My friend got her daughter's scan results ... No Evidence of Disease. There's a little spot in her lungs they're watching, but they think it's just scar tissue and right now, are not worried.
AND, I heard from another Wilms' friend today and it was the thing you hear about but rarely see ... her daughter has been in very bad shape, things looking quite worrisome ... they did an MRI and couldn't believe it was hers, at first. Tumors in her belly had disappeared.
It is hard, sometimes, to believe in chemotherapy. Things like that rarely happen. More often, it is the experience we had -- surgery to remove the tumors, then chemo, then scans show that nothing new has grown. (Until it has.) You take it on faith that chemo is working.
When this happens ... it's magic.
I'll admit to being a bit bummed, waking up in a hospital room on this, the last birthday of my 30s. But then I got a thrilling thought ... what if Little Warrior gets all better, and when I look back on my life, the cancer chapter is restricted to the decade of my 30's?
I'm afraid even to write it. Knock wood! Knock wood! Knock wood!
Tonight, a friend of mine is bringing up my other 3 scamps. Their father is coming straight here after work -- well, after picking up barbeque and a birthday cake. We're going to have a slumber party, here in the hospital room. I'm pretty sure I'll be getting a new guitar for my birthday. (I've never had my own guitar, only hand-me-downs.)
We're in a hospital. And we're in the hospital because my youngest daughter is fighting cancer for the second time in her 3 years of life. But we'll all be together. And we'll have cake.
It's not perfect. But still ... classify these as good times.