Mommy: It's official... Neuroblastoma - aka Holy Cow our baby has cancer

It was the day after the biopsy, and the day before Thanksgiving. Dr. Meany had told us not to expect results until Friday or Monday, so I was back at work and telling everyone that Cambria did great at the biopsy and we shouldn't know more for a few days. Towards the end of my day we got word that the rain was turning to sleet in some parts of the area, so it might be a good idea to head out a little early if you have the hours. Then I got the phone call.

Derek called saying that they had got the biopsy results, and it was cancer.

By this point it was what we expected, and after all of our prayers and having researched the disease, we were feeling OK about it… after all it had great success rates, and we had found it early, and blah blah blah… There’s still nothing OK about hearing that your baby has cancer. Nothing can *actually* prepare you for it. Then when I asked about treatment, the other shoe dropped. Dr. Meany had told Derek that while the images would be going to surgery and we’d get an assessment about surgically removing the tumor, in her experience with other patients having Neuroblastoma in the same place – the risk is generally higher for surgery than it would be for chemo. Chemo. That word echoed throughout me, and I only sort-of processed anything else said after that. Thinking about it now as I write this still gets me all teary. Apparently the chemo she has in mind is a “easier” chemo, and babies tend take chemo easier than adults overall. She might not even feel sick. Each treatment would take 2 days, and she was guessing there would be 2 or 3 treatments a couple of weeks apart. I still haven’t even processed the rest of it – it’s just guesses and I still haven’t been able to get past “chemo”. I’m still clinging to the hope that a surgeon will be happy to remove the tumor safely and we can just be done with this.

Now there’s discussion of the other tests that will happen all to confirm that it hasn't spread at all. Dr. Meany explained that there would be a CT of the lungs, a radiated iodine test called a MIBG, and a bone marrow test. The CT for the lungs is just because the lungs are a more difficult place to treat, and it can spread there, so we want to make absolutely sure she’s clear. The MIBG  test is a full body test. We give her drops of regular iodine in order to fill up her thyroids with normal, non harmful iodine, then the day before the scan is done she’s given radiated iodine, which is something some tumors, Neuroblastoma being one of them, attract. Then they’ll do a full body scan, seeing if there are any other “hot spots” where there might be more Neuroblastoma. Then we’ll continue to give her the regular iodine drops to keep her thyroids full and happy, and not trying to grab and hang on to the radiated stuff. The bone marrow test is because apparently Neuroblastoma can spread to the bones as well, and they just want to check and make sure she’s clear. 

Hanging up the phone, Cathy came rushing over as she could tell I got “the” call. I told her and Rich but honestly I was just sort of wide-eye and in shock. Linda came by, and I told her as well, then for the second time in a week my coworkers prayed with me. I needed this so bad. I decided between the weather and my newly desperate need to snuggle my family I decided it was time to leave. I told my bosses the cliff notes version as I was starting to cry and headed out. I drove home in a bit of a fog – thankfully the weather really wasn't an issue – a little rain, but my route was warm enough that there was zero ice to contend with.

Then Derek and I had to make a series of the hardest calls we've ever had to make. Thankfully we were all aware that cancer was a very likely possibility, but dealing with the realness of it along with this looming possibility of chemo was/is so hard. We talked a little about when and how we would tell everyone else, but it was honestly a daunting task and we just went to bed. What I've found is that talking with folks after they know, and giving them updates really isn't hard. But every time we tell someone that our little girl, our 4 month old baby has cancer… we experience the heartbreak, shock and grief all over again with them. At some points I tried to disassociate myself from it, and sort of ran off the stats and info like a script I had memorized. In fact, after reading over my first couple of posts, I think I was doing a bit of that on here. That led me to post a quick, reduced detail explanation on Facebook the next day. As much as it may  not seem like it, Thanksgiving was really the best day to share this news, as we have SO MUCH to be thankful for. This was found early, if you’re going to have cancer, this is really the one you want to have, Cambria is so young that she won’t have to remember anything from the weeks ahead,  we live close to, and Cambria is being treated at one of the best Children’s hospitals in the country, her oncologist is seriously well qualified , and Cambria is *STILL* not showing any symptoms… she’s a happy, growing, snuggly baby who has no clue what “cancer” is.  Not to mention all the amazing support our family and friends have already shown us. It’s *really* humbling and humbling.

And here's the picture of her on Thanksgiving, sitting on our couch and happy as a clam: