So, I haven't posted in awhile. It isn't because I haven't had anything to say. It's really because I wasn't sure if anyone really wanted to hear it. Nora is doing so well, there aren't many medical updates. We are living as normal of a life as I ever could have expected, and I am so incredibly grateful for that. I truly am.
But, that doesn't mean there aren't lasting side effects that disrupt our lives every single day. As any cancer survivor can agree, the most obvious after effect is fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of the future. Fear of the same things happening again-just not knowing when. Not knowing if. Simply not knowing...
I think any parent wouldn't mind seeing into the future, even if just for a moment. Just to make sure their children are growing up happy and fulfilled. To make sure they haven't "screwed them up" too much to lead a successful and independent life. To make sure there isn't anything they are forgetting to do, to teach, to pay extra attention to...
I don't know that most parents are just hoping to see that their child outlives them. I doubt that most parents, when daydreaming about their children growing older, tear up at the thought of a secondary cancer diagnosis or a relapse. Most parents don't worry that their child will develop infertility issues or disorders stemming from the toxins they watched (and signed 10 medical contracts in approval) drip into their child's veins. We did what we had to do, I know that. But, it doesn't make this part of our journey any easier. We are now fighting the other half of the cancer beast. The what ifs.
I wasn't planning on sharing this story with anyone outside of our absolute closest circle of friends/family, but right now is a time I am scared of one of those what ifs.
Nora has a lump on her forehead.
I noticed it on Easter Sunday, and that night I chalked it up to her probably bumping it in typical 2 year old fashion. Then, on Monday, the fear began to seep in faster than ever. Fear that comes with the fact that she is anything but a typical 2 year old. She comes with high risks, medical statistics, and frankly- she comes with the inability to make assumptions, especially medical ones.
I watched that lump the way an artist watches paint dry. I felt it, I put pressure on it, I kissed it upwards of 2000 times. I waited the EXCRUCIATING 5 days until her oncology visit, and then I calmly told Dr. Friehling that I wanted her to take a quick look at it. She examined it for longer than I thought she would need to. After much conversation about options, we decided to continue to watch it, but to hold off on taking action until her June 15th CT scan (unless we notice changes, or get more concerned).
For 27 days straight, I have thought about that damn lump. I still examine it daily (OK, if I am being honest, usually hourly when I am home from work). Some hours it completely consumes me, and I spend more time than I'd like to admit talking myself out of panic, convincing myself that tears will not make anything better for anyone.
Let's be honest about our options:
A CT/MRI scan.
Seems like it would capture whether or not my fears are founded. But if the suspicion is low (and it is low) that this is my worst fears coming true, than that is additional radiation exposure that my poor girl simply doesn't need. Will I finally be able to sleep again? Hopefully. But is it worth that extra risk? I don't know. And maybe that is the problem...I don't know, no one knows. That ability to see some semblance of the future would be so handy right now. But...
Because miss Nora will already be in the CT machine, already have an IV placed, already have drank the contrast on June 15th, we are hoping to wait until that day to take a quick peek at her head, and rule out COMPLETELY that ugly WHAT IF rolling around in my head.
So, we will wait. Some days, I will cry to myself in the car or the shower, but I refuse to let cancer and the baggage it brings with it win. I
cannot let it control my days, my precious time with my girls, my life, or my faith.
I have plenty of weaknesses. And perhaps my biggest weakness is written above in this blog. It is nearly impossible to put on a brave face all the time. I admittedly struggle with it daily, and I look to those who have blazed the trail for me (I'm looking especially at you, Lacie 😉). I am inspired by parents who remain faithful in grave situations and I am reminded constantly that faith can and does move mountains. For I am certain my little Nora Bean is proof of that.
I know how blessed we are to even be worrying about this. I know and have seen for myself how fortunate we are to be in this moment. I have both the responsibility and the honor of making every moment count, and trust me when I say I intend to, even in those moments that I am scared. I also realize that it's OK to be scared. That doesn't mean I don't have faith. It doesn't mean I am not consumed with gratitude and love for my Lord. It doesn't mean I don't trust in Him to fulfill His most gracious plans for all of us, especially Nora, my warrior baby.
Being an open book about who I am and my personal struggles with the life my family lives is not always easy, but I have been reminded recently that this blog, and the messages and truth I have shared in it, can be helpful to others. (Thanks, uncle Paul!) I write what I feel, and I open myself up to judgement and opinions that might not always be on my side, but if this blog is helping even one person get through an obstacle, even in some small way, then as a mom of a warrior child who is still with me, it is my obligation to keep writing. I hope you will keep reading.
