GRATITUDE + CYCLE 2 + THANKSGIVING

Before Eli's cancer diagnosis, I was struggling for a period of months. Struggling with my kids getting older and worried about things that hadn't happened yet. It was depressing to look back at photos when they were kids. I felt like I was mourning their childhood. I was selfishly sad for myself, grieving my role as their mom, a position I felt was my quickly coming to an end. I was happy for them, but sad for me.

These past 8 weeks I have not been able to stop looking at photos of the past, cherishing every moment spent, every memory made. My biggest accomplishment is them. My greatest achievement is being their mom. I can’t remember what life was like before them and it is hard for me to envision a life without seeing them every day and knowing them like I know them now. 

I am grateful. Grateful that I get to know them and raise them. Grateful for the past, present and future. Grateful for their hearts and their scars. Grateful for the opportunity. Grateful for this life. Grateful for this time. 

Eli began Cycle 2 last Friday. Back to the doxo/cis combo. We went to clinic, his counts were really good, so we got a late breakfast before we got admitted and wheeled him up. 

Driving to clinic.

Getting settled in.

On these weekends he gets IV fluid, IV anti-nausea meds and then the doxorubicin is pushed by hand over 20 minutes. Then he gets cisplatin in an IV that drips over four hours. 

Christmas at St. Lukes

Day 2 begins the same dose. We got through the night and Eli spent most of Saturday sleeping through the second dose of treatment. I was surprised when the onc doc made her rounds in the morning and said that we should be able to go home later that day. This time he got a lot of different nausea meds, including a patch to wear for a few days. We left at around 8pm and he went directly to the shower and texted me that he was hungry so we ordered pizza and he ate 1/2 of a medium pepperoni. 

The next day he finished the rest and continued to eat well for lunch and dinner all week long, with just a couple of queasy episodes. 

I've been extra tired this week but we still pulled off Thanksgiving, but no Turkey. We aren't turkey people. My mom came to visit for the week. Bella cooked us a yummy chicken pasta dish the first night. She also made Eli's favorite part of Thanksgiving dinner - her signature mini apple cheesecakes. I didn't take many photos.

This morning we went back to clinic for lab work. Eli's counts are down and his neutrophils will probably continue to dip over the next week. He lost zero weight this time around (last time he did this treatment, he lost 10 lbs). Clinic staff actually seemed pretty impressed that he ate as well as he did and sustained his weight without relying on any liquid protein shakes. Some of the nausea meds helped stimulate his appetite. I try to make him smoothies most mornings with his breakfast and I add some of the protein drinks in them. He went to the movies this week and took a solo drive to bring his girlfriend a McFlurry. He's able to get back in the hot tub and has been spending a lot of time in the bubbles.

 Indulging me with endless selfies.

Hopefully this week is uneventful as we roll into December. We have another week off and then will finish Cycle 2 with two weeks of MTX. Then we will do some rescans right after Christmas and move forward with scheduling surgery. 

FABRIC + SPIRIT + SURGERY OPTIONS

I've been trying to ignore the enormity of all of this. At times I feel like I am running from reality by choosing to live in the moment, sometimes hour by hour, sometimes day by day. I suppose it's a coping mechanism to keep my head down and not look too far ahead. Sometimes the weight gets so great that all I can do is put one foot in front of the other. Right now, this feels like a marathon and not a sprint. But there are decisions to be made and all I want to do is procrastinate the hard stuff. 

One of the hospital chaplains stopped by during our last treatment stay to check on my spirit, which got me thinking a little bit more about what my spirit is made of. I like to think that the fibers of my spirit are woven with quiet determination and confidence, self-reliance and independence. The threads of my spirit bind together the various tapestries of so many pieces of who I am, even though sometimes I feel like I might be barely hanging on by one of those threads. The bones of my spirit are tough, providing a solid foundation of strength and courage for my family, but sometimes I do feel weakness in my metaphorical bones, just like Eli's physical bone.

The chaplain didn't represent any one faith. We discussed Eli's diagnosis and the weight of it all. She asked what I was doing to cope with the heaviness and I told her that I wrap myself up in the busy-ness of it all. She asked if I was a doer and I am for sure keeping myself and my mind occupied with all of the doing. She said that people fall into different groups with their grief responses and tend to be 1) feelers who sit with the emotions and find support in others 2) thinkers who research and analyze 3) doers who jump in to plan and problem solve and 4) dreamers who try to imagine that everything will be okay.

