Reflections on My Child's First Year of Cancer Treatment: Finding the Bright Side of Life

CANCER. CHEMOTHERAPY. RADIATION.

Are you still with me? Here's the worst part. I'm sorry to do this...

CHILDHOOD CANCER.

I used to fear cancer the way I feared war. Having never experienced either one firsthand, I could only imagine how hard it would be to go through chemotherapy or have a part of my body removed, how devastating it would be to lose my entire family in a single explosion.

When we found out my 4-year-old daughter had leukemia on September 1, 2009, the words "cancer," "chemotherapy" and "radiation" became very real to me, very fast. Talk about a bombshell! What I remember most clearly about that day was the feeling in my stomach-the loss of feeling and the fear that drowned out everything else.

I wouldn't be writing this if I hadn't found something beyond the fear: Hope. Joy. Gratitude. What it's like to live in the present, not dwelling on the past, not worrying about the future. And whenever I forget to be hopeful, joyful, and grateful right now, my daughter and the amazing children I've met at the Hematology/Oncology clinic in Children's Mercy Hospital remind me.

This might shock you, but it is absolutely, positively true: Most of the kids in clinic-kids who have or have had cancer, kids with blood disorders-are happy. Needle pokes, chemotherapy, spinal taps and blood transfusions are typical weekly or monthly events for a lot of these children. Why aren't they moping around and complaining? Well, many of the kids with cancer are being cured, for starters. And while they're in clinic, they watch their favorite TV shows and movies, play video games, put together puzzles, scoot around on trikes, work on crafts projects, color, read, and play with all kinds of toys.

Of course, clinic isn't exactly a spa. Sometimes the kids feel too sick or tired to play. But I'm constantly blown away by how good most of them look. Their bald heads might make them stand out in a crowd, but their bright eyes and radiant smiles are what make them truly exceptional. I believe a special kind of beauty is revealed when all their hair is gone-the spirit within is suddenly more visible...and it takes my breath away.

After many months of treatment, the Hematology/Oncology clinic feels like a second home, and the doctors, nurses and care assistants are like old friends. One of the nurses in clinic told me, "People think I have the saddest job in the world, but it's really not. I mean, sometimes it is sad. But a lot of the kids who come here don't want to leave!" Sometimes my daughter, who turned 5 in April, doesn't want to leave. She's having too much fun playing with "Bug Man" and the Toy Story gang, or "cooking" in the play kitchen.

She doesn't waste any time feeling sorry for herself or wondering what went wrong. She has never fought her cancer. Do you think she can even pronounce "leukemia"? (She can't.) The day we found out she was in remission was just like any other day to her-no big deal, time to play.

If only we could all be so innocent, right? So full of life that even "chemo days" aren't wasted or regretted.

There have been many times this last year when my daughter didn't feel well enough to play. When she was nauseated, constipated, exhausted, or feverish. Last March her legs were so shaky and she was in so much pain that she couldn't walk for several days. I don't like to think about all the hospitalizations (at least 10 of them-I lost count), chemo, x-rays, radiation treatments, and other tests she's endured. And all the months we spent isolated at home because her counts were too low to go out in public. It hasn't been easy on any of us.

But I've stubbornly searched for the light in our darkest times and I've always found it. I can't even count all my blessings-there are too many. My daughter's cancer journey has revealed blessings in places I'd never even thought to look before. The bright side, which some people would call "God," is always there; sometimes it's very subtle and you have to pay close attention, but you will find it if you're calm and open. Even if your baby girl just threw up in her bed, even if she just had a seizure, even if she has to be admitted to the hospital on Christmas Eve...

I remember what the young doctor said to us (sarcastically) when he examined my daughter on Christmas Eve: "We're gonna have a merry, merry Christmas!" And you know what? We kinda did. I think as the years go on that our Christmas in the hospital, 2009, may turn out to be one of my most memorable Christmases-a day that could have been incredibly rotten but wasn't.

Right now, things are far from rotten. My daughter's treatments are much easier. With hair on her head again, full eyebrows and eyelashes, and a closer-to-normal number of white and red blood cells in her little body, she looks normal. I know better. There's nothing "normal" about my daughter-she is a ray of sunshine, a walking, talking "bright side of life."

"Turn off your computer and come here!" she's telling me. "Let's play!"

To my friends and family, and to the Associated Content from Yahoo! community: Thank you for all your support this past year. You guys are the best!

Related Content:

First Year of Leukemia Treatment: Audrey's Journey (in Pictures)

Fuzzy (A Poem for My Amazing Daughter)

How Asthma-like Symptoms Led to My Child's Cancer Diagnosis

Coping with a Child's Cancer Diagnosis and Treatment: What Has Helped Me

Fun stuff:

"Always Look on the Bright Side of Life." Can you sing it with Eric Idle's accent? Are you ready to whistle? (If you're easily offended or can't stand Monty Python, don't bother clicking the link. For everyone else: Enjoy! This is the final scene in Life of Brian.)

Sources:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WlBiLNN1NhQ&feature=related
http://www.childrensmercy.org/content/view.aspx?id=10166
http://www.carepages.com/carepages/roth377