Looking Back

Bigstock image - Sunset in Sideview

I bit the bullet today. I finally got the nerve to ask the oncology team for a view of Violet’s original scans. 

This came on the backbone of a few conversations that we were due for – talks with specialists that will handle the upcoming pieces of Violet’s treatment protocol. The scary pieces, so to speak. As if this hasn’t been scary enough. 

There’s a reason that they tell you in the beginning not to worry about the next “leg” of the journey until you get there. Yes, it would be overwhelming to have to swallow down the whole she-bang from day one – to try to wrap your head around chemotherapy and transplants and surgery and radiation and immunotherapy, when the day before you thought you had a healthy kid headed for summer vacation. But it’s not the only reason. The real reason they don’t explain each step is because each step is cumulatively more intense. Increasingly more terrifying. 

I knew this in my heart from the beginning. But I was also aware of the value of heeding their advice. Take things one step at a time.

But today, the next step was understanding this better. I knew it. It was time.

Violet had her second CT scan yesterday – a follow up to last month’s test meant to inform the surgical team of a plan of attack. After that initial scan, our oncologist met with the surgeons, and let us know that the tumor had shrunk significantly - enough that the surgical team thought that the risk of operating was higher than the benefit of taking out the mass that was left. 

I wasn’t convinced, and neither was she (our oncologist), but we delighted in the idea that Violet had made enough progress that they might avoid a piece of her protocol, despite the odds. But upon readmission for round 5 of chemo, our doctor let us know that a review was in process. She wanted to refer to more specialists and surgeons about the protocol. After all, there was a reason that it is almost always recommended that surgery happen, no matter what the progress is.

And so the additional scan was done, and the surgeon visited this morning as a follow up. She’s booked – October 21st. Tumour resection surgery, to remove the 2cm x 2cm mass that is left.

2cm x 2cm, down from 10 cm x 11cm in June.

In the world of oncology, that’s a lot. That’s still a celebration.

But in acknowledging that this will be the next step for Violet, the next hurdle to overcome, I knew it was time to find out what we are truly dealing with, or have been dealing with, all along.

I was offered an opportunity to see the scans back in June when everything was raw and petrifying. I declined. I needed to be as hopeful as possible, and knowing the ugly truth about my daughter’s insides wasn’t productive. Now, with the framework  in place that we are making strides, I felt I could handle it.

The resident on the oncology floor met with me this afternoon. He showed me the original scans. 

I am eternally grateful I made that initial decision.

Violet’s disease was everywhere. I mean, throughout her whole body. Her abdomen, liver, kidneys. But also the lymph nodes throughout her whole torso. Her pelvis. Her legs. Her spine. Her neck. Even bits in her chest lit up, meaning it is (was) probably in her ribcage. She was a Christmas tree, and seeing that image was as surreal of an experience as it gets.

We will not know what the progress is on the metastasized areas until her PET scan, which will take place after her recovery from her operation. They will have to make a large incision to be able to reach the tumor, which will be a bitch to heal. But you know what they say about scars.

Well, I say it, anyway. Scars are evidence of overcoming things. They are badges of honour. And they can be really, really cool.

Hers will be awesome. Prodigious. Badass.

Just like her.

Reality is what it is. There is no point in thinking about all the of things that I wish were true. Like not having to have surgery. Like missing Thanksgiving and, now, Halloween.  Like being here at all. Like cancer being a thing.

But it is. And we are here. And we will dress up in the ward and collect candy from the care team. And we will relish any win we get. And we will keep living life, because that’s what you do. Because what else is there?

And because it feels soooooo good these days to feel the good feels. They are not just luxuries. They are critical. Finding reasons to be grateful and alive and happy are necessary for survival. But at the same time, they are bigger and grander and better than they were before. The good feels are everywhere. It’s a constant reminder that you don’t need to have life any certain way to be happy. Just pick an excuse in front of you and savour it.

I am savouring that initial scan, and the timely way I viewed it, because it is an anchor. A point of comparison that allows us to feel the movement we’ve made, and the hope we have for the future. It is a reminder that every moment is only a snapshot, and things are always changing. Once upon a time Violet was littered with cancerous cells. Now, not so much. Tomorrow is a new day. And so the story goes.

Looking back is only a good thing if it propels you forward. And today, that’s exactly what it did.