All that I learned in 2021, I take with me into tomorrow

In 2021, I learned that...

People we love can be on opposite sides of the fence, and all we can do is pray for their safety.

My friends are braver and more badass than they realize they are. And they inspire me daily.

Letting intuition inform choices can result in an abundance of sweetness and joy. 

When I stop feeling angry and sit with it, I'm mostly afraid things will never go back to before.

But I really don't want before.

I've learned too much to pretend I liked then, better.

 

I also learned that…

Some people love you so much they check in. And others don't. And you can't take that personally.

Sometimes change is a permanent state. And I have to embrace this reality.

Home is where my heart is. And changing the world starts with loving my kids through every bad mood, hard day and long week.

I prefer to be around people who think less from their ego, and more often from a place of collective well-being and humanity.

Listening means not always having a response right away. And that sitting and holding space is an act of great love.

Considering others' perspectives means that even if you don't agree, you seek to understand.

And this is harder than being right.

Finally, I learned that…

Lived experience informs risk tolerance during a pandemic.

And I don’t need to apologize for that.

I’m allowed to have personal boundaries, and people pleasing interferes with them.

If you find a job you love, not even a pandemic will stop you from enjoying going to work.

My husband is my rock, gives the best hugs and can find a joke suitable for even the worst days.

Dropping secret gifts on people's porches is pretty fun, and sponsoring a family at Christmas can light up the hearts of children who sometimes forget how lucky they are.

 

And that next year won't be 2020, too.

It will be 2022.

With fresh new eyes, enhanced gratitude and the promise that even the most menacing of storms passes, eventually.

Right now, I have more than enough to find joy.

That much like my very smart and special neighbour recently said, when aboard the boat during a storm, all one can do is hold the steering wheel and marvel at God's creation.

Happy New Year, lovelies.
xoxo
P

Fifteen things I want you to know about food allergy and celiac life

Food allergy awareness month and celiac awareness month, both in May, are now coming to a close. As many of you know, not only did our entire family move to a gluten free diet, but I also made a big mistake last week that led to a serious anaphylactic reaction. It’s been a very overwhelming four weeks and while I had hoped to share great educational articles and stories this month, I shifted into survival mode and never got it done. It happens, I know. I am trying to provide myself grace and patience as I continue to lead our family’s special diet life.

Many friends and family members alike have said they feel helpless and don’t know how to support our family. It got me to thinking, what would I really love for you to know about food allergy and celiac life? 

It didn't take long to come up with a list:

1.   Never question a child when he or she says they cannot eat something: Ethan, and now his siblings, are superheroes in training, learning how to stay safe and healthy. If they say no, it’s a wonderful moment of self-protection. Instead of questioning them or giving them a guilt trip, consider telling them how proud they should be of themselves.

2.     Teach your kids that inclusivity of allergy or any special diet is just as important as that of other disabilities: While not every country formally lists celiac and allergy as a registered disability, they can be both life threatening and debilitating at times. The best way to support my kids is to teach yours all about their conditions.

3.     When you see someone reading a label, don't get mad. They are doing it for a reason: I’ve heard people I love complain about ‘that person’ at the grocery store, standing in the aisle taking forever to look at products and read boxes, touching many items at a time. Trust me when I say, this is me. And this is how food allergy and celiac parents keep their kids safe. We aren’t trying to get in the way or be annoying, just literally trying to keep our kids safe.

4.     When a parent or caregiver requests more information about a party or gathering - be that food, art supplies, etc - know that they understand the burden this creates:  It’s honestly horrible to have to ask all the time. I know it may be A LOT for some people. But I appreciate you taking the time to do so, and I am full prepared to provide substitutions so my child can participate fully in all activities.

5.     Take the allergy aware training course! It could save a life: It’s free and it’s available for absolutely everyone to take – www.allergyaware.ca

6.      If you work in a restaurant or own a small food shop, listen to your guests when they ask questions, and be honest in your responses: People who ask these questions aren't trying to make your life hard. They just want to enjoy a meal safely. And they are probably more stressed about the meal than you are, so you already have something in common.

