I Remembered

Yesterday, I drove Kendrie to Atlanta for one of her follow-up appointments at the cancer clinic. It was her first appointment since we hit the one-year off treatment mark, and it was a good feeling when the doctor made mention of the milestone. Now, she’ll continue to return to the clinic every three months, for bloodwork and an exam, just like we’ve been doing, but the difference is I won’t have to drag her to the lab here on base for bloodwork every month in between. And for a kid who hates to miss school, and hates even more having her arm stuck with a needle, that was like hitting the double-lottery jackpot, indeed.

As we were driving home, I was keeping an eye on her in my mirror. For Christmas, my mom had a DVD player installed in the van, and it’s pretty much the most fabulous thing ever. But when I went out of town for our holiday vacation, I must have left a light on, or something, in the van because we returned to a dead battery and now the FM modulator on the DVD player doesn’t work. The kids can still listen to movies with their headphones, but I wasn’t able to play the audio through the car speakers yesterday. I have an appointment on Friday to get it fixed, although to be honest, I have no idea why I’m sharing these boring details with you. Why, in fact, I’m still talking about it. At all.

The point to my story is that she was sort of in her own world on the way home, and couldn’t hear me with her headphones on, so I pulled down my driver’s vanity mirror to keep an eye on her. She was leaning back, using her big stuffed animal for a recliner-arm-rest, her legs up on the seat, watching Crocodile Hunter, eating her snack of chocolate milk and Oreos. Er, I mean, papaya juice and string cheese. Because I always give my children HEALTHY snacks. Just like I eat. (ahem)

I heard her chortle at some wacky thing Steve Irwin did and looked in my mirror. There she was, completely relaxed, watching her movie, stretched out like a grown man in a Barco-lounger in front of a big screen TV on Super Bowl Sunday, licking the crème filling out of her ……. um, “string cheese.” (nod nod, wink wink)

And I know I’m getting old and crotchety because the first thought that went through my head was, “These kids today don’t know how good they have it! Look at her, watching a movie and eating snacks! Why, back in *my* day, we rode for hours and hours with no air conditioning and the windows rolled down and sun and grit and wind in our faces, and if we were lucky we got a ROCK to play with the entire way!”

My next thought, however, was a little more poignant. I remembered back when I used to drive her home from the clinic after chemo treatment, or a spinal tap, and she’d be so exhausted that she’d sleep the entire way, covered with her Precious Moments fleece blanket, her bald head lolling against the seat belt and the pillow. It made me realize there were actually a lot of changes I noticed yesterday, and so I thought I would share with you:

I watched her roll on her Heelys in the parking garage on the way to the appointment yesterday, and remembered when she couldn’t even walk from the van to the elevator because her legs hurt so bad that I had to start pushing her in a stroller again. We didn't even OWN a stroller; we had to go buy one.

I watched her run into the elevator yesterday so she could be the first one to push the button, and remembered when she was too tired and nauseous to muster up the enthusiasm to care.

As we got out of the van, I grabbed my purse and a small gift, and she grabbed her Gameboy, and we took off. That was all we carried. I remembered when packing for a day-trip to Scottish Rite involved a snack bag, a juice bag, a game/book/activity bag, a DVD player and movies, a book for me, a pillow, a blanket, and numerous stuffed animals. No wonder we needed the stroller -- perhaps we needed a double!

I watched her ask a new lab tech at the clinic what her name was, and remembered when she was so intimidated by the entire process that she wouldn’t make eye contact with a single staff member.

I watched her tell that same lab tech that the “rule” is NO BANDAIDS for her, and I remembered when she would never have had the self-confidence to speak up and state her wishes clearly like that, but instead would just cry and fuss, or be despondent, the entire time.

I watched her lay on the table and giggle and play and respond while Dr. B examined and tickled her, and remembered those awful, horrible, gut-wrenching days at the beginning when I had to physically hold her down, screaming and crying and flailing, so they could access her port and give her chemo.

Then we went over to the hospital to visit our friend Catie who is inpatient, and I watched Kendrie ride through the halls of the oncology ward like a maniac on her Heelys (I’m telling you, those shoes are going to be the death of one of my kids … just ask Kellen, who totally biffed it in the restaurant parking lot the other night.) I remembered when Kendrie was inpatient herself and the only way she had the energy to leave the room is if we pulled her in a wagon, IV pole trailing behind us.

I watched Catie lie in her bed, sick, sick, sick from her transplant preparation, bald again, not eating, not caring about our visit or the game we brought her, and my heart just hurts for her family. I remembered when Kendrie was inpatient and how crummy she felt when her counts and platelets were in the toilet. I remembered how being inpatient is simultaneously mind-numbing-boring, and heart-stopping-terrifying at the same time, the terrifying part usually happening when something goes wrong in the middle of the night, as it is bound to do --- as it has done for Catie. Please stop by her site and wish them well, especially her mom Jenny, who is somehow managing all of this, and sleeping at the hospital, preparing for Catie’s transplant, at eight and a half months pregnant.

Some things, of course, never change.

Kendrie still complained that her butt hurt the entire two-hour ride home.

Kendrie still insisted on sitting in my lap to get her blood drawn. I don’t guess she’ll *ever* get comfortable with that.

Kendrie still loves stopping at the medical building’s deli on the way out and buying snacks for the car ride home. It’s become a tradition for us to stop and get papaya juice and string ch------- oh, who the hell am I kidding? I fed my kid Oreos for lunch yesterday, OREOS, and you people all know it!!

But as I stopped to buy those Oreos, I said three prayers:

1) Of thankfulness, that we were blessed and lucky and still have Kendrie with us.

2) Of request, that she continue to stay healthy.

3) And healing for all the Catie’s in the world, who don’t deserve this.