Category Archives: difficult things

A Milestone Clinic Day

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September 17, 2009 Today was Tanner’s last treatment in Interim Maintenance, the third of five phases of treatment for ALL! A milestone, for sure. My Mom and I were saying on the phone that this phase has gone quickly, I think in part, because we were on a 10-day cycle instead of a 7-day cycle, and also because Tanner has handled it so well. We now have two weeks before the next phase begins — Delayed Intensification — from the looks of it, and from everything I have heard, the hardest phase.

Tanner’s neutraphils (big, infection fighting white cells) were still up around 3,500 this time (normal is 4-10,000), which is very high for a kid on chemo. No one can explain this to us, but we’ll take it. As I suspected, her red counts have dropped. Her Hemoglobin (red cells that carry oxygen throughout your body) was a little above where they would give her a transfusion. They said she could get one, since she is experiencing symptoms of low red counts, but we decided to wait and see if her body would bring it up on it’s own. We’ll go in for counts only, no chemo, again next Thursday to check and will keep an eye out for increased paleness, fatigue, shortness of breath and headaches in the meantime. All these are signs of anemia, and while Tanner has been consistently anemic since being diagnosed (most leukemia kids will be), dropping below a certain level will necessitate a transfusion.

It was a hard day for both of us today. I think having to go to the hospital every week for these exhausting days is just getting really old. After having been such a pro about having her port accessed last week, Tanner had a mini-meltdown about it today. I stepped out in the hallway and let her favorite nurse, Carrie, handle it, which actually seemed to help. They worked it out. But, then, Dr. Mixan told us she would have a flu shot today. I know a flu shot should be no big deal to a kid who goes through what she goes through every week, but shots have always been a big traumatic experience for Tanner. Today was no different and three of us had to hold her down to get it done. Afterwards she crawled into Carrie’s lap and sobbed. She kept saying, “It’s scary… I’m scared.”

While getting her chemo, which begins making her sick to her stomach while they are still putting it in, we watched a tiny little girl, no more than two, throw up two seats down from us. From her mother’s calm reaction, it seemed a pretty normal occurrence. Tanner said she felt bad for that poor baby and knew how she felt.

I keep dreaming about Tanner’s chemo. In my dreams, I watch them hook the syringe full of chemo up to the line off of her port and slowly squeeze it in. Clear Vincristine and bright yellow Methotrexate (Tanner says it looks like pee). Over and over again. And, I wake, wondering what it feels like and how it makes her feel.

The first three months of both my pregnanacies, I was nauseated. I never threw up, but felt like I wanted to most of the time. My stomach just never felt right. I wonder sometimes if this is the way it is for her. It makes me ache to think about it. I don’t know if she feels that way all of the time, but I know that she complains about her stomach a lot, despite taking 4 different drugs daily to help. I remember how at the end of three months of constant indigestion and nausea, I felt worn down by it, like it would never end. I wonder if she feels that way, too, when she whines about it in a way that makes John and I want to tell her to “buck up.”

I woke this morning, after dreaming again about the chemo, wishing I could take some, just to see how she felt. To know how bad it hurt so I could empathize better and be a better caretaker. Tanner is a drama queen in all senses of the word; it is just a part of her huge personality and it is sometimes difficult to separate drama from real pain when you’re dealing with her. But, today, there’s no question. She just feels bad. You can feel it and you can see it on her face. Tonight, at bedtime, she asked, “You got any meds for me?” Meds, seriously. Sadly, I have to tell her no, I’ve given her all I can give. I tell her to go to sleep and she won’t feel it anymore. I leave the room with her asleep, or so I think. She is back out of her room in minutes; she has to go to the bathroom… again. She tells John, “As soon as you can give me some meds, you bring them… all night. Okay, Dad?” We promise her we will.

I wish I could take that chemo so I would know what she felt like; but even more I just wish I could take it for her… so she wouldn’t have to.

Love,
Beth

P.S. This is my public shout out to my husband, without whom I could not endure this. He is probably one of the only people that I tell when I’ve really had it, and, no matter how overwhelmed he is as well, he always comes to my rescue. Tonight, he picked up groceries on the way home so I wouldn’t have to go out tonight to do it… and brought me Ben & Jerry’s. Now, that’s a man I could still love with all my heart after 10 years. Thanks, Baby; I don’t deserve you.

