Day Trippin'

I took my dog out for a walk this morning. I'm leaving her and Eleanor in the care of husband today, and I figured I owed it to him to at least run the snot out of her so he can focus on Eleanor. We went down to the beach and it was impossibly beautiful. Stunning. It's usually really still and calm down there, but today there were little waves rolling in - I guess the residual effect from the windstorm yesterday. The sun was breaking through a thick veil of clouds and there wasn't a soul around. The sound of the waves drowned at all the thoughts in my head. Atia enthusiastically bounded along, acutely aware of how special this morning was. I tossed sticks and chased her (as best I could with my extra girth) and felt my heart lighten. When we reached the far end, I turned to come back and noticed there were people where there hadn't been any before. It's not a big deal, I told myself, they are just coming to enjoy what you are enjoying.

And yet, they frustrated me. I'm on edge these days. Eleanor is coming up to her 3-month scan and this one has me scared more than any other one we have done. I have thrown myself into logistics of traveling to Vancouver, setting up appointments, booking hotel rooms and have drowned out the reason we are going. I keep myself busy with our day-to-day commitments and don't think about what might be lurking inside her. I follow a couple of cancer blogs. A few are families we know from the hospital and a few are adrenal cancer sufferers. There are getting to be fewer and fewer. They are all the same, whether they are pediatric or adult patients; they just play whack-a-mole to try and keep they ever-spreading nodules at bay. But nothing works, and they are all slowly dying.

One of them had me particularly vexed. This girl has stage IV ACC (like Eleanor) and had everything surgically removed and no chemotherapy. Her dad works as a pharmaceutical rep for a company that specializes in chemo drugs and he felt that chemo was pointless. Two years post-diagnosis and a whole bunch of tumors have popped up in her abdomen. She was having stomach pains, so they scanned her and there they were.

It's just like walking along a noisy, bright beach, loving your life and thinking you're alone, but right behind you is a couple in matching yellow raincoats.

Oh, hi.

Eleanor has been fussing a lot lately. Everything about her indicates that she is the picture of health. Her blood work is impeccable, her strength is improving, her confidence is growing - she is great. And yet, we have these stupid scans that have me losing sleep. Well, and Eleanor has quit sleeping, so I'm losing sleep because of that as well. It is probably harder this time because she IS better, so she can't GET better. She has nowhere to go but down, unless it comes back the same which we all sincerely hope it does.

It doesn't help that the reason I'm day tripping today is for a funeral of one of our cancer buddies. We became friendly with this family at the urging of our social worker because our stories were so similar - as in they were both dire. Both Eleanor and Jeremy rallied and had setbacks. They both got great news but Jeremy got bad news back in November and it never really improved, God love him. The service was amazing, and his dad and grandparents all spoke beautifully. The hall was packed with friends and family and tons of staff from BCCH, which was very touching. Jeremy had an insanely short life, but he brought a lot of joy to those around him. He was always the happiest baby on the ward, even when he was confined to his bed when the chemo kept collapsing his little lungs. He would still smile and coo at all his visitors despite his obvious ailments. We all walked down to a lookout point and released balloons to say goodbye, and there must've been a dozen bald eagles soaring overhead and engaging in their mating "dance". It was a really special send off for a really special little guy. I hope his parents find comfort in their close-knit family and big sister Chloe during this trying time. My thoughts are constantly with them.

I am currently in transit to go back to my safe world, drowned out by the sounds of the ocean. Away from scans, away from babies dying, away from our memories of Vancouver. I can't wait to crawl into my bed tonight, say goodnight, say goodbye.