7.     Substitutions mean the world to food allergy and celiac families: When the school allowed me to provide my son a freezie on ice cream day at school, my son was happy, but embarrassed that he stood out and was ‘different’ than his friends. When my daughter saw a ‘free from top 8 allergens’ product in the school snack bin, available to ALL children, she felt normal and safe and included. Anytime you can include a safe substitution and offer it to the entire group, you’ve provided an inclusive environment for all.

8.     When people ask to read the labels even though you feel it's safe, please let them: Don’t take it personally when a food allergy or celiac family asks to peek. It's hard to trust others, most parents don’t even trust themselves. Sometimes people miss things, and allergens can be disclosed under many names. Have the labels ready and you’ll relieve so much stress.

9.     Consider asking a food allergy or celiac family, ‘what can I do to make you feel safe in our home/at our event?’: This will make them cry. I guarantee it. People who do this are angels in our books and make us feel included and safe.

10. An episode of anaphylaxis is a trauma: Please be patient as a family recovers from the very scary experience of sudden, severe illness. We might not want to talk about it, or overshare. We might be afraid to leave home, not want to try new things, or just seem quiet. It takes time to decompress, please don’t take it personally.

11.  Don't take offense if a food allergy or celiac child doesn't wish to touch the same thing as you: In my experience, my food allergy child is often worried about what you touched before that moment. He is on alert, 24/7. Right or wrong, he’s just trying to stay safe.

12.  Food allergy and celiac families may not wish to eat out: It is really hard, every time. While we don’t want to hurt your feelings, please know we may decline your offer because it’s too overwhelming.

13.  Normalize washing hands before AND after your child eats: This is such an easy way to help keep others safe! What seems like crumbs or greasy fingers to you, scares the pants off food allergy and celiac families. Hand washing goes a very long way in keeping others safe.

14.   Please don't bring snacks to public playgrounds and play centres: How long are you really there? Do you really need more than water for thirst? If so, please have them sit and eat, then wash up before play. Goldfish, trail mix, cookies and yogurt drinks can honestly make a child so, so sick, and if there is nowhere to properly wash hands with soap and water, you may leave residue and crumbs that lead to an ambulance ride for another family.

15.   Finally, sanitizer is not enough to remove allergens from your child’s hands: It’s good, especially during this crazy COVID time, but soap and water (and a long scrub) is the only guaranteed way to remove allergens from hands and face.

If you’ve stuck through this post, I am grateful <3 <3 <3 

I hope you’ve learned something new, and maybe one of these suggestions is something you are willing to implement moving forward. Food allergy and celiac life can be overwhelming for parents, but thanks to our amazing support network we know we can be safe and healthy.

Biggest hugs.

xo

They need so much less than we think

Tonight we had an extra long dinner as a family.
It wasn't a fancy meal, or a well-planned all-natural organic creation.

It was just food, on plates.
Knapins and water cups.

Some ketchup for good measure.

But tonight our meal lasted for what felt like forever, because we sat down and planned our bucket list for the rest of this year, using a simple prompt sheet I had printed four months earlier (with good intentions).

It took us until today, but we did it.
And it was worth every minute of conversation.

We laughed as we brainstormed.
Teased each other.
Cracked jokes.

We opened our minds and hearts to new possibilities.
Shared with each other the things we'd love to see and do.

It filled my soul.

Three hours later all I keep thinking about is this:

We trade time for money,
spend it on piles of accumulation and call it wealth.

We work so damn hard,
exchange it for so little quality family time and call it a life.

We dedicate ourselves to higher education,
then fail to revel in the words of a four year old because we are rushing and distracted.

Our kids need us now.
Today.

They need our presence.
Not presents.
They need to sit around a table of people who love them.

They need to SEE US.
Be with us.
Be held by us.

No amount of wealth, no advanced education, not even a burgeoning career can provide for our children what they need right now, as little humans.

They need us.

Their mamas.
Their daddies.
Their aunties and uncles and grandparents and special relatives.

They need time.
A relaxed, positive space to speak openly and honestly about their hopes and dreams.

They need love.
Unwaivering, always-present words which clearly articulate the depth of our affection for them.

They need peace.
Space in their hearts and minds which is uncluttered by accumulation, overscheduling and unrealistic lifestyles driven by must-have brands and toys.

