Tuesday, March 22, 2016

One Year Anniversary



Oh boy has this been an emotional roller coaster of a week and I don't like roller coasters, well the ones with loops anyway! Over the past few weeks, I've been sharing with you my family’s journey after my teenage daughter was diagnosed with Metastatic Papillary Thyroid Cancer last year. Last time, I left off with the intention of telling you about the initial visit to our family doctor after discovering a thyroid nodule by accident in the ER, but that story will have to wait a while because tomorrow is a pretty special day for us in the Holt household. Why? Well let's fast forward a bit.

This week, March 20th to be exact, marked the first Anniversary of the diagnosis. I say "anniversary" in both a good and bad way. We are extremely blessed that Cheyenne is here with us and seemingly thriving. Chey is enjoying her freshman year at Tarleton State University, of course she reminds me often that she is officially classified as a sophomore LOL. She is a cheerleader, in a sorority and honor society, as well as being on the Dean's List. We are thrilled she is totally immersed in the college experience. Bleed Purple! I really am amazed and blessed at what a spectacular young woman she has become in spite of the obstacles she has faced, and thrilled to see her continue to blossom. But none of that will ever take away the emotions of what March 20th just a year ago brought.

Pediatric thyroid cancer is extremely rare. An article I read during my Mama Bear mode research by Connie Brichford The Facts About Pediatric Thyroid Cancer states that only one child in a million under age ten, and about 15 per million teens 15-19 years old develop thyroid cancer. That's great news right? Not so much when your child is one of those fifteen. Cancer is cancer and having a child diagnosed with it scares the absolute hell out of you! This week, all those fears and emotions came rushing back. One minute I'm okay, then the next I'm back to bawling and seriously worrying about the follow up tests in June. (Chey's tumor marker didn't go down, and she will repeat the whole body scan to look for metastatic disease).

I tell myself and everyone else, it's going to be fine, the marker didn't go up either, but really how do I know? How can this beautiful young person look so good, yet have a time bomb lurking in her body? These are the questions that keep me up at night and make me feel half crazy. But this isn't the worst part, the absolute worst part of all of this is I have to watch my youngest child, my baby girl, go through the same damn thing, only she's the one living with it. She goes to school, works, attends all her functions and seems to take it all in stride. She's extremely talented at keeping that game face on, she had to learn this to survive high school after all - at least there is something I can thank DISD for! Yet I see cracks in the facade. It's the texts and calls to say simply, "Love you" that break my heart. Don't get me wrong here, Chey tells me often that she loves me and vice versa but it's usually "Moon Mom" or "Heart you". When she randomly says the "L" word, she's worried or preoccupied, her mind is working on maintaining that level of security she needs to depend on and grind through it all. Lately I see frequent glimpses of that little girl who used to hide behind my legs, in the woman who now looks down at me. This is her little "tell", I'm not even sure she is aware of it. The heart strings pull tighter as she asks more "what if" questions - my answers, without emotion, are always the same, "We will have to see what the tests show and then do whatever Dr. Athanassaki recommends.

We have done this daily for the last several days. This is our dance, we have performed it over and over again and, this week especially, emotion just takes over me. Yet as draining as it can be I love my children always, (you too Sean), and considering the alternative, I pray we do this dance together for years and years to come, regardless of how many loops I have to roll through on that coaster. It may be cliché, but "To The Moon and Back, Baby."

XOXO Make Everyday Count,
Bonnie

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