I am mostly a doer and a thinker, but at times I find myself identifying with each of these types of responses. The feeler breaks down every few weeks while the thinker joins osteosarcoma support groups online and reads survivor stories and researches surgery options and the doer packs bags, prepares meals, sets alarms and makes phone calls and the dreamer has hope that there is life beyond the diagnosis, treatment and recovery. There is room for all of it.

I haven't gone into too much detail about the decisions we have to make with surgery. The tumor is very close to the knee and because the surgeon has to get healthy margins, he is not sure how close he can get while still keeping the knee intact. We will get a clearer picture when they do the final re-imaging scans before surgery to see how much the tumor has shrunk and what the bone looks like at the knee. If there is any risk of malignant cells or a possibility of not getting all the cancer, then they will have to take out the knee as well.

If that's the case, then Option 1 is a megaprosthesis, which consists of a titanium rod in place of the affected femur, a metal hinge/knee that rests on a plastic shelf on top of the tibia and a metal peg inserted down into the tibia bone. The pros are that Eli would have a normal looking leg on the outside, and a functional knee that can bend and rotate, but would not be able to do any high impact activity like running or jumping. There are risks of infection because there is so much metal in the body and bacteria that attaches to metal is hard to treat with antibiotics. He would be able to walk right away, but healing would be slow and affected by chemo, which starts up again 2 weeks post-op. The cons are future surgeries as equipment fails or wears down maybe every 10 years. 

Option 2 is a rotationplasty, which basically removes the affected lower femur, knee and upper tibia and takes the lower half of the leg, turns it around and attaches it to the thigh. The heel becomes the knee and the ankle becomes the knee joint. The foot becomes the tibia and a prosthetic can be attached for the remaining leg/foot. The pros are that he would retain all of the nerves and all of the parts would be his own body, so the potential for infection and complications go down. He would actually have more mobility and function with this option and be able to play sports, after a lot of physical therapy and rehab. Eli does not want to do this option. 

We got through the first chemo treatment, got through feeling nauseous, got through losing hair, got through being neutropenic, got through the second chemo treatment, but it's this third chemo treatment that is starting to make me realize how real and life changing all of this is and how hard on the body it is becoming. He has had a headache since Saturday. His chest is feeling better. We have an appointment tomorrow to check counts, which should be high and then we will admit for the first round of Cycle 2. Fortunately, this is a shorter stay and we will be home Sunday. Then we have two weeks off to recover. My hope for this round is that we have a better nausea plan in place going home and that he has a nice long two weeks before we do the MTX again. My mom is coming up for the week of Thanksgiving and I am really looking forward to seeing her and doing some puzzles together. 

Eli's baseball team worked on this amazing quilt that he can use during treatment. Each gray square has a message from his teammates and coaches and it was lovingly quilted by the grandma of one of his friends. I know that he will cherish this forever. You never envision that you or your family will face something like this, but if you do, you want this kind of support squad behind you and standing beside you. 💛

BLURRED REALITY + CYCLE 1

I feel like I am existing in two realities and maybe that's how people feel when they are going through something like this. On one hand there is the hospital, appointments, treatments - a life that is very real when you are walking the halls of the hospital. Half of my current identity is so tied into living in the hospital for a period of days, anticipating Eli's needs, assisting with simple tasks to get him up and to the bathroom connected to all of these tubes, reminding him to brush his teeth when he is up, monitoring how much he is eating and drinking, forcing him to drink Sunny D (the jury is out whether this helps clear methotrexate faster).

Then we go home and it's mostly back to our regularly scheduled life - where this last week Eli seemed like a normal teenager. I look at him and besides his new hair-do, he is my Eli, just as he's always been. Outwardly, he seems healthy, inwardly he has a tumor that has aggressively weakened his bone. It's a good reminder that we never know what is going on behind the scenes. We are mostly clueless to what someone is struggling with on the inside, beneath this sack of skin that holds everything together. This life looks like running errands, making breakfast, lunch & dinner, working at my desk in my office, listening to Eli sing in the shower, feeding the animals, doing laundry, sanitizing, endless household tasks. 

And then another reality shift on Friday back into treatment mode and adjusting to the next hospital stay. This is the truly exhausting part. The switch up. 

As a mom, I've worn lots of different hats throughout the years. I've been a caregiver, chauffeur, chef, cheerleader, teacher, nurse, counselor, maid, janitor, builder, butcher, baker, candlestick maker.

