An unplanned rendez-vous with a monster

I started this article 10 months ago… Too long ago.
Back then, I had more respect for the monster: I spelled it in upper case. Lowering the case is a way to bring it down to my level. Well, was that a choice, anyway? Did it not decide to come to my level, to come to me, to come to the five years old one? No, we didn’t make that choice.

We had no choice in that afternoon of September 2015, on her 5th birthday. It was just a year ago. No one makes that choice. You would not make the choice of connecting the name of your beloved one with those two words, would you?

It all started with some pain in the stomach. That’s how she describes it. You notice indeed she is pale. You do what you always do, in those cases: try and find out if she had not eaten too much of this, or that, discover she hadn’t, and decide to take her to the hospital. You don’t realize yet that you’re at the dawn of a special adventure.

The adventure (call it “The pursuit of recovery”) begins in the local hospital you usually take the kids to. They are not sure what it is ; too many different possibilities. They ask for additional tests. You have the child undergo a load of those (you feel the pain for her, but do you have any choice?). Then you eventually hear a word… they talk about a “mass”. That doesn’t sound good. They talk about a tumor, they are not sure. That definitely doesn’t sound good.

You start to realize that cancer is neither as rare, nor as far from you that you have thought. You’ve only heard about it in the news, so far. But now, they seem to associate that with your beloved daughter. Despite all your positive attitude, you can but draw a dark picture of what is going on, and looking at the little one does not make it any better. She is suffering. And around you, they’re not quite sure what to do.

Time is not your friend.

Your nightmare just begins: the clinic can’t help you; the polyclinic a little bit further neither. Quid of the university hospital (the biggest of your country)? There, they know about it, but they are not specialized. You’re still not getting the right information, but you do get this one: time is not your friend, and definitely not your daughter’s friend for that matter. In the interim, nothing seems to ease her pain, and definitely not the lack of attention of the medical team in that hospital. No one seems to hear your call for help. Well, God surely does, but He only answers in His ways, so you’re never sure the message.

You have to leave the country. You learn that in the neighboring country, they have a dedicated unit. You leave your country. Your second half will stay and take care of the other kids. The only thing that matters now is that the little one survives. Yes, she has lost 9 pounds in 10 days, and this skeletal vision of your kid is not something you’re used to (but it’s a picture that will never leave you). You have to handle this, and no sacrifice is “too much” for the goal to be reached.

So you’re abroad. Here, there are other kids suffering the same… Well, it’s never the same. The wailing of a mother a week later clearly confirms that to you: she’s just lost her own precious one, after months of struggle. You hear some say she came too late for treatment. How late is too late? Were you too late, too? Your decision to fight for a better chance for your daughter just got a boost. You’ve never stopped praying; you pray even harder.

Hope now lays overseas.

Despite all their efforts, new symptoms are appearing. Her weight is still dropping. And they, they lack equipment. They lack the basics to protect the kids. You have to face it: hope now lays overseas, and you have to strive harder. You never forget it: time is not your friend.

Then comes His answer. Your request for evacuation is accepted. You’ll have to leave… again, six thousand kilometers away, but it doesn’t matter, as long as proper treatment is available over there.
And that’s what you do.

Eleven months, a couple of liters of tears, unending moments of fear, some fond moments, some sad moments, some wonderful people, some not-so-wonderful people, and a miracle later…

You are back home.
Not one day passes without your reading/hearing about that monster.
You learn there are 2000 new cases of cancer in your country every year, but there’s still nothing in place for that monster. I named Kid Cancer.
Yes, back to upper case. That life destroyer deserves it, after all.

My unplanned rendez-vous with Kid Cancer, and the beginning of my fight against it.