Not My Best Moments

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September 16, 2009 As I write this, my children, by some miracle of God, are quietly and peacefully playing by themselves in a tent in the playroom. So, I expect that as soon as I dare to write something here, bedlam will erupt! (Actually, they did come down the minute I started typing, but I bribed them with fruit snacks and they have gone back upstairs!)

So, I’ve just not been at my best this week. I’ve long struggled with staying home with my kids. I want to do it, believe it is the right thing to do for them, and enjoy it most days. But, sometimes, I miss having a job that doesn’t involve sticky hands, playing barbies or doing laundry. Last year, with Tanner in kindergarten and Jake in Mom’s Day Out 2 days a week, I felt like I had finally hit my stride. It was just the right balance between being able to spend time with my kids and being able to do something mentally challenging, like co-chairing the fundraiser at Jake’s school.

When Tanner was diagnosed this summer, I had her signed up for some cool camps and activities and was looking forward to spending lots of time at the pool with the kids. Of course, none of those things ever happened. When fall came around, I was ready for the familiar schedule are structure of school, but that never happened either.

Jake is going to school 2 days a week, but Tanner is, of course, home with me. And, while I try to make those days special for her, it’s hard when you can’t really go anywhere and she sometimes doesn’t feel good. I don’t stay home well; I like to get out. It refreshes my spirit and gives me energy.

So, I’ve not been at my best this week… being here all the time is dragging at me. Yesterday, I thought maybe Tanner and I would go to a movie, but she woke pale… very pale… and not feeling well. I suspect her red cell count is down; she had a headache, didn’t feel well and slept late, all signs of anemia. Instead of going to a movie, we rented one and stayed home, which sounds nice, unless it’s the 30th day in a row you’ve stayed at home. She started feeling better around noon and we went to an outside restaurant for lunch, but it was still a long day.

I miss sitting with my friends at McDonalds talking about grown up things while our kids play on the playground.

As I write this, I feel ungrateful for the miracle that my child is alive despite this insidious disease she has. I should be cherishing every moment, right? And, I feel guilty because this is difficult for Tanner, too, and here I am feeling sorry for myself. But, in the immortal words of my good friend Ron Whitler, there are just only so many kid games an adult can play without losing their minds. My temper is short, my tolerance for pretending is nil and I really wouldn’t like to be my kids this week.

Ugghhh. Must be the rain.

I’m going upstairs to be the monster outside the tent. I’ll try to pretend that I’m enjoying it and maybe eventually I will!

Beth

Clinic Day #12

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September 7, 2009 It’s been a very nice weekend, but clinic day looms tomorrow. Tanner was not happy to hear she was going to have “sleepy milk.” She has to have a spinal with chemo injection, for which she is sedated, along with IV methotrexate and Vincristine. That is assuming, of course, that her counts are high enough to take more chemo.

It’s a lot of chemo to get at one time and I hope it doesn’t zap her energy or wreck her counts.

I’ll update tomorrow after clinic to let you know how it went.

Love,
Beth

Ten Grays Closer to a Streak

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September 2, 2009 Poltergeist was one of the first horror movies I ever saw. I still remember how the mom, played by JoBeth Williams, showed up with a big, distinct gray streak at the end of the movie from the stress of being scared for her children’s lives. I keep thinking, especially on a day like today, that it will be a miracle if I don’t have one of those by the end of this whole ordeal.

Today, Jake knocked his front tooth out. We were, once again, in the cul-de-sac riding bikes and he was on his razor scooter, which he dearly loves. He is a bit young for the razor scooter, but Jake has an uncanny sense of balance and rides it as well as any 5-year-old. I turned to check on him just in time to see the scooter hit a rock, sending him flying over the handlebars, face first. I knew it was not going to be pretty. When I picked him up, his tooth was just hanging from his mouth and he reached up, pulled it out and threw it on the ground… it was every bit as gross as it sounds.

We couldn’t get our dentist on the phone (ironically, two of the hygenists had been by the house that afternoon to bring Tanner a gift and wish her well), but called a friend who is a pediatric dentist who told us there is really nothing you can do as long as it was knocked out root and all, which it was.

Amazingly, he didn’t have any other loose teeth and didn’t cut any other part of his face… must have been a direct hit.

I had a moment when I was sitting on the curb with him, a washcloth pressed up against his mouth to stop the bleeding, when I just thought I would like to go back in time before I had kids and redo things. When I only had to worry about myself. It was a fleeting thought, but in the interest of honesty, I must admit to having it. I think I am about 10 gray hairs closer to that JoBeth Williams streak.

