The kids aren't all right

The toughest part of my first day of treatment was precisely what I thought it would be. Seeing the kids.

This type of radiation is often used for clival chordomas and other brain tumors since the impact on the surrounding tissue is minimal. So, a lot of these kids have brain tumors.

My appointment was on the early side of the afternoon and when we arrived there was a girl, around C's age, toddling around. Most of her hair was gone, but she didn't seem too bothered about that. At one point, Paul at the desk got off the phone and announced "Lucas is awake!". I gathered that this meant that Lucas was awake from the anesthesia he was under to have treatment. Lucas's parents got up from the waiting room and brought him back. He had the same non-hairdo as the little girl and was also about C's age. They were both contentedly sucking on their pacifiers.

I'd been thinking of when to break C of her bedtime pacifier habit. Since she's almost two, I was wondering if we should try to tackle it on my break before surgery or if we should just put it off until I'm through with all this. Seeing these kids with their paci's made me think though, it must not even occur to their parents to consider weaning them off the habit. For one, it's such a non-issue when you have so many larger issues to contend with. For another, I think, if I were in their shoes, I'd feel that anything that would bring the slightest bit of comfort and security to my child while they are going through this is what I would want for them, for as long as they would want it.


When I've been stuck in MRIs and CT scans over the past few months and I've had too much time to think, I've started feeling sorry for myself sometimes (particularly with the MRIs because I hate them.) But the thought that has snapped me back on track when I go down that road is, "Better me than C." And I instantly feel better. Sincerely.

I've always felt bad when I've heard about bad things happening to kids. But that feeling intensified about a thousandfold after I became a mother myself. It took me by surprise actually. Hearing about a kid who has suffered, no matter whose kid it is, feels more like a sharp kick in the stomach now, whereas before it must have felt more removed.

So, seeing these kids was tough. I had lumps in my throat for sure. And if I looked over at D, I knew he knew what I was thinking and he was thinking pretty much the same thing, which just aggravated the feeling. So I reached for a magazine (is there a pattern emerging here?) Breaking down in the waiting room is not going to help anyone, least of all these kids or their parents.

Am I going to get used to this?


P.S. Jared Vance was a great kid and just 7 years old when he died from a clival chordoma on Monday. If you are thankful for your healthy kids, grandkids, nieces and nephews, and/or neighborhood troublemakers, you can donate to The Chordoma Foundation on his behalf at: http://champions.chordomafoundation.org/pages/180. I bet you won't even miss the money and it will be money well spent.

P.P.S. I have some lighter posts ruminating, don't worry. I still plan to update you on my own experiences of the past couple of days and it is much less grave, I promise.