Did you read that post title? Can you believe it?
On Monday, October 23 Ezra began Day 1 of Cycle 7 of maintenance, which is his last cycle of maintenance.
Two and a half years ago thinking about the end of treatment was impossible. It felt like an eternity away. I sobbed in the hospital thinking about just how long we would be on this journey. I sobbed while talking to a parent peer support individual while trying to wrap my head around just how long this illness was going to disrupt our family life. I sobbed when I watched how much pain Ezra was in as a result of the chemotherapies that were meant to be healing him.
And now, after months of what has felt as close to normal life as possible, we are so close to the actual end. Just one more cycle.
It snowed on the Sunday before Ezra’s appointment, which meant Cody switched places with me and took Ezra to the city. We are incredibly grateful for an understanding employer for Cody who has been very understanding of our need to change plans and pivot at the last minute.
This was especially important when Ezra’s last ever LP appointment went several hours longer than normal. A few delays down in the operating room meant Ezra’s procedure got pushed back by almost three hours. To say Ezra (and Cody) were very hungry and grouchy by the time Ezra finally had his procedure would be a massive understatement.
It was nearly 4 p.m. before they got out of the hospital (and they had arrived at 8 a.m.). It had snowed all day in Edmonton. That combined with the shorter daylight hours meant Cody had to make the decision to stay one more night in Edmonton. We are so grateful for the Kids with Cancer Society who provided free accommodations for us on both nights. I am not sure what we would do without Papa Ken’s House.
More and more this journey feels a bit like a crazy nightmare. Did we really just navigate more than two years of a childhood cancer diagnosis? Did we really live apart for 10 months?
The days and nights of Ezra waking up screaming in pain. The night I was so tired and flustered that I accidentally gave him too much of his pain medication and the oncologist on call had to talk me off the panic ledge.
The weeks and months of Ezra staring at me like I was the enemy because I was making him eat something other than shrimp chips and burgers.
The time I was beyond exhausted, and caused $5,000 worth of damage to the side of our truck by literally scraping the entire length of the box against a cement wall.
The weeks of living in a space with a communal kitchen, carrying around an emergency puke bucket, because the various food smells would cause Ezra to feel nauseated.
The bad habit we fell into of giving Ezra whatever he wanted because it helped make things easier in the moment. The weeks of trying to convince Ezra to walk 30 steps down a hallway and back just so that he could get some movement in and his bowels would hopefully start working on their own.
The months of being ready to catch Ezra if he tripped because his chemo caused the muscles in his feet and ankles to sometimes fail to communicate with his brain.
The isolation.
The struggle to advocate. The constant worry about blood counts. It was all so much.
And yet, here we are, almost through the other side and, dare I even say, thriving.
Ezra loves going to school and is still in taekwondo. His final LP results came back with the words “Morphologically negative for blasts.” This is what it always says, and definitely what we want it to say. But there was something about having this last LP confirm the treatment was still working that made me say an extra prayer of thanksgiving.
Cody recently changed workplaces and is loving his new work environment. We got a new puppy in June. I went back to work full-time at the end of August after we returned from a family trip to Ontario. Elliott is back in daycare and absolutely loving playing with his friends every day. Elijah is in Grade 4 and also loving Taekwondo.
How did we do it? How did we make it through? With a lot of prayer, and a lot of faith that God had us all, and especially Ezra, surrounded by his huge, loving and healing arms, full of grace. There have been so many ugly moments along this journey, but it’s that gift of grace that allowed us to keep going back to God, with tears streaming down our faces, and choosing to surrender our future to His will.
I never understood how Hannah could give her son, Samuel, completely over to God until I had no choice but to trust God with Ezra’s future.
And that trust isn’t over just because we happen to be in a good place right now. I have learned so much about surrendering control to the will of my Heavenly Father through all of this. I know, medically, there could be a whole slew of complications down the road as a result of Ezra’s chemo and radiation. Heart troubles, psychological issues, cognitive decline, or even a secondary cancer diagnosis to name a few. But I get to choose to live life now, with my healthy sons, and enjoy what God has given us in this moment. God has a plan for the future and whether that future is bright or contains a few more dark chapters, I know that I am never doing it alone.
So, when people ask how we made it through, with our family intact, this is how we made it through. This is how we can celebrate Ezra nearing his end of treatment date without being obsessive about the fear of what comes next.
My next update will likely be to celebrate Ezra’s final chemo dose. Keep your eyes out for that one, we definitely want to celebrate with everyone who has come along beside us on this journey.
Our Family Chatter 