It’s not that Jake losing a tooth is the worst thing that ever happened. I mean, I lost both my front teeth at three after having run into a little boy’s forehead, teeth first. And, 45 minutes after Jake lost his, he was happily sucking on a popsicle and shoving tiny pieces of buttered bread in his mouth. No evidence that the gaping hole where his tooth once was bothered him at all. And, as Tanner happily pointed out while I was still trying to stop the bleeding, “Good for you, Jake. You can put it under your pillow and the tooth fairy will bring you money.”

It’s just that some days, I think I’ve had enough. I’m especially over that sickening adrenaline rush you get when your kids are hurt. I may have a heart attack long before I ever get that gray streak.

But, we get up and move on. People do it all the time. People with much worse problems than mine. A family I read about in the news has one little girl with leukemia and the other with recurring brain tumors. Jake’s tooth seems hardly worth mentioning when I think about that family.

So bring it on. I’m not afraid of a little gray. In the wise words of my 6-year-old daughter, “It’s just hair.”

Love,
Beth

P.S. We are just $25 short of $3,000 donated in honor of Tanner’s Light the Night team. Our goal is $5,000 and we have until October 1 to raise it. Thank you to everyone who has donated and who has volunteered to walk in honor of Tanner that evening. We are deeply touched by these acts on generosity on behalf of our girl. To donate and/or join the team, go to http://pages.lightthenight.org/tn/MidTN09/TeamTanner.

The Vincristine March

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September 1, 2009 Have I mentioned how much I would love to hate Vincristine?!!! It is one of the two mainstay chemos that Tanner will take for the entire 2 ½ years of treatment and it is rife with side effects. I have watched it slowly but surely attack Tanner’s leg coordination and strength over the past several weeks and it pains me to watch her struggle to do something that would have been so simple for her just 4 months ago.

Today, after taking it easy most of the day because Tanner seemed a little tired after another bad night of sleep, we got a call from the bike shop saying Tanner’s bike was ready. I had taken it to have the chain replaced after all the aforementioned chain falling off incidents and Tanner was missing it sorely. We loaded scooters, bike helmets and sunscreen into the car and ran down the road to pick up the bike, then drove to our favorite bike-riding cul-de-sac to play with friends.

Tanner and her friend, Smith, rode into the grass field behind the school and then couldn’t make it back up the hill on the bikes, so they got off to push them. Smith topped the hill and I still didn’t see Tanner. I stepped around the trees to get a better look and saw her, way down in the field, facedown with the bike on top of her, motionless. After yelling to Molly to keep an eye on Jake, I took off running down the hill. I saw her move an arm, and then she began trying to get up. It looked slow and painful, but with great effort, she got herself off the ground, but kept dropping the bike back on herself.

I expected her to be crying, but she wasn’t. I pulled the bike off of her and asked what had happened. “I just fell and I was too tired to get up for a minute… it seemed really hard,” she said. “It’s getting harder and harder to walk again, Mom.”

What comforting words can I offer? “Don’t worry it’s just the Vincristine that you will take for the next two-and-a-half years?” “That Vincristine stinks, but it’s saving your life?” “Just a couple more years and things will go back to normal?“ All pretty lame choices, I would say.

She’s six and she loves to run and jump rope and ride bikes and play. But, every week, she looks a little slower and more awkward when she runs. I noticed at her dance lesson the other day that she couldn’t skip… again. We lost that once and got it back when we got a three-week break from the Vincristine.

But, here’s the amazing part… she never stops trying. The other day, we were coming home from the cul-de-sac and I was pulling a wagon loaded down with scooters, bikes, water bottles and Tanner (we like to have a full complement of riding choices). I decided to take a short-cut and head through the grass median to our house. Tanner hopped out and asked if she could pull the wagon. “Sure,” I said, doubtfully. The median is wide and it slopes down in the middle with a pretty steep little hill to get to the street in front of our house. I knew there was no way she would make it up that hill, but she wanted to try.

When she got to the steep part, she dug her feet in and started to pull. At first, she made headway, but then the weight of the wagon pulled her backward and she lost her footing. “Let me push, sweetie,” I said. “No!” she said through gritted teeth. So she pulled… and pulled… and pulled… and fell down… and got up… and pulled some more… and STILL wouldn’t accept any help. Finally, after what seemed like a very long time, she pulled that wagon over the curb and into the street… triumphant and smug.

She’s six and she loves to run and jump rope and ride bikes and play. And, as long as she’s able, we will.

Love,
Beth

Eerily Normal

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zoo 09August 31, 2009 The other night, I said to John, “It’s almost like you could forget there’s anything wrong with her.”

Things have been so normal. She feels really good, has great energy, and has really leveled out emotionally. We’re so grateful. It’s more than we ever hoped for at this point.

She had a dance lesson Friday, which she loved. Played with a friend all afternoon. We went to the zoo Sunday morning before everyone else got there. It was cool and empty and wonderful. She played soccer and ran around a field with friends yesterday afternoon. She’s a little slow and a little awkward when she runs, but she runs, which didn’t seem possible just two months ago when she could barely walk.

John’s reply to my pointing out how pleasantly surprised I am by Tanner’s well-being was that it seemed, “Eerily normal.”

That may seem an odd comment for a situation we are so thankful for, but it struck just right for me.

It seems normal if you could forget about the medicine 3-5 times a day, or her pale skin or her thinning hair. The frequent stomach aches and nausea. The fact that she goes to the bathroom 25 or so times a day or that she wakes up 3-4 times a night.

I think it seems an eerie normal because we don’t trust it. We feel certain it won’t last and behind it lurks the constant worry that any small fever or illness could send her to the hospital immediately.

Today is a good example. After feeling so great yesterday, she woke this morning with a sore throat and joint pain in her legs and feet. I’ve had to help her to the bathroom all morning and I can‘t tell whether the sore throat is from emerging mouth sores or is an infection. See. Eerily normal.

But, overall, we are grateful beyond belief that she is as able as she is. It is so much more than we ever hoped for when we began this journey three months ago.

Love,
Beth

This is Jake’s Day

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Jake's first day of school

Jake's first day of school

August 27, 2009 Recently, my hairdresser told me that my hair was falling out, likely due to stress. Tanner overheard me saying this to a friend and asked me tonight what stress meant. I told her it meant that I worried about things.

“What do you worry about?” she asked.

“I worry about you,” I said.

“Because I have leukemia,” she stated. She didn’t ask. She knows why I am worried about her.

“Yes,” I said. “And, I worry about Jake.”

“Why do you worry about Jake?” she asked. “He doesn’t have anything wrong with him.”

“I worry that Jake gets forgotten sometimes,” I said. “It’s hard for him, too, honey.”

Tanner looked puzzled.

“Tanner, did Jake get a present in the mail, today?” I asked. She shook her head. “It was his first day of school today, but it was also your clinic day. Do you think I got more calls and emails about his first day of school or about your counts today?”

“My counts,” she guessed, wide eyed. “Why did people do that? It was mean!” she said, concerned for her little brother.

“No, honey, it isn’t mean,” I said. “Leukemia is a pretty big deal and people want to know how you are doing, because they love you.”

“A bigger deal than a first day of school,” she said.

“Yes,” I agreed. “But, Jake’s first day of school is still a big deal, especially to him. And, I worry that even Daddy and I forget to make a big deal for his stuff sometimes.”

As I said this, I remembered how I had pulled Tanner’s old nap mat out from under a bed the night before and washed it for him to take to school this morning. I had searched for weeks online for that nap mat when I bought it for Tanner, trying to find exactly the right mat, but I had totally forgotten about getting one for Jake and decided at the last minute that Tanner’s hand-me-down would do.

This was a risky conversation I had blundered into; I wasn‘t at all sure I should be having it. I didn’t want Tanner to feel guilty about the situation, but I really thought she might be able to understand that this has been hard for Jake, too. So, I waited with baited breath to see how well she would get my point.

After a moment, she said with a smile, “I’m going to give him some of my presents tomorrow.”

Whew. She understood and she responded exactly as I had hoped she might. She loves Jake fervently and he is fast becoming her best friend. She actually already shares almost everything she is given with him. These days, they often have no one else to play with; and they find ways to cross the age gap between them and find common ground. And they fight, of course, but what siblings don’t?

So, today was Jake’s Day… his first day of school. He was a little clingy when we first walked in, but was fine once he saw a particularly appealing “monster twuck” and didn’t even say goodbye when I kissed the curls on the back of his little head. The note from his teacher at the end of the day said he was “happy and playful.” That’s my boy. He took a nap on his nap mat for the first time and told me the teacher said to “shhhh and cwose my eyes.“ He also told me that Seth was his new “fwiend.” His paper crayon taped to the floor to mark his spot for lining up is “bwue.” Big stuff.

