Round 3.

Here we are...back at Children's. It's day 2 of a 3 day stay. One of many on this new journey of ours. A journey that has been a true roller coaster-with good news and bad,  tears of both sadness and relief, and meeting wonderful, brilliant and caring people that I wish I could have gone my entire life not knowing. 

Today, we found out that Nora's absolutely amazing head oncologist, Dr. Shaw, has taken another position at a Children's Hospital in St. Petersburgh, Florida. I am terrified. If you have to hear the words "Your baby has cancer," you want to hear them from Dr. Shaw, or at least you want to hear that he will be the one taking care of your precious baby, seeing her through to remission and beyond. Even though he isn't leaving until the end of June, he reluctantly told us yesterday afternoon, fearing that we would find out through the grapevine. He told us how wonderful Nora looked, and how great she is doing, but the harsh truth remains-the man I put all of my earthly confidence in to save my baby is leaving. He will not be seeing this through. His expert opinion on her health and well-being expires in 2 short months. 

Nora will have a minimum of 8 rounds of chemotherapy. She will also need to have surgery to remove her tumor. A few scans and biopsies after round four (the first week of May) will determine the journey from that point on-but we will be fighting this fight until July at the earliest. July...it seems so far away, but I know it will be here before I know it. 

At least we have a great view...

I am envisioning good news. I do believe that her tumor has likely shrunk, and her stomach has definitely gotten smaller and softer. Anyone that has seen her can tell you that, including her doctors. She can (and loves to) put her feet in her mouth, and that NEVER could have happened 2 months ago. Not with that belly in the way. From the naked eye perspective, she is a picture of good health and to honest, shear beauty. I do believe things will be improved, but I cannot help my anxiety without seeing it myself. I need to see the scans. I need to see that tumor gone with my own tear-filled eyes. I need to see her liver without a single spot in it, and her lymph nodes clear and free of cancer. But, most of all, I need to see that bone marrow. It needs to be healthy. It needs to be ready to support my gorgeous baby as she learns to crawl and walk, and keep up with her big sister in our backyard. I pray so hard that it is healing. 

So, we will be leaving here tomorrow night with a better idea of how our next few months will be lived. In and out of this place every 3 weeks. Continuing our routine of injections and antibiotics nightly.  Keeping things as normal as possible for Nora and Heidi. Normal. Not sure I even know what that means anymore. There is nothing normal about this. But if this "normal" will mean that Nora can eventually leave all of this in her past with no memory of treatments or pain, than give me this normal. But please give me hope and some semblance of peace in May. Prayers and positive thoughts for clear scans are welcomed and appreciated! There is not a prayer in this world that doesn't mean EVERYTHING to our family.

With big cousin, Ava