One Year Anniversary

When a child is born, so is a parent. There you are, holding your baby - your miracle - in your arms. All your dreams and hopes and history are wrapped up in that face, those eyes, those little hands. And then one day, from out of nowhere it seems, you hear these devastating words: your child has cancer. And everything stops.

So it was one year ago at about this time that I got the call from Dr. Ramirez that Catherine's bloodwork, taken earlier that day, had come back with some very abnormal results - platelets of 6,000 and hemoglobin of 6.1. She never mentioned that Catherine's ANC was 0 and that 50% of her white blood cells were lymphoblasts (aka leukemia cells). Obviously, she was in no position to diagnose Catherine, but she did mention to me that Catherine may have leukemia. Regardless, she said it was very important for us to go up to the hospital where a Dr. Mary Jane Hogan (Dr. MJ) would be waiting for us so that Catherine could get a platelet transfusion before she experienced any possible internal bleeding, and of course get an official diagnosis. That didn't take too long either - happened in the ER about one hour after we arrived. From that point on, things moved so fast I thought my head was spinning. In retrospect, and after a year of learning more about leukemia, I realize how lucky we were. First off, we didn't have weeks of a sick child on our hands; second, we had (and still have) a great pediatrician who took bloodwork after 2 days of a fever (granted 106 isn't very normal); and third, we were sent to a practice that is so caring of the families as a whole. It has been a whirlwind of a year, but Catherine is doing great and hopped around the office today like a bunny (with a bunny hat on her head of course!)
I couldn't help but think that night how Dave and I had always contributed to St. Jude's. When I would get their marketing materials, I would cry reading about these kids wondering how in the world their parents get through this. Of course I always thought "this will never happen to me". It has, and I know things could be worse and I know how to get through this. Strange how I look at things differently - I can't thank God, as I had, for two healthy children, but I do thank him for what we have and for the fact that Catherine is doing well and that her prognosis is good. That said, I found this on another site and thought it was fitting:
The Strength of an Egg
Parents of children with cancer, or really any serious condition, are often referred to or viewed as having strength "like a rock." Albeit flattering, it isn't quite true. It is more like the strength of an egg. An egg, you ask? Yes, an egg. If you think about an egg, you will see the point I make. An egg has a polished smooth outer appearance with no cracks or weak spots visible. It seems almost inconceivable that the inside might not be as smooth and solid as the outside. Most children, at some point in their lifetime, are shown the famous egg trick. An egg set at just the right angle can withstand enormous amounts of pressure and cannot be cracked or broken. Yet that same egg, tapped gently at an even slightly different angle will break. The contents, once so neatly concealed inside, will come spilling out, and the no longer perfect shell will be crushed. Then the shell looks so fragile that it seems inconceivable that it ever held any strength.That is where parents of children with cancer are more like eggs than rocks. A rock is solid all the way through. If you tried to break a rock, it would be almost impossible. If successful, one would find that there was nothing inside but more rock. It takes a lot more than pure hardness to hold the hand of hope. These parents are not solid all the way through. They hurt, they fear, they cry, they hope. It takes a very careful balancing act to keep the shell from being shattered.Balancing an egg while running a household, going for doctor visits and hospital stays, keeping the family together, and holding on to the constantly unraveling ties of your sanity can be very tricky indeed. Occasionally, the angle will be off and the shell will break, shattering hope and the neatly secured appearances of a truly fragile existence. Unlike Humpty Dumpty, though, parents of kids with cancer will pick themselves up and put themselves back together again.



Many have asked if I have met the new docs. The answer is not yet. Dr. Joe will be merging with Yale's clinic and 2 of their doctors have been helping out. I will likely meet them when Catherine gets her LP next month. OR I will meet them in the hospital if she develops a fever before then. Dr. Joe can't do hospital rounds anymore as he needs to be in the office everyday, so the Yale docs will take care of all the patients in the hospital. I joked to Dave that I will meet the new doctor and then 5 minutes later he or she will stick a needle in my daughter's spine. Talk about having trust.

On a funnier note (I can say that now), Alex, much like his Daddy, has a fake front tooth. He chipped his front tooth the other day and the break was bad enough to warrant a bonding be put on the remainder of the tooth. It's sort of like a crown and it looks like nothing ever happened to him. I was surprised by how upset I was given everything else going on, but he is my baby and it's important that I worry as much about him as I do about her - maybe more so as he takes some crazy chances with things.