their own, and begging them to do everything in their power to make her well again.

...

The day began like any other day.
Two weeks ago tomorrow.
Yet the following 14 days have been the furthest from that day.

And while these have been the single most difficult two weeks of my life as a mom, wife and woman, I can see with very clear eyes how lucky we are.

Yup.

Its only taken two weeks to complete all the tests necessary for a proper diagnosis.
The hospital is only one hour from our home.
We are surrounded by family, friends and even perfect strangers who continue to fuel us with kind words, meals, gifts and hugs.

Love is plentiful.
Hope is visible.
Faith, while being tested, is a strong and capable companion.

Please pray, for Brooklyn and all children who's lives have been anything but any other day.

#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess