Millie asked me this last night as I read her a book called Kathy's Hats ( a picture book about a girl who learned to love her hats as she underwent chemo). It gave me pause, as I realized that she may very well no longer have cancer.
I responded "well, honey, you are still being treated for cancer, but you no longer have a cancerous tumor in your leg!"
We looked at her temporary cast, now decorated with marker-drawn flowers and hearts, and thought about what this all means.
We looked at her temporary cast, now decorated with marker-drawn flowers and hearts, and thought about what this all means.
It was my first time since the surgery to really think about where we are in this drama of ours. We had considered the surgery to be a milestone, and the farthest distance I could mentally and emotionally focus upon when caught in the turbulance of the diagnosis and early stages of treatment. The surgery has always been a date to reach, a roadside marker to pass as we enjoyed the break from chemotherapy with daily family fun.
The reality of the pain and inconvenience of surgery never registered in my mind. The poor girl has spent the last four days in terrible pain, and has asked us often for medication (this is from a girl who usually refuses any meds). The incision area and the top of her foot have been consistantly aching. She has been grumpy and irritated about her situation.
Through it all, though, she is still a trooper. Her sheets and sheets of artwork always display happy faces, rainbows, trees, hearts, and "I love you"s. She clumpfs around on her crutches through the house, and still finds a way to capture our poor, old, patient cat Elmo.
Today her pain is better and she went on an outing with Granny and Grandad for lunch at Hiro's (sushi and chicken katsu!).
Tomorrow we have a check-up with our surgeon, who may put a hard cast on her. We'll post pix!
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