Parenting Without A License

Reflections On A Theme

Posted by Kimberly on March 28th, 2005 — Posted in Diva Girl, Zen Baby, Oncology Odyssey

First, let me say thank you for all your good wishes. I really feel like you’ve all been with me every step of the way, and I *know* that has helped get me through this nightmare.

Our weekend was lovely. And busy. I have a large family, and most of them came for Easter–We had a lot to celebrate this year. I think Easter may now be my favourite holiday.

I was a little worried about the kidlet invasion–6 children, the oldest of whom is 6 –but things went fine. The bigger ones were well prepped on playing gentle with Zen Baby and the little ones have no interest in her, or aren’t mobile enough to do damage. So that was stressful, but ultimately successful.

I think the gross favouritism shown by the Easter Bunny, who gave Diva Girl a “honkin’ big basket of stuff” and Zen Baby “one measly stuffed chickie,” went a long way towards assuaging Carebear Envy.

My dad just made a comment that it’s been more than a week since the surgery.

See, I’m still living in that “funny time” place. On the one hand, how is it still March 2005? I have lived years these past few weeks. But I’m also still sitting in the chair in my doctor’s office, hearing, “It’s bad. Zen Baby has a 12 cm tumour in her abdomen.” I haven’t really processed that event yet, let alone everything that’s happened since.

The Nurses on the Paediatric Cancer Ward are calling Zen Baby their Miracle. They just don’t get outcomes like hers very often. When we arrived, shellshocked and praying for a miracle, things did not look good. Even a happy ending looked like it would only be after the whole deal: a whack of unpleasant tests, a biospy, bone marrow extraction, chemo, surgery to remove the tumour, radiation, bone marrow transplant–if a match could be found and family wasn’t likely to be an option. And a happy outcome was by no means guaranteed. Or even expected, to be honest.

And then, we got the miracle. Yes, Zen Baby had a whack of unpleasant tests and they were traumatic. But the tests revealed something wonderful (if wonderful and tumour can be used in the same sentence). The tumour was more than likely so rare that the oncologists had to go look it up in their medical databases (I’ll admit it, I’m kinda proud of that ). But it wasn’t, in and of itself, life threatening. In fact, if it had been a normal presentation, it really would’ve been no big deal. But the fact that it had invaded her bowel and was not allowing her stomach to grow and basically bullying all the other internal organs made it much more serious. So, major abdominal surgery. No treat, let me tell you. (Have you ever tried to co-sleep with an infant hooked up to 2 ivs and an NG tube? ) But it was survivable, and she survived. And, barring a bad pathology report, our ride on this particular roller-coaster is over. (And believe me, I have no intention of buying another ticket.)

So, was our 3 week oncology odyssey insignificant? Not on your life. It was the most harrowing experience of my life (and have I ever mentioned that I was once run over by a bus?). I have journeyed to the pits of parenting hell and back. But you know what? I only had to look through the window; I was blessed and didn’t have to walk through the door. Every family who finds themselves suddenly admitted to paediatric oncology hopes/wishes/prays/begs for the same miracle we received. And most of them don’t get it. I don’t know why we did, but I plan to make the most of it.

Earlier this month I wrote: “Zen Baby’s first birthday isn’t about survival. It’s all about how we thrived this year….It’s all about the anticipation.” I had some bitter moments when I felt the universe was mocking me for making these statements, but you know, I stand by them, with one small change: “We have survived and thrived, and we’ll continue to do so.

But it’s still all about the anticipation.