How we Got Here

On a Monday, I took Brooklyn and Indie to a well visit to the pediatricians. Dr. Jena looked Indie over, gave me a thumbs up and handed her back to me. Then she moved on to Brooklyn. She did all of the things to Brooklyn that doctors do. She listened to her heart, listened to her breathing, looked in her ears, eyes and mouth. Felt around her stomach for a bit... felt around some more... and then a bit more. I could tell something wasn't quite right by the look on her face.
"Now, you said her appetite has been down?" She asked glancing up at me. "Yeah, she's been on a bit of a hunger strike." I joked. The doctor hummed and hahed about Brooklyn for a few more minutes before declaring that she wanted to do an iron test. "Does she look a bit pale to you?" She asked. Who could tell really? I mean, it is winter (let's forget the fact that we live in Southern California). So in comes the nurse with the finger prick test. She leaves with the blood just as quickly as she came. Then she returns with a fretful look. "I want to do the test again, it was really low." So she gathers another sample and of course the results are the same. I am left shaking my head. I should really push more meat on the child, she obviously needs a better diet. This is why my generations parents forced us to sit and eat until our food was done. Parenting with a gentle hand is clearly a fools game.

Tuesday I take Brooklyn in for a more comprehensive blood draw. It will probably show that her mother lets her eat nothing but crap, right? Oh, I'm going to get a talking to by her pediatrician over this one. We head home, I push it from my mind.

Wednesday Dr. Jena calls. She's worried. Brooklyn's blood work doesn't look good. Panic sets in. We are instructed to go over to Children's hospital where they will HAVE A BED WAITING FOR HER THERE. I call my mother in law in a complete panic and we drive Brooklyn and the baby to the hospital. At the time we are told that it was one of two things; a viral infection, which will go away on its own. Or leukemia. I choose to believe it's viral since she has been fighting a cough for a few weeks.

On Thursday morning Brooklyn is sedated and given a bone marrows draw. Her dad is present for the procedure while I sit at home with the baby. While I'm driving in I have a very sudden realization. The bruises. Brooklyn had been coming home from school with bruised legs for months. The bruises would go away and then the very next week they would return. She had the bruising long before she ever had the cough. Oh my god, it's not the virus, it's cancer. That night it is confirmed by the oncologist. Our daughter will need to undergo chemotherapy. We are heartbroken.

Friday morning, Brooklyn is once again sedated and given a PICC line which will act as a direct route to her vein, meaning no more needles for the next 4-6 months. She is also given a lumbar puncture to check for cancer cells in the spinal fluid and to administer a small amount of chemo into the spine (cancer cells apparently like to hide out in the spine.).

By Friday evening, Brooklyn is receiving her first round of chemotherapy.

There is a moral here. Go to your well visits, people. Looking back, Brooklyn was barely symptomatic. Her immune system was still in tact, her blood counts were declining, but she was still within the range of normal. Because of the stealthy detective work of our top notch pediatrician, she was able to piece together that Brooklyn was not quite right before she actually got sick. It is this simple fact that our daughter will be strong enough to withstand the rigors of her cancer treatment, that she will recover faster, and that her odds of survival are greater.