Worry Relapse

I'm posting. How monumental is that? I know, I know. But can I just tell you how amazing life off treatment has been? Pretty damn amazing.

Brooklyn started kindergarten

I started working a little again

We bought a house!

It seems like the further away from the nightmare we get, the easier it is to forget about. I feel like I only mention leukemia once or twice a week now, whereas this time last year it was more than likely every other sentence out of my mouth. Sorry if you had to have a conversation with me then. Brooklyn's cancer had consumed every aspect of our lives.

I decided earlier this year that that had to stop. If it came up, I had no problem talking about it, but I didn't want it to become a defining factor for us. I didn't want to think about it anymore. My energy was best directed towards positive things.

The mind is really a powerful thing, and while I was telling myself  "Stop thinking about cancer, stop thinking about fear, stop thinking about doom" my brain was going "Okay!  I'll just tuck this back here in case you ever need it again."

Thursday morning I took Brooklyn in for a normal blood draw. While we waited for her counts to come back, the oncologist gave her a physical and noted two swollen lymph nodes in her neck. "They are the same size on both sides, which is good." She said. "She's probably about to come down with a virus." She said. "This is suuuuuper common in five year olds, I see this ALL the time." She said.

 "But just to be safe, let's get you back here in three weeks. If you notice any lethargy, fevers or the swollen lymph nodes get worse... call me right away."

Gulp. Suddenly all of those things my dumb brain had tucked away flooded my mind at once. "Fuck she's relapsing. FUCK she's relapsing. FUCK SHE'S RELAPSING." I stared out of the window in complete silence for the next 45 seconds, my mind collapsing in on itself while the doctor continued with the physical. Moments later she turned to me and said "Other than the lymph nodes, she looks great. Let me go grab her blood counts." She came back just as quickly as she left "Counts are good! See you in three weeks." She said with a smile.

So the blood is good...and other than some enlarged nodes, which are apparently super common, *she* is good. She's eating, she's playing, she's happy, she's bright eyed and *I* am apparently a mental patient who thought I had it together but apparently do not. After about thirty minutes I had talked myself down and was able to resume with my day. "This is probably nothing, everything is probably fine. I will not worry myself to death about it until I have reason to."

It's not as simple as I thought it would be, moving on from everything that has happened. Brooklyn on the other hand, remembers nothing. It's incredible how quickly that little pixie was able to move on. Her life is so full of good things, she has no time for cancer anymore. I on the other hand, will probably have bouts of worry-relapse for the rest of my life.

Martini's Up!

In film, the very last shot of the day is referred to as the "Martini Shot". It's not uncommon to hear the assistant director come over the radio and yell "Martini's up!" just before the end of a very long and arduous day. Sort of a throw back to the old days of Hollywood when people drank and smoked way too much and the real last shot of the day, was more than likely an actual martini. Nowadays it simply means that it's time to pack up your crap and put one foot out the door.

On March 29th, 2015 after 800 very long days of chemotherapy, Brooklyn received her last and final 6MP pill. Her Martini Shot.

That. Is. A. Wrap.

I spent the following four days in a tail spin, convinced that her cancer had already returned in the short time she'd been off the medication. Certain that we would go into Children's the following Friday only to be told that she had relapsed and the chemo did not work. I've spent the better part of two and half years holding it down. I've witnessed things that would ruin a normal person's entire month to witness. I have cried exactly twice, in 800 days. I have come dangerously close to losing my daughter on numerous occasions and I have done it all with a brave face because that is what she needed from me. Avi worked his ass off to support us, grandparents and family flew in and out of our lives at a moments notice to care for our infant when we could not, complete strangers sent gifts to lift her spirit- *I* was brave. Even when I didn't want to be.

The pendulum always swings the other way. My dear friend said this a few days ago, and it's stuck with me ever since. It's true. I did not feel brave on April 1st. I did not feel like celebrating or throwing a party. I felt like hiding. If hearing that my child had cancer was the number one scariest thing I'd ever been told, then hearing that she'll no longer be taking the drugs that have been keeping it from coming back is number two.

She will be monitored on a monthly basis for the next year. This is a very crucial time for Brooklyn's body to recover but it's also a time when the risk of relapse is at it's greatest. I am petrified. Not just of the cancer, but also of continuing life as usual. No more obsessive cleaning, no more lock downs or midnight ER visits. No more nurses. I love those nurses. But not seeing those nurses anymore is a good thing.

So here it is. Life's new beginning. Look, ma, no net!

Note: This is actually a post from last year that I wrote and rewrote several times and never posted.