Hannah completed all four doses of the high dose methotrexate. Given that she didn't start this phase of aggressive chemo until she was already a year into an already blistering chemo schedule, it is quite amazing! Several times in the course of this we thought she would not be able to continue. The side effects threatened to be almost too toxic to bare. However, each time, right at the crucial moment, she would pull through.
We are now done with scheduled inpatient stays at Children's. The next phase of treatment is called Long Term Maintenance. Ahhhh...sounds so good. For us cancer mom's, that is the one you are waiting to hear. Next to all done, of course. This phase involves chemo taken by mouth every night and a once a month visit to Children's for chemo in the spinal column (back poke).
Once a month did you say??? Yep, sounds like heaven to me too!
LTM will last a little over a year, but is supposed to be far easier. Our lives should, I am told, go back to semi-normal. It is enough to make you cry.
She will start this phase tomorrow if she makes counts. I'm not entirely sure she will. Which would just mean another week no chemo while her body recovers.
Hannah is in great spirits. She is still my miss sassy pants. Most of the time I would swear she was entering her teen years. Super lovey one minute, all drama the next.
She has discovered her box of summer clothes and collection of bathing suits. Now, all of a sudden, her swimsuits are all she wants to wear. We are in Seattle. It is not exactly warm here just yet.
The other morning, at 6am, she comes in my room, bathing suit on, and asks me to set up the sprinkler in the front yard. "Now??" I ask. She replies with nothing but a "Yes". I just can't imagine what she is thinking. It was cold in the house, let alone outside, in water! So, I say, "Baby, it is raining, and it is six o'clock in the morning, not exactly outside time." She looked stunned, shouted "FINE!!", stomped to her room, and slammed the door.
Aahhh, teenagers. Wait, what? Oh yeah. She is just five.
Wouldn't change a thing. (If you could see me, I'm smiling, big.)