Well, with the scans complete, we were ready to meet with the surgeon. I was a nervous wreck leading up to that day. Someone would be ask me how I felt about it and the answer was, and still is, I feel everything about it. Excited, nervous, anxious, happy, sad, scared, and, honestly, angry.
Squirrel...We finished the scans Friday and by Monday Faith's oncologist had called to tell us that the results were in and they were great. The cancer seemed to be dead! Everyone was so joyful about that "good news". Chandler and I lay in bed that night and I listened to him excitedly declare his happiness at the news. Another victory...right?!? Well, for some reason, I couldn't get happy. I was still pissed that we are even having these discussions. This is so real and so dream-like all at the same time. I admitted to him that I am angry that Faith has cancer and that she has to have half of her thigh bone hacked out (dramatic, yes, but that's how I feel) and I can't seem to let that anger go to allow me to feel happy. He has accepted it. Good for him. Thank God one of us has. l think, maybe, my silly brain reasons that by being happy that the scans showed all of the cancer is gone that it makes it real, means I have accepted that she even has it. Means it's not a dream I may one day wake up from. Dumb! I'm trying.
Since that night I have tried to consider that this is just the sad chapter in our story that allows for the happy ending. You can't have a happy ending if there was never any sad, right? I mean, isn't that the recipe for any good story, the lead-up, the struggle, the resolution, and the textbook happy ending? I have always imagined life with Chandler in our "golden years" sitting in backyard in my favorite Adirondack chairs recalling our daughters' weddings, or excited about the birth of our upcoming grandchildren. Now, I think, I hope, more appropriately, that we will say something like "remember that year that Faith had cancer? Boy, that was something!", because that's all it will be. A year to remember. A chapter in our story. I am also finding that I feel like a real jerk feeling sorry that my kid has this treatable cancer with treatments that she tolerates well when there are kids who struggle for years with a disease that only comes back again and again. I keep meeting families at the clinic and the hospital whose children are 3 time survivors, or kids who get so sick that they need feeding tubes. Smiley Faith is painting the pretty picture of cancer. It could be so much worse. We could be faced with such a different chapter that doesn't have a happy ending.
Back on track. So, we headed up to his office, ready to finally get all of the answers to all of our well-thought out questions. The surgeon, one of only a handful of people in this country who apparently does this type of thing, casually enters the room. He points to a diagram of a human leg and explains that the tumor is right about where the head of the femur turns downward into the straight part. Effectively, the ball of the hip joint and a third of her thigh bone. The tumor is completely contained inside the bone and has not grown out to affect any of the muscle. They will remove that entire part plus a little extra and replace it with a titanium prosthetic bone that will have a pressure locked attachment to her natural bone. This pressurized feature stimulates her natural bone to grow up into the prosthesis creating a biologically tight bond in about 2-3 months time. They will go in from the side of her leg, rather than the back, which interrupts less of the muscle and such. Faith will have an epidural for pain management, which will confine her to the bed for about the first day, requiring her to be catheterized. I am thrilled about this because I am terrified of getting her up to go to the bathroom with this new leg of hers. She, however, is mortified. The surgery is said to take 2-4 hours and it is scheduled for November 20th in the afternoon. Faith will recover in the hospital 6-7 days post-op. There is the possibility that she will not be able to have the surgery on the 20th if her immune system hasn't fully recovered from this last chemo round. We are keeping our thoughts positive that it will, because the alternative is the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Also, we just need to get this past us. There isn't enough Oil of Olay in country to battle these new worry wrinkles I keep finding!
So, the big question I had for the doctor, the biggest question of all...will she walk again? Or, really, more my concern, will she run, ride a bike, play sports? Will she pitch again? He was very confident that she WILL walk. She may have a slight limp, but it may not be detectable by the unknowing stranger. In his words, she will kick a soccer ball, but play soccer competitively, that's up to us. She will begin moving around on it as soon as the epidural wears off. She will be able to bear weight on it again after that biological bond is formed, but Faith will not begin physical therapy to walk without aid until the chemo treatments have been completed. There is still 6-9 months of chemo following this surgery. My other big concern was the possibility of amputation. When I asked this I swear the surgeon was either offended that I would consider it or just found the notion so ridiculous, that he seemingly paused to find the appropriate response. "It's as close to 0.0% as you can get!" Whew! We had originally been told that the prosthesis would be adjustable without additional surgeries, but that is not the case. The tumor affects the growth plate of her femur. It's not the biggest growth plate, thankfully, but it will become apparent that Faith's right leg is longer than her left. To stave off surgery as long as possible, we will put wedges in her shoes, but the time will come when we return to the 4th floor and say another prayer. We will just have to cross that bridge when we come to it, as it is too far down the road to even put on the map now.
Something that I have been planning since we started this process was to gather together with our family, friends, neighbors, and anyone who has been praying and wishing us well the night before Faith's surgery. We will join together as a big group, light a candle, and pray for Faith. I imagine how those prayers, wishes, and love will form a warm, protective bubble that will envelope her and stay with her throughout the surgery. Sort of like that super-human strength people report having in a crisis situation. She won't be strong enough to have her own super-human strength, so we will all give her a pinch of ours and that will help to keep her safe. Our gathering won't be a long one, it's not a party or a social encounter, just enough time to pray, hug, shed a tear or two and go on. I will post more details when we get closer.