They need so much less then we think they do.

Less.
Is.
More.

Tonight, over an extra long family
 dinner, I was reminded of this.

Don't believe me?

Give your kids more time, more cuddles and more opportunities to speak freely.
You'll see what I see, I promise.

The teachings of my soul

Last week I got lost in the busyness of life.

(If I'm being honest, I've been lost most of the summer)

Many of my worst habits... to do lists, late night notes to myself, an overly full calendar.... have come back in full force as I attempt to control my world.

But back to last week.

Last week was a particularly crazy week, one where I literally spent hours preparing for a weekend event that I look forward to every year. I was making phone calls and sending texts, I was confirming rules and considering all angles to ensure the best possible chance for success. 

Hours.

I'm not even kidding.

Then, the weekend arrives. I was overpacked, my brain was still swimming with all the busy of the week but my heart was happy as I was about to spend my weekend with some of my favourite people.

Then, get this.

Despite my organization, time spent and energy expelled all week, it blew up in my face.

Literally, another human being blew up in my face.

Crap.

Really?

If you know me personally, you know how much I hate conflict.

It makes my skin crawl. 

Call me an idealist, but I like to think that words are powerful enough to deflate most conflicts, and that if we take time to check our perspectives we can almost always see another side of the story.

But this weekend, despite my very best efforts to promote smooth sailing, I hit a massive wave.

I can't even tell you how much it hurt my heart. 

Hurt.

My.

Heart.

But it happened, and I left feeling unheard, disrespected and totally overwhelmed.

In fact I spent most of my day feeling sick to my stomach.

And it didn't matter how much I prepared, because it didn't help me.

Huh.

Sometimes life just throws us a curveball. 

Acts in a way which is contrary to every plan, scenario and best practice.

Sometimes we just aren't prepared.

Sometimes no one listens.

Sometimes no one wants to listen.

Sometimes we just can't win.

Sometimes words aren't enough.

And so despite living with an awareness of self, despite my every effort to be kind, speak calmly under distress and build mutual respect, sometimes life just doesn't work that way.

All I can do now, is listen to the teachings of my soul.

It continues to say, love, even when others don't love you.

Breathe deeply and speak calmly when you want to explode.

Love friends like family, because they really are the family you choose.

Fail and keep failing, but never ever stop living with optimism.

Thank those who support you, but appreciate those who do not, for they help you grow.

Remember that faith can heal a hurting heart.

And hugs really do make a tough day better.

And finally, never, ever let another person's opinion of you, become you. 

I am not what you think.

I am what I know, deep inside.

Chin up, heart open and soul bared.

Always.

Courtesy Buddha Doodles

One year and a lifetime ago

Today is Brooklyn's one year cancer-free-iversary.

One year ago, doctors meticulously removed her tumour, diagnosed as stage one neuroblastoma for the mix of benign and malignant cells inside its walls. The cancer had not spread beyond her tumour, a reality I like to call being lucky, as far as unlucky goes.

One year ago we began healing.
All of five of us.

First, Brooklyn's physical body.
Her bravery lines.

Then, mom and dad's physical selves.
Back pain. Acid reflux. Sleep issues.

Now, all five of us are focused on our mental health.
Kicking the nightmares.
Lessening the anger.
Managing the guilt.
Feeling the sadness.

All this and we are the lucky family.
We endured a mere five weeks of treatment.
Quarterly follow ups.
A healthy child.
(This is where my guilt takes hold)

Thankfully Brooklyn is finally speaking about her time in treatment, thanks to an incredible play therapy program offered by Wellspring Niagara, which is led by Liz Christie of Playful Solutions. Just last week she said to Liz that every child with cancer is sad, but that sadness is really just being afraid. She has been able to articulate, through sand tray therapy, that sadness has taken her heart, a crushing reality of childhood cancer and medical trauma.

Her progress is slow but reassuring.
And we are grateful.

Little brother still clings, worries with every doctor's appointment and hugs his sister like a deity.
Big brother still feels jealous of the attention she has received, but we're discovering a level of anguish in his anger which seems to be tied very closely to all that happened last year.

