Where In The World Is Down Syndrome Going?

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I really should avoid drawing attention to this negative topic today, on my daughter’s sixth birthday; however, it is probably as good a day as any to discuss an issue that is weighing heavy on my heart. During a few … Continue reading

Dear Tessa: Three Years Remission

Dear Tessa,

We celebrated three years remission from leukemia yesterday and tomorrow you will visit your oncologist. Sandwiched between the two days is a trip to get labs drawn. These are regularly scheduled labs to check your TSH (thyroid) and CBC (complete blood count). The latter of the two bringing the most anxiety for obvious reasons. And right now your mama is nervous.

I see you every day and I know you are fine. But knowing what I know about leukemia and your history with it keeps the fear fresh in my mind until I can actually see your lab results on paper. I have fooled myself into thinking that taking you to get lab work done would get easier the further we got out from treatment, but the reality is that it is not easy. Ever. There is no simple, painless, straightforward way to go about drawing blood from a small child.

My heart has raced all morning and my nerves are shot. Experiences such as labs open the door to days passed. It is as though we are suddenly catapulted into unknown again, while at the mercy of things I still lack control over; and hoping with every ounce of me that we can ease our minds once more.

You will put on a brave face because that is what I will ask of you. Holding you tight as you cry, I will tell you how proud I am of you and how much I love you. When you are not looking, tears will run down my cheek but I will remind myself to wipe them away before you notice.

While the anxiety attempts its takeover, I think back to yesterday and how quickly three years have gone by.

How can I feed the fear when you have reached this incredible milestone? 

Today when I told you I was taking you to get blood drawn from your arm, I told you it was okay to be scared and that I would be there. You grabbed my face with your little hands and said, “It’s okay Mom. I can do this! Okay Mom? I can do this! I will be so brave.” 

From a once very sick little girl to a now strong and healthy big girl, you have really grown. You have a t-shirt that say “This Girl Won’t Stop.” There is a reason it is my favorite, and it isn’t because of the gold glitter font. Although that certainly helps.

Three years of growth, change and endless opportunities to live like a kid again. The reward of remission far exceeds the angst I may occasionally feel. Most importantly, you are happy.

Love you sweet girl,

Mom.