Squirrel...We finished the scans Friday and by Monday Faith's oncologist had called to tell us that the results were in and they were great. The cancer seemed to be dead! Everyone was so joyful about that "good news". Chandler and I lay in bed that night and I listened to him excitedly declare his happiness at the news. Another victory...right?!? Well, for some reason, I couldn't get happy. I was still pissed that we are even having these discussions. This is so real and so dream-like all at the same time. I admitted to him that I am angry that Faith has cancer and that she has to have half of her thigh bone hacked out (dramatic, yes, but that's how I feel) and I can't seem to let that anger go to allow me to feel happy. He has accepted it. Good for him. Thank God one of us has. l think, maybe, my silly brain reasons that by being happy that the scans showed all of the cancer is gone that it makes it real, means I have accepted that she even has it. Means it's not a dream I may one day wake up from. Dumb! I'm trying.
Since that night I have tried to consider that this is just the sad chapter in our story that allows for the happy ending. You can't have a happy ending if there was never any sad, right? I mean, isn't that the recipe for any good story, the lead-up, the struggle, the resolution, and the textbook happy ending? I have always imagined life with Chandler in our "golden years" sitting in backyard in my favorite Adirondack chairs recalling our daughters' weddings, or excited about the birth of our upcoming grandchildren. Now, I think, I hope, more appropriately, that we will say something like "remember that year that Faith had cancer? Boy, that was something!", because that's all it will be. A year to remember. A chapter in our story. I am also finding that I feel like a real jerk feeling sorry that my kid has this treatable cancer with treatments that she tolerates well when there are kids who struggle for years with a disease that only comes back again and again. I keep meeting families at the clinic and the hospital whose children are 3 time survivors, or kids who get so sick that they need feeding tubes. Smiley Faith is painting the pretty picture of cancer. It could be so much worse. We could be faced with such a different chapter that doesn't have a happy ending.
Back on track. So, we headed up to his office, ready to finally get all of the answers to all of our well-thought out questions. The surgeon, one of only a handful of people in this country who apparently does this type of thing, casually enters the room. He points to a diagram of a human leg and explains that the tumor is right about where the head of the femur turns downward into the straight part. Effectively, the ball of the hip joint and a third of her thigh bone. The tumor is completely contained inside the bone and has not grown out to affect any of the muscle. They will remove that entire part plus a little extra and replace it with a titanium prosthetic bone that will have a pressure locked attachment to her natural bone. This pressurized feature stimulates her natural bone to grow up into the prosthesis creating a biologically tight bond in about 2-3 months time. They will go in from the side of her leg, rather than the back, which interrupts less of the muscle and such. Faith will have an epidural for pain management, which will confine her to the bed for about the first day, requiring her to be catheterized. I am thrilled about this because I am terrified of getting her up to go to the bathroom with this new leg of hers. She, however, is mortified. The surgery is said to take 2-4 hours and it is scheduled for November 20th in the afternoon. Faith will recover in the hospital 6-7 days post-op. There is the possibility that she will not be able to have the surgery on the 20th if her immune system hasn't fully recovered from this last chemo round. We are keeping our thoughts positive that it will, because the alternative is the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. Also, we just need to get this past us. There isn't enough Oil of Olay in country to battle these new worry wrinkles I keep finding!
So, the big question I had for the doctor, the biggest question of all...will she walk again? Or, really, more my concern, will she run, ride a bike, play sports? Will she pitch again? He was very confident that she WILL walk. She may have a slight limp, but it may not be detectable by the unknowing stranger. In his words, she will kick a soccer ball, but play soccer competitively, that's up to us. She will begin moving around on it as soon as the epidural wears off. She will be able to bear weight on it again after that biological bond is formed, but Faith will not begin physical therapy to walk without aid until the chemo treatments have been completed. There is still 6-9 months of chemo following this surgery. My other big concern was the possibility of amputation. When I asked this I swear the surgeon was either offended that I would consider it or just found the notion so ridiculous, that he seemingly paused to find the appropriate response. "It's as close to 0.0% as you can get!" Whew! We had originally been told that the prosthesis would be adjustable without additional surgeries, but that is not the case. The tumor affects the growth plate of her femur. It's not the biggest growth plate, thankfully, but it will become apparent that Faith's right leg is longer than her left. To stave off surgery as long as possible, we will put wedges in her shoes, but the time will come when we return to the 4th floor and say another prayer. We will just have to cross that bridge when we come to it, as it is too far down the road to even put on the map now.
Something that I have been planning since we started this process was to gather together with our family, friends, neighbors, and anyone who has been praying and wishing us well the night before Faith's surgery. We will join together as a big group, light a candle, and pray for Faith. I imagine how those prayers, wishes, and love will form a warm, protective bubble that will envelope her and stay with her throughout the surgery. Sort of like that super-human strength people report having in a crisis situation. She won't be strong enough to have her own super-human strength, so we will all give her a pinch of ours and that will help to keep her safe. Our gathering won't be a long one, it's not a party or a social encounter, just enough time to pray, hug, shed a tear or two and go on. I will post more details when we get closer.
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