And we were the lucky family.
Our daughter is alive.
NED.

She has grown over 10lbs and 3 inches in the last year.
Her hair, ironically cut as a Wigs for Kids donation two summers ago is growing long and thick.
She expresses her desire to be a dance teacher, play therapist, babysitter and mommy someday.
She reads beyond her grade level and next week will be doing a long first reading of Genesis at her school's monthly mass.

She's a freakin' rockstar.
A Warrior Princess.

So, in honour of this special day, we've decided on morning muffins, pasta day at school and then a meal at the kids' favourite restaurant.

We will laugh, eat and play as a family.
Be together as a family of five.
Tell the guilt of having a healthy child to go away, for a day, so we can celebrate.

Today, our Warrior Princess is one year NED.
And our prayers tonight will be plentiful.

#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess

Isaak Family Christmas Card

Photography courtesy (Nanna) Heather Isaak Photography

Christmas is a few short days away.

The gifts are wrapped.
Dinner plans have been made.
Our dogs are clean and pretty.

This Christmas feels different for our family.

We've spent less money.
Worried infrequently about organizing every moment.

For the first time ever, our family has chosen the 'four gift' rule:

1. Something I want.
2. Something I need.
3. Something to wear.
4. Something to read.

Four gifts per child, plus a visit from Santa, who has always generously filled our stockings and left one toy per child under our tree.

This Christmas feels calmer.
Less cluttered.

The kids have delighted in the glow of the lights.
The pending family gatherings.
Advent candles.
Christmas movies.
Our kindness countdown.
Silly versions of classic Christmas songs.

This year I've stopped - really stopped - to watch my children play with the nativity scene in our living room. My eyes delighted in the joy of their recounting of the Christmas story, and I laughed hard and loud when I realized Ethan has been referring to Baby Jesus as 'Baby Jeez'.

We are blessed.

This Christmas, in lieu of the Christmas cards my hands never wrote, my note to you is this....

Find peace in a hot cup of coffee.
Feel the warmth of a family member's hand in yours.
Laugh so hard your belly hurts.

Look for silver linings in times of grief.
Breathe deeply in times of anxiety. 
Melt away the sadness with festive food and drink.

Be grateful for a warm bed.
Look with fresh eyes at the snow outside your window.
Hold your furbabies close and thank them for being steadfast companions.

Put
your
phone
down.

Be present.
Relish, deeply, in the charms of the holiday season.

Let's really live, this Christmas. 
Look with wonder upon the things which we too often take for granted.

Let's really love, this Christmas.
Take it upon ourselves to boldly declare our adoration to our most cherished loved ones.

Let's really appreciate, this Christmas.
Because we never really know when life's tide will turn and leave us far from shore.

Be
Peaceful.
Loving.
Joyful.
Gracious.
Kind.

And know that you are loved, beyond measure.

Merry Christmas
xoxo

d day. part three.

(3 of 3)

diagnosis day. part three.

I've struggled to write this final post until today. If you've been following my blog, you know I've written the story of dday part one and part two. I've also written about the moment the nightmare ended, which picks up the story after Brooklyn's biopsy.

The realization I came to today is that part three isn't over.

Part three of Brooklyn's diagnosis day story began the same day active treatment ended, by a stroke of gorgeous luck or perhaps with God's grace. The most unusual case of stage one neuroblastoma seen in ages, which still causes imaging technicians and doctors alike to proclaim how lucky we are.

Part three is everything that has happened since.

It is the first scare.
The unwanted guest.
The first since's.
The follow up scans.

It is all of these things and so much more.

Brooklyn will always be a child who had cancer.
Her diagnosis will not change.

The problem is, the outcome could.
NED now, but what if the next scan tells us otherwise?

The most profound transition, one which is shared by many cancer families I have met and spoken with this year, is the one which takes place once the child completes active treatment and begins after care.

This is the place where a singular hole in one's mental wellness can result in a fall out.
Where anxiety and depression loom.
Where each worry must be replaced with the very powerful statement:

"In this moment, right now, everything is ok."

And so, as Childhood Cancer Awareness Month comes to a close, I'd like to suggest this:

If you know a family who has been touched by cancer, reach out and check in.