We went to clinic again on Friday to check counts, which had gone up quite a bit. Eli's neutrophils were at 2000, compared to 140 just two weeks before. His bone marrow decided to crank it up. His platelets had also rebounded from 55 to 179. So we got some food and headed to our deluxe apartment in the sky. As we were headed to the car, an older man asked Eli, "what happened to you?" People always think that he has had a sports injury because of the crutches. Eli explained that he had cancer and the man pointed at him and said "you're gonna win!"

Checking into clinic.

 Treatment started and I got Eli some dinner while Richard and I traded shifts for a few hours. 

Home away from home

Saturday was gloomy tunes and I kept myself busy with some knitting and cranking out some episodes of Only Murders in the Building. Eli slept most of the morning. Richard brought him some lunch while we traded places. Labs were drawn mid-day and his MTX level at hour 24 was 3.5, which was pretty good. Then we got started on the Leucovorin again for every 6 hours. Riley came to hangout and she and Eli watched the Mike Tyson / Jake Paul "fight", if that's what we are calling it. Eli had some nausea and a headache so he got another nausea med and I brought him some dinner on the way back to the hospital.

While I was home I assembled his new gaming desk. 

Sunday's weather was on gray repeat and Eli slept all morning and into the afternoon, finally waking at about 3pm. His head was hurting a little more so he got some meds for that. Dad brought him his requested Subway for a late lunch and they watched some football while I went home for a break. His 48 hour MTX level was .25 (last weekend this time it was .24).

He was encouraged to get out of the room and go for a walk so we wheeled his pole friend down the hallway and went for a late night stroll. He hasn't given his poll a name yet. We've been encouraged to decorate it, but I'm not sure what kind of drip that we can add to the drip. I don't think Eli really cares to make it his friend, but it is always by his side, like a soldier fighting this battle with him.

The hospital is a breathing, living organism in its own right and it is such a different atmosphere on the weekends compared to weekdays. Weekdays are business, people are coming and going, the gift shop is open and the pulse is quicker. The weekends are slow, the hallways less crowded, the elevators vacant, the floors emptier and post-9pm, there is hardly anyone here after visiting hours have ended, other than patients and parents of kids.

The gloom subsided Monday morning to reveal hidden blue skies with a side of powdered sugar on the mountains, but the gloom isn't ready to let go quite yet and the gray still has us in a chokehold. The construction outside my window has resumed, heavy machinery beeping outside in harmony with the machines beeping on the inside. 

Eli started having some chest tightness in addition to the headache Monday afternoon after lunch. I told the dayshift nurse and we went for another walk and he said that helped, but by late evening he was complaining that it felt harder to get a deep breath and he was feeling a sharp pain in the middle of his sternum. All of his vitals seemed good and his oxygen levels and lungs sounded fine. The nurse gave him some pain meds and we went on another walk, which improved his symptoms.

I taught Eli how to play the card game of "War" and it went on for a long time while he a) accused me of cheating because I had all of the aces and b) asked if this game ever ends. 

We redrew labs at 10:30pm and waited patiently for results to see if we needed to pack up and go. This time we were committed to leaving no matter how late it was, but his MTX level was exactly 1.0 so we stayed another night.

The night was uneventful. I really loved the night nurse that we had. We've had a ton of great nurses and we are now starting to see some of our caregivers for a second time. There is something different about night nurses though. They are there with you as you are switching from your daytime routine and settling in for the night. They see you when you take off your make up and get into your pajamas. They are there when you are at your most vulnerable and intimate and doing one of the most basic human functions, which is sleeping. They are there when you wake up and are fresh-faced first thing in the morning or groggily helping your kid. This experience has been made so much better by the people that we have been surrounded by and those that have lifted us up when we are at our weakest and most vulnerable. 

Cycle 1 is done!

We head to clinic again on Friday to start the second cycle. It's been a long 5 weeks, but we are 1/6 through treatment and we will just keep counting down.

IT'S GOOD TO BE OK

How are you?

People ask this question out of habit and while some people truly care about your response, most people inquire without really wanting to know and maybe not even tuning in long enough to hear your answer.

The automatic response becomes, "Good. How are you?" without really thinking about how you truly are.

But good isn't great, is it?

If you respond with anything less than "good", it invites speculation. 

I have stopped responding with "good" in these situations, mostly out in public. People are just being polite and it has become so commonplace for this to be the go-to exchange. 

One person recently started a conversation with me by saying, "I'd ask you how you are, but I'm guessing the answer is pretty sh!tty!"

