d day. part one.

(1 of 3)

In honour of Childhood Cancer Awareness Month, I've decided to write and share a few deeply personal stories about our childhood cancer journey. I hope that by posting them, they may inspire other cancer families to share as well, as a way to honour their grief, spread awareness and find healing in their own words.

Today I begin sharing the story of d day.

diagnosis day. part one

Day three of our Warrior Princess's first hospital stay.

The evening prior, Brooklyn had completed a CT scan under sedation. Doctors had been very deliberate in using the term mass to describe the fist-sized growth in her abdomen.

This morning it was different.

Jay and I knew that surgical rounds were early in the morning, 7am-ish, so he raced from our home in Niagara very early to make it up to McMaster in Hamilton, on time.

Brooklyn was tired and groggy, I was beyond exhausted.
The first two days had been painfully long, wrought with fear and anxiety.

This morning, the surgical fellow assigned to Brooklyn's case, a man not much older than myself and who I instantly came to trust, leaned into B's room stone-faced and serious.

"We need to talk about Brooklyn's tumour."

I could feel the heat rising in my chest.

We took a slow walk down the hall, into a room which we later discovered was the staff lunchroom.

We sat down.
Jay and I on one side.
Dr. Flageole and Dr. Amar on the other.

My hands shook.
Jay was white as a ghost.

In the minutes that followed, the surgical team explained the size of her tumour, the location and the concern regarding her aortic vessel. Over and over again they spoke, drawing pictures and asking for us to confirm we understood. Finally, they asked if we had any questions.

In a whisper, with my eyes full of tears, I asked,
"Is this cancer? Does Brooklyn have cancer?"

His answer broke me in a way I was never prepared for and still have not recovered from just yet.

"We need to do a biopsy to find out, but yes, we believe this is cancer."

A
MILLION
P
I
E
C
E
S

My heart broke into a million pieces.
I lost my breath.
I gripped Jay's hand, afraid to look at him.

scrappy imagery from the doctors

The doctors excused themselves, offering us a few minutes alone. The sound of the door sliding closed was deafening, I couldn't take my eyes off the paper image drawn of this beast, called cancer, inside my baby girl's stomach.

We fell apart.
Heavy tears.
Shattered hearts.
Parenting soulmates.

Broken.

There were no words.
There was only numbness.
Burning in my soul.
Ringing in my ears.
Cold skin and hands.

Grief.
Painful, breath-taking, instant.

After five minutes, we dried our eyes, stood up and did the only thing we could.
We walked back down the hall to our beautiful daughter's room, and we smiled at her.

d day. part one.
January 20th, 2016.

#CCAM #WarriorPrincess #TeamBrookie #MorePreciousThanGold