Not so much on their physical health.
But on their mental health.

Honour survivors and angels alike through a commitment to ensuring that each family member is supported through their grief, anger, fear, anxiety and even survivor's guilt.

In many ways, this is the diagnosis day story they struggle to share.

<3 <3 <3

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

#CCAM #WarriorPrincess #TeamBrookie #MorePreciousThanGold

First since

This weekend was a special one.

Brooklyn celebrated her 6th birthday.
She also participated in her third-ever dance recital, a tap number for Fascination Dance Studio.

This birthday was her first since being diagnosed with cancer.
This recital was her first since being hospitalized.

First since.

The thing about cancer is that once someone you know is diagnosed, mortality bullies ego.

I thought about the death of my daughter from cancer.
I considered that it was possible to lose her, after more than five years on this earth.

Children die of cancer.
Despite medicine, surgery and prayer.
Daughters and sons die.
Brothers and sisters leave their siblings.

Brooklyn's outcome is far and away a small minority of cases. Last I spoke with Brooklyn's oncologist I was told that most children Brookie's age land on the opposite end of the spectrum, with widely spread and stubborn tumours requiring intense therapy.

But that didn't happen to Brooklyn.
She is NED.
No evidence of disease.

She is gorgeously recovered, and as a family we find ourselves marvelling at the first since situations.

This weekend we shed more tears of joy, felt more pride and healed more than we ever imagined. Jay shared with Brooklyn that he shed those tears today, while watching her dance her final tap performance to Bippity Boppity Boo, a fitting tribute to the princess who lived by 'have courage and be kind.'

Brooklyn responded to her Daddy's story by reminding him that the last time he shed those tears was when she was discharged from the hospital, post-surgery.

Tears of joy, another first since we feel so blessed to experience.

#TeamBrooklyn #WarriorPrincess

Not all wandering means we are lost

I got asked this question earlier in the week:

"Can you let me know some differences (good and bad) about having 2 vs 3 kids?"

Hmm.
I did blog a little about this in the past, however I find the question so much more powerful and reflective, now that Brooklyn and our family have endured such a fresh journey.

Why did we choose to have three children?
Hmm.

The truth is, we really only 'planned' our first two. To be embarrassingly honest Ethan is quite the love child. No really, he was a thought in our minds, but he was not at all planned for and discussed in advance the way our first two kids were.

To most people, we had 'the million dollar family' already. Two children, one of each sex.
To the logical brain, we 'had it all'.

But here's the thing.

'Having it all' to me meant I needed one more child on the dock, in that classic photo I blogged about back in 2013.

To one friend it meant one little man and absolutely no more.
To another, it meant adopting four gorgeous little ones.
To a third, it meant two, but with a large gap in between.

The thing that ties us all together is this:
We listened to our hearts more, and our heads less.

Yes, having two children means life is more expensive.
Tables are more difficult to come by at a restaurant,
Post-secondary tuition will be outrageous.

But life will always be expensive.
And you can live with less.
Trust me on this one.

Restaurants are overpriced.
Food is too salty when you don't make it yourself.
And the best meals are always inspired by little helpers with big hearts.

And lastly, our children will never come out of school debt-free.
Its an impossibility, as I see it.
So we'll save, and we'll help. But they will also be responsible for their education and their future.

We listened to our hearts.
Not our conditioned minds, ego voices trying to 'protect us' from its perception of danger.

Having two children is 'easier' in many ways.
Less laundry, lunches to make and hands to hold when crossing the street.

But for my heart to truly be full, to feel complete in this stage of my life, I needed my wee man.

Perhaps because his bum shaking made me laugh when his sister was sick.
Maybe it's because his "I love you mommy"s watered my withering heart.
It's certainly because his presence, as loud and crazy as it is, kept our entire family alert and moving when all we wanted to do was hide under our covers and cry.

He was meant to be.
Three was meant to be.

And so, for any family. Any couple. Any single adult pondering these important questions.
The question of if, or how many children to have can most certainly be answered logically by crunching incomes, counting bedrooms and looking to social norms.

But the real answer lies deep inside the heart.
In the quiet before bedtime.
The alone time on the drive to work.
While out for an early morning jog.