So, I recently started saying "okay" in response to the obligatory "how are you" inquiry and my daughter noticed the shift and said that it's weird not to reply with "good", but I told her I was having a hard time answering honestly when I don't truly feel like I am good. I don't blame people for asking this question when attempting to exchange pleasantries, it's just that sometimes things aren't all that pleasant. 

The abbreviation of O.K. is spelled out phonetically as "okay". The most commonly agreed upon theory for the etymology of the word O.K. is that it is an abbreviation for the phrase "Oll Korrect - a misspelling of "all correct". I don't know that things will be all correct, but we are trying to correct them one treatment at a time. Maybe someday it will all be fine. But for right now, it is ok and that's ok. We are ok. Everything is ok.

Eli had an appointment on Friday morning to check his counts and see if they had rebounded enough to admit for treatment and they were ok. They weren't good or great, but they were ok.

Walking into clinic.

Waiting for final counts.

I had all of our belongings packed incase he made his counts so we headed to get some breakfast and then back to the hospital airbnb. We've got a corner room on the 4th floor with a view of the foothills and the biggest window on the block. 

Before treatment.

Getting settled.

After a couple of boluses for hydration, he started on the methotrexate (MTX), which dripped over 4 hours along with sodium bicarbonate that gets continually adjusted depending on the PH of his urine, which needs to be at a 7 so his kidneys aren't damaged. 

He slept most of the next morning/early afternoon on Saturday, finally emerging from his teenage boy cocoon at about 1pm and didn't have much of an appetite, but otherwise felt ok. He ate some peanut butter crackers and then was hungry around dinnertime. The hospital cafeteria isn't bad and the menu is pretty decent for kids, but he isn't too interested. I got myself a breakfast burrito and sat in the dining area with a combination of hospital employees and other families.

I wonder about the other families as I pass by them in the hallways and share the silence in the elevator. We are all here for different reasons, everyone with a different story and someone they love inside these walls. We are all probably a little or a lotta scared. I shared an elevator with a mom who was also bringing a bag of Chick-Fil-A to a hungry fourth floor resident. She asked what my child was having done and I told her that he was going through chemo treatments and had been diagnosed with cancer. We walked the rest of the way until we parted ways and she told me that she would pray for my son. Hopefully we will all be ok. I wonder how tough this is on families, single parents and families with young kids still at home and parents without the flexibility to spend time at the hospital. 

Twenty-four hours after treatment, Eli's blood was drawn for the MTX level and he was at a 5.48 and he only needed to be <10 within the first 24 hrs and that was without any of the Leucovorin (folic acid) to help clear the MTX and protect his kidneys. Leucovorin is basically the antidote to the toxic MTX. Eli then got the first dose of the Leucovorin and continued to receive a dose every 6 hours.

Forty-eight hours after treatment, his blood was drawn again and he was at a .24 and he needed to be <1 so his body was doing what it should do to get this junk out.

We brought his XBOX this time and he was able to hook it up to the gaming monitor and play with his friends. The amount of joy of being able to play with his buddies was immeasurable. 

Gaming.

I've kept myself busy by watching Only Murders in the Building, which I am enjoying. I think I will start watching Yellowstone next.

It was Riley's birthday on Sunday so she stopped by to see Eli and hung for a bit until he started dozing off.

Labs were drawn early on Monday in case there was a chance we could go home. We were crossing our fingers that he would be <1.0, but not holding our breath. Sadly, his MTX level was 1.1 - so close, but not close enough to blow this popsicle stand.

So we redrew labs at 5:30pm and waited an hour for results only for him to be EXACTLY at 1.0. The oncologist said that we could redraw later that evening at 10:30pm and they would get the discharge paperwork ready to go IN CASE his level was acceptable. I got him some dinner and joked that his labs were going to come back with high levels of Chick-Fil-A. The chemo treatments might have taken the hair on his head, but so far, he still has his feathers. 

At around 11pm the results of the third blood draw of the day were in...drum roll please .09! We could go home, but now we were settled in and sleepy and Eli just wanted to go to bed and leave in the morning, which is what we did. 

So how am I? I am ok!

We are now home and it is SO good to be home. I think he was in the shower for 1 1/2 hours, washing away the long weekend. We have a couple of days before we go back to clinic on Friday to see if his counts are good enough to continue another round of MTX next weekend.

Rinse. Chemo. Repeat.

HAIR + FAMILY PHOTOS + SLC

It's been a week and it's only Tuesday.