This is Jake’s day. If you want to read about Tanner‘s clinic visit, you’ll have to note the postscript after my sign off. Today, Jake gets to be first.

Love,
Beth

P.S. Tanner had a great day at clinic today. Her neutraphil counts were up to 1300 from 610, so she was able to take both types of chemo today. They reduced her methotrexate dose by 20%, to see if she tolerates it better this time. She was a champ and I was really proud of how brave she has become with all of this. The two chemos really messed with her stomach, though, and we had to stop several times while driving home from the hospital and on the way to pick up Jake for restroom breaks. But, she felt pretty good at bedtime so I’m hopeful she’ll handle this round as well as she handled everything else.

Jake’s Big Day

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August 26, 2009 Jake has his first day of school tomorrow! He’s so excited! I had to drag him out of Miss Julie’s room kicking and screaming the other day at orientation, so I think that’s a good sign he likes it. He went to “school” at the same church last year as well, but this year has a new teacher, and he will be doing much more big boy things.

I asked him at dinner what he liked best about Miss Julie’s classroom and he said, “Monster Twucks.” Nuff said.

At first when Tanner found out Jake would be going to school this fall, she was upset. “If I can’t go to school, then Jake can’t either,” she said. But, when I pointed out the fun things we might be able to do without little brother around, she found a way to be happy for him.

I’m proud of her, though, for loving him enough to be excited for him when she is so sad she can’t go to school herself. She is going to help me take his “first day of school” picture tomorrow morning before we drop him off and make our way to the clinic.

She’s also made a lot of progress expressing anger appropriately. She still has her moments, but has managed to be more respectful and calm than she had been over the last month or more. I don’t often notice her trying to pick and fight anymore, and if she does, we just put her in her room until she calms down and that seems to lessen the duration of the problem at least. So, I’m proud of her for this, too.

We’re praying for better counts tomorrow so we can start back on the methotrexate and maybe go over to the school to visit Tanner’s classroom and teacher. They’ve already had some Swine Flu cases there, though, so I don’t know if we’ll be able to go either way. It would mean so much to her, I think, to see the room and her desk there waiting for her. I think she’s having a hard time connecting what is going on there with what she is doing with her homebound teacher. A visit might help, but we certainly don’t want to risk any exposure to the flu.

Tanner’s Light the Night Team has raised $2,125 so far to help in the fight against blood cancers! If you would like to walk with us Oct. 1 in Tanner’s honor, go to http://pages.lightthenight.org/tn/MidTN09/TeamTanner and sign up for Tanner’s Team. All proceeds benefit the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.

Will post tomorrow once I know any medical updates.

Love,
Beth

Don’t Let the Bedbugs Bite

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August 24, 2009 We’re praying for restful sleep tonight for Tanner. She has not slept well for the past four nights or so and it seems to be catching up to her. She keeps waking up, agitated, crying, freezing, burning up, etc. She can’t tell you what’s wrong; she’s usually half asleep and won’t talk to me at all. You would think she has a fever, but she doesn’t. I can’t help but think it’s her body reacting to the poison that is chemo. So, tonight, although I’m not sure it’s the kosher thing to do, we’ve decided to give her painkiller if she wakes up. I think, at this point, sleep is the most important thing.

She has had a cough, but no fever, the last two days. We’re hoping that her immune system will continue to fight off whatever this cough is and we won’t end up in the hospital again.

Having said that, she still feels so much better than we ever though she would at this stage of the game. She is able to do so much more and has so much more energy than we ever dreamed she would. We saw some friends this morning at Pinkerton Park who commented on how great she looks and seems to feel. We are blessed that she has kept her hair thus far and has not had low red blood counts, which cause fatigue, headaches and shortness of breath. The low white counts don’t make her feel bad, just make her susceptible to infection.

Tomorrow is Jake’s open house for preschool. We’ll meet his teacher for the first time and have a chance to explain to the other parents the importance of keeping us informed about any illnesses Jake may be exposed to and bring home to Tanner. If this season turns out to be the crazy flu season everyone expects it to be, we may have to pull Jake out of school temporarily to minimize her exposure. Hopefully, not, though. The little man loves him some school!