"If you want to know where your heart is, look where your mind goes when it wanders."

Happiness is felt in the heart.
Not all wandering means we are lost.

The first scare

Yesterday I brought Brooklyn (and her brother) to visit their pediatrician.

Ethan's breathing has been problematic.
Brooklyn was having acute pain in her lower left abdomen, which made my mama instincts scream.

The doctor recommended we go to the hospital for xrays and an ultrasound.
We slowly walked out to the van, I buckled the kids in and shut the door.

My heart began to flutter.
I wanted to vomit.

Thank goodness for retired parents, as they (without hesitation) agreed to take E immediately so we could head to the hospital.

Now what?
What do I need to pack?
Who do I need to call?
How long will we be there?

We left the office and managed to get to my parents house within the half hour, with a stop at home and at the pharmacy in between the two. As I unbuckled E, the tears began streaming down his face.

He begged to go home.
He clutched my neck.
His entire body wrenched with heartache.

Guilt overcame me.
I could not comfort my son in his time of need.
I had to leave him behind, knowing he was struggling with great fear.

Will I tuck him in tonight?
Will I be home in my own bed tonight?

Brooklyn and I spent about six hours at our local hospital. I re-told Brooklyn's entire story from start to finish three separate times, each time feeling more and more anxiety. Brooklyn was so angry to be there, but thanks to some colouring supplies gifted to us during her illness she was distracted while I recounted hospital stays, pathology reports and the like.

I kept telling her it was going to be ok.
She was going to be ok.

Truth is, I had no freaking clue if I was right.
And that scared me to my core.

What if there was a pocket of infection left?
What if we needed to travel back to McMaster that night?

Then the list making...

I need gas, groceries for the boys, an overnight bag....

The spinning, circle of anxiety began.
Post traumatic stress and painful memories flooded my heart and mind.

-------

The good news is this:

Brooklyn has a couple of abdominal wall hematomas.
She is also thoroughly constipated.
Both are manageable, non-life threatening situations.

The bad news is this:

I can't stop crying.
I am so so sad.
My heart hurts full throttle again.

I cannot figure out a way to function today, other than to sing the song Brookie and I learned in family yoga class. Sung more than 100 times by now, this song is an invisible tie that will forever tether mother and daughter together.

Inhale (breath in).
Exhale (breath out).
I say thank you every day.

Inhale (breath in).
Exhale (breath out).
Namaste.

Sometimes we just need to honour our tears. <3

Gratitude

Our intense winter is now over.
Brooklyn is officially in remission.
We do not anticipate any additional hospital stays.
(ok, I am knocking on wood here)

Our family is now home.
Together.

Back to 'normal'... ish...

To be honest, we're struggling with what our 'new normal' looks like. We've all changed, grown and been very deeply hurt by the last two months and so in many ways we are grieving. As we move through the next few weeks and months, we know one thing for sure:

We couldn't have done it without you.

The food in our freezer.
The cookie bouquets.

Sleepover fun nights for our kids.
Playdates.
Hockey games.

The toys and books and games.
Homemade cards made by children, for our child.

Love in the form of muffins, lasagnas and snuggly blankets.

Coffee deliveries, McMaster hallway hugs and surprise food and drinks and balloons to Brooklyn's room.

Beautiful jewelry.
Prayer shawls.
Stuffed animals.
Cozy new sweaters.
Scented bottles of instant relaxation and stress relief.

Walking our dogs.
Washing our clothes.
Changing our bedsheets.
Cleaning our house.

Checking in on us.
Every. Single. Day.

Sending simple messages of hope, love and strength.

Advice.
Words of wisdom.
A shoulder to cry on.

Your prayers.
Your dedications.
Your overwhelming energy healings.

Gift cards.
Money.
Loving cards and surprise gifts galore.

Old friends.
New friends.

Friends who dropped absolutely EVERYTHING to help us.
Over and over again.

Grocery shoppers.
Errand runners.
Snow shovellers.

Family who stepped up to parent our kids.
Take care of our house.
Love up our dogs.

We couldn't have done it without you.

Let me tell you a story...