Monday was gloomy, which is fitting because it feels like there have been a lot of stormy days mentally and emotionally recently. The trees are starting to lose their leaves, barely hanging on to their branches, just like my sanity some days. The vibrant colors of a short-lived fall are starting to fade, but we have hope and that isn't going away. Sometimes when it rains, it pours so we will brace for the gloom and prepare for sunnier days ahead.

Our family pictures were scheduled for 4:40pm and it was raining. The day before was a beautiful fall day and that just goes to show how quickly things can change and how some things in life are just out of our control. Our photographer messaged me and said she thought it would let up soon and asked if I still wanted to go for it. I said "Let's do it!" and we did. The rain paused long enough to finish pictures. The weather is temporary and will change again. It's just a temporary storm cloud hovering above us during this season of life and I know it'll eventually pass through.

We came home and shaved Eli's head. Then a pack of his best buddies stopped by with their new hairdos and Eli told me his coaches have a few less strands as well.

#PACKSTRONG

Now accepting suggestions for their band name...

The Buzz Boys
Rusty Razors
Shaved Ice
Bic Six
The Missing Strands Band

I have another really really good one, but this is a family blog. 😉 

This morning Eli and I got up early and I stopped to vote on our way out of town to Salt Lake City to the Primary Children's Hospital to meet with the Sarcoma Orthopedic Surgeon from Huntsman Cancer Institute. We had a slight hiccup with an oversight with our appointment not being scheduled, but they fixed it and we eventually got going. Dr. G. was super thorough and knowledgeable and works on an average of 20 osteosarcoma cases a year. He told us that he had spent a lot of time reviewing the MRI images and looking at Eli's case from every possible angle. He went over the images with us in great detail and discussed the options for surgery. Based on what we are dealing with there are a couple of different options with pros and cons to each. After this next cycle of chemo and the follow-up MRI scan, we will have a little clearer picture and know how close the tumor is to the knee. 

Happy Little Roadtrippers

In the Driver's Seat

A Fan of All the Selfies. All the Time.

If anyone is curious, this is what the tumor looks like in the bone. This is looking at the back of the leg.

Rear View

Side view of the leg. You can see the tumor and how close it is to the knee and how it has grown out of where the femur bone should be and extended into the surrounding connective tissue. The leg is very angry and there is a lot of inflammation.

Side View

We go back to clinic on Friday to check counts. If they have rebounded, we will be admitted and begin the next dose of chemo on Friday. This particular drug takes longer to clear the body so we may be admitted for a couple of extra days. I hope that Eli feels well through this one. The biggest side effect can be mouth sores and that will interfere with eating and he has been eating so well these last two weeks. I've been making him a lot of smoothies lately, without bananas because he is not a fanana of the banana. So maybe there will be a lot more smoothies and protein drinks coming up.

Eli has continued to just take things in stride and roll with the punches. My hope for him is that he continues to find strength even when he is feeling weak; that he can continue to weather the storm even when he is getting pummeled by everything that is uncomfortable. I want him to find courage even he is afraid and scared for what the future looks like with treatment, recovery, surgery and the aftermath of this battle. He's going to be a wounded soldier, but how he is approaching and rising up to the challenge is what will ultimately define him and teach him things about himself that he never knew he was going to learn at such a young age. He's going to have scars. I'm trying to look at this as not what is being taken from him, but what he is gaining and sometimes it's a hard shift in perspective. I know that there are going to be setbacks and it's hard to anticipate them before they happen, but I guess we are as ready as we can be. 

2

Eli's baseball jersey # is 2.

#2 plays hard. He always has. He broke his arm a few years back sliding into home plate, head first, on a suicide squeeze play to win the game. We had a double-header and I thought he was ok to play in the second game. You know, rub some dirt on it and you'll be fine, but it was broken. I wish we could rub some dirt on this cancer. Maybe that's what chemotherapy is - the dirt. 

One of his baseball buddies supporting Eli on the football field.

Eli had a routine appointment today for a blood draw. We will do these weekly to check his counts. We expected them to dip around day 10-12, and it's been exactly 2 weeks since his first treatment. His counts were low, especially his neutrophils and he is considered to be neutropenic at this point. The good news is that this should be the lowest and they should rebound. We need them to be above 250 by next Friday in anticipation of his next treatment.

His hair started falling out this morning. He can literally just tug on it and it comes right out. He said that his scalp felt really tender and sore and then he noticed that he was losing hair. We will probably shave it early next week. We have family photos scheduled for Monday and I was hoping it would hang on until then, but it is what it is.