Tanner will go to the neighbor’s house tomorrow to play with Corinne’s sister, Laurel. She loves to “Mommy” her. Thursday, Jake starts school for real and Tanner and I will head back to the clinic to try again with the methotrexate, as long as her counts are high enough. Hopefully, they are. As much as you would like to avoid the chemo, it’s obviously important that she gets it. She will receive this chemo again by mouth for 2 years of long term maintenance, so being ultra sensitive to it could be a problem.

We’re still riding bikes, still having picnics, still playing on the playgrounds, still swimming, still learning, still laughing and still living life. We’re not having bad days too often any more, just some bad moments among good days. It’s a different life, but still a really great one.

Love,
Beth

Stir Crazy

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August 20, 2009 It’s just been three days since we’ve been on these new precautions due to Tanner’s low counts, and already, we’re stir crazy. We like to go, go, go here at the Page house and it’s hard to find someplace to go right now. So, this morning, after our plans to go swimming had been foiled by the impending storms, we were verklempt. What do you do when you can’t really go anywhere?

We decided, after playing all morning at the house, to go out for a bike ride before lunch. Our neighborhood is right next door to Tanner’s Elementary school and you can see the playground from the end of street. Not thinking, I led my little troop on scooters and bikes down to the cul-de-sac which borders the school. Tanner and Jake were ahead of me, as I was on foot pulling a wagon. When I rounded the corner, Tanner was standing with her back to me, off her bike, facing the playground where I could hear schoolchildren shrieking and laughing. I watched her tiny shoulders droop and saw her bike helmet slide to the ground. She sunk to her knees and curled up, crying, but still staring at the playground, where she should have been playing.

I approached her slowly, kissed her head and pulled her into my lap. “I’m so sorry, T,” was all I could think to say. She cried for a little while, then got up, threw her helmet in anger and began running toward the playground. “I can go there if I want. I don’t care if I have leukemia!” she yelled. I just let her go, knowing she wouldn’t get far. She stopped and lay down in the grass, facedown.

Just then, a mother of one of Tanner’s classmates who had seen us from the parking lot approached… a welcome distraction. She chatted with Tanner, telling her how much her classmates missed her and were waiting for her return. Tanner warmed up gradually and was ready to show off her new “two-wheeler” bike riding skills when Jake fell and skinned his knee. Lots more crying. Then, Tanner, waving at our guest, yelled, “Watch me ride!” Right before the chain fell off of her bike. Seriously.

Are you there God, it’s me, Beth Page. I think you’ve forgotten about us down here. A girl could use a break now and then, you know?

Needless to say, we went home. Tanner crammed in the wagon, with her disabled bike resting precariously across the edge. Jake riding his scooter with his bloody knee, crying, “I’m bweeding.”

In the end, though, it turned out to be an okay day, despite a rocky start. We ate lunch, Jake took a nap, Tanner played a new computer game and did some homework. Later, we went back down to the cul-de-sac (yes, we are gluttons for punishment) after having repaired the bike and applying a large band-aid, and ended up flying a kite and playing on the school playground with neighbor kids.

Then, the ducks came back… for the fifth day. We didn’t have any bread this time (we’ve given away all we had to them on previous nights), but the neighbor had ritz crackers and we fed them those. Seems those duck have taken up residence.

The Vincristine continued it’s assault on Tanner’s legs today. She fell in the morning, saying her foot suddenly hurt and she could not walk on it. We rested for 5 minutes and it was okay, but it’s just evidence of the neuropathy that the Vincristine causes. I noticed her running in the field today; she is looking awkward again. And, at bedtime, her right leg failed her on the way up the stairs and she fell. She asked why she was having so much trouble on the stairs. “It’s the Vincristine,” was all I needed to say. She knows what that means, and although it frustrates her, she accepts it.

Even though what happened at the playground was sad this morning, it marked an improvement in her ability to articulate her emotional pain appropriately. Two weeks ago, that would have ended in a giant temper tantrum and I would have been the punching bag. Today, she threw a helmet in anger and let me hold her while she cried. A vast improvement that I think we can attribute to the play therapy. The therapist feels like she is working out some of her fears through play, and that just being able to express it in some way is a relief to her.

So, it’s two steps forward and one step back… or maybe the opposite today. We’re hoping for sunshine tomorrow so we can try swimming again in the morning.

Note to self: do not go to the cul-de-sac during school hours… just too painful.

Love,
Beth