The day of Brooklyn's biopsy in January was also the first day we heard the doctors use the word cancer. We signed consent for the biopsy, as well as a port-a-cath insertion, assuming she would begin chemo in the coming days.

We waited hours for the surgery, only to be rushed down and then told we got bumped.
We waited again.
Once she finally went under, Jay sat vigil in the surgical family waiting area while I wandered up to Brooklyn's room with the intention of getting something to eat.

When I sat down I could barely move.
My heart hurt so badly, my head was foggy and my eyes were swollen from crying.

There was no way, in that moment, I could have made myself something to eat.

Thank GOD for our village.

My dearest friend and her mom had delivered hot meatballs, fresh buns and cheese and cold drinks just a few hours earlier. I felt such gratitude, for their act of kindness.

The two most important mothers in my life were in the room when I arrived, and quickly jumped into action, making me food, hugging me tightly and forcing me to drink while I sat in complete silence.

Thank you, God, for these women in my life.

That was the moment I realized I was in no way capable of doing this alone.
That despite our courage and love, there was no way Jay and would manage this without our village.

And you, our village, just jumped right in and did your thing.
You said you were in awe of us, but really we were in awe of all of you.

Your selflessness.
Your ability to help at (literally) a moment's notice.
Your unrelenting love for us that saw you balance our life and yours at the same time.

Did you know my mom was recovering from major surgery when she took over as 'Sama-Mom' in my absence? Or that she had no voice for days on end... sicker than a dog and still, she came to help.

Every. Single. Day.

I will never forget speaking to my dad on the phone, that biopsy day in January.
Telling him his beloved Buttercup had cancer.
Begging him to tell me we were going to be ok.

He said to me,
"We've got you. We've got all of you. We will do this, together. We love you."

And that is why my gratitude is so fierce.
God has blessed me beyond my wildest dreams, with people who will never, ever let us fall.

So, thank you.
Thank all of you.

Your kindness, love and devotion to our family has been seen, felt and heard.
And we love you all for it.

xo

Warrior Princess - 1, Cancer - 0

Today Jay and I went up to McMaster to meet with Brooklyn's Oncologist, Dr. Portwine. Pathology confirmed the following:

Brooklyn had a stage 1 neuroblastoma tumour.

About 5% of it still contained 'hot' (active) neuroblastoma cells.
About 40% of it contained 'maturing' ganglioneuroma cells.
The last 55% of the tumour contained 'matured' ganglioneuroma calls.

The location of the tumour (in her abdomen, attached to the aorta) was such that they could not ensure a healthy margin between the end of the diseased tissue, and the beginning of the good tissue. As such, it is possible some cancer cells were left behind, though to the naked eye there was nothing left to see.

The tumour was 8.5 x 6.9 x 2.8cm.

What does this all mean?
Well the interesting thing about this cancer is that is actually works reverse to common knowledge about the disease. As the tumour matures, it moves from highly malignant to entirely benign. The concerns come when the neuroblastoma cells spread to other parts of the body, moving children from a stage 1 situation to something much more serious.

As far as unlucky goes, we are entirely blessed to be very, very lucky with a stage 1 scenario.

Brooklyn's oncologist is not requiring any further treatment, but she will be followed with regular MRIs (every three months) and urine tests (monthly) for the next year and beyond. Should something unusual arise, then additional tests will be ordered.

We've found two very good links to more information about this type of childhood cancer, read them here and here, should you desire.

Relapses for this type of cancer occur in 5-15% of low-moderate risk cases.
Brooklyn is not at a higher risk of a new cancer occurrence as a result of this one.

Brooklyn's wound is nearly healed, however she is still having some pain in her legs and numbness in her feet. They hope this nerve damage is only temporary. It is uncomfortable, but does not require meds for pain.

Oddly enough, Jay and I are mellow tonight. I will blog about our feelings once I have pinpointed them, but we think we just feel emotional and exhausted all over again.

Sad that pathology proved she had cancer.
Sad that she went through such trauma.
Sad that our new normal will leave us regularly worrying about a relapse.

I am sure our positive attitudes will return soon, but in the meantime we'll wait to celebrate until we feel good and ready.
xo

#TeamBrookie #WarriorPrincess

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