Semper Paratus!

Wearing the Coast Guard shirt that our buddy Farmer sent while waiting for our appointment. Semper Paratus is the Coast Guard motto that means "always ready". It's a good motto for life. Always ready because you never know what might happen or what curve ball might be thrown your way. We can hit curve balls. 

Despite Eli having low counts, he headed to the Boise State game tonight. A very generous hook-up organized by the greatest friend secured some sweet seats and pre-game field access for Eli and a couple buddies. Eli got to meet and pose for a photo with another amazing #2 - Ashton Jeanty, running back for the BSU Broncos and Heisman contender. What a super cool opportunity.

2 Strong!

I was concerned about Eli going to the game. Not because of his leg, but now because of the risk that being immunosuppressed presents. We discussed it at his appointment this morning and they said that he should go. We are going to have to find our balance with what we are comfortable with doing. I don't want to be consumed with being so worried about worst case scenarios and forgetting to focus on living. It's these moments and memories with his friends that provide hope. He spent the whole game on the sidelines, talking to different people and soaking in the moment. 

I think his cheesy grin says it all.

Hopefully he's forgiven me for sort of backing in to his new car on the way to the game. It's been a long day. But tomorrow is a new day and cars are fixable. And so is Eli.

HALLOWEEN

 Ocrtober 31. 

There seem to be two different camps on Halloween. Those that dress up to be cute, finding an escape from reality and adopting a different persona. Halloween is a break from reality, a chance to embrace something that you are not. A chance to escape and pretend. For others, Halloween is an opportunity to delve in to the dark and scary....a day to embrace things that are unknown and spooky. 

There has been a lot of unknown and scary during the month of October. 

But, today was a really good day.

This last week has been uneventful. Eli's appetite is back in full force.

He's been getting caught up on school work. Peep the emotional support dog, who needs his own emotional support dog.

Oh, and the Dodgers won the World Series!

Eli has gotten to take back control by way of getting behind the wheel again.

It is important for him to take control of this diagnosis. To feel that he has some say over how he will approach the scary. I am realizing that I have a very stubborn child and I don't hate it. He is determined and strong and his web is constructed of the most awesome fibers of resilience and determination. He is a fighter and will not back down or cower against the toughest opponent. I am in awe of his fighting spirit.

He got back behind the wheel a couple of times this week and today he drove himself to lunch at Gamma's. Lunch at Gamma's is the most special of the specials. Gamma is everybody's honorary Gamma. Gamma adopted Eli from the get-go. Gamma was cheering for Eli in all of her bedazzled bling before I even knew who Gamma was or which awesome kiddo she belonged to. Gamma comes to all of the games. Gamma is style. Gamma hosts lunch on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Gamma's crowd is growing. I want to be Gamma when I grow up.

Eli's Thursday Support Group

This is Gamma.

Then we went to the annual baseball Halloween game. This was bittersweet. Eli has participated the last couple of years. I know he wanted to be out there, doing what he loves. But the next best thing was being on the field. It was a cold and crisp day. It sprinkled for a minute and then the sun returned...the promise of light in the midst of the darkness. The cold is good. It's the cold that makes you feel alive.

Tonight he went to the movies with his girlfriend to see a scary movie. Letting go is hard. Trusting is a challenge.

I just want to keep him safe and watch over his every move and hardship.

I feel like I finally reached a place where I was comfortable letting go. Comfortable with letting him make his own decisions. Comfortable with the consequences of actions and trusting that all of the time and effort that I put in was paying off. Now I want to wrap him in bubble wrap. Worried about his leg. Worried about getting sick. Worried about the unknown. But I know that I can't let my worry prevent him from living.

Halloween is an opportunity to be someone we are not. To dress up in character and pretend to be a super hero, an icon, a character that maybe we aren't or never could dream to be. It's hard to pretend to be strong. You either are or you aren't. 

My hero is Eli. He has been unbelievably strong and courageous. Never complaining or wavering in his strength and acceptance of this otherwise really unfortunate hand that he has been dealt. I won't pretend that this isn't hard. That this unforeseen change in circumstance isn't terrifying and scary. But he has tackled it head-on and with such unexpected bravery. Cancer is the villain, whether it wants to be or not and I would choose Eli as my costume time and again. 

Trick or treat.

Cancer is the trick and the battle is trying to figure out how to beat it.