Hi friends. It’s been awhile. November 2018?! Well certainly a lot has happened since then and because of that, I haven’t had the inspiration, motivation, or energy to write.

I know most of you keep up with me via my social media, and my Instagram gets pushed here. But just in case you haven’t, here is the summary. Fall of 2018, we thought we were done with chemotherapy. Atticus would get scans every three months to make sure the cancer hadn’t spread. First set at 3 months was great. At six months, the cancer had returned and we were back in Cancerland again! The tumor was growing right behind his implant, in addition, it was getting all tied up with veins and nerves so when we went in for the first biopsy, they couldn’t do it because of that situation and didn’t want to rupture anything that might spread the cancer further, so they opted to do an open biopsy instead of an ultrasound guided needle biopsy.

Because of where the new cancer was located and the fact the cancer came back so soon, the option was pretty much amputation. Atticus handled it quite well, in fact being just like “yes, lets get this leg off me”. And so it was.

He also went through more inpatient chemotherapy at Randall Children’s Hospital. I was just thinking shortly before we found this new cancer about how much I missed our nurses. Well, we got to see them again. This treatment was easier on him that the chemo cocktail in 2018, as he didn’t lose as much weight and not continually sick. I mean no chemo is rainbows and butterflies, but compared to 2018 chemo, this was better.

Atticus dealt with phantom pain, regular nerve and muscle pain from getting a limb lopped off, in addition to the chemo, he was pretty miserable.

He had a surgery for some small pieces of osteosarcoma in his lung that they had been keeping an eye on, but at the time were too small to remove. They hoped the chemo would shrink them but they stayed the same (which is better than getting bigger!). He also had tissue start growing around his port, so they had to remove that as well, and now just doing blood draws from his arm.

Chemo ended late summer and he started getting ready for his prosthetic. This was a pretty confusing time for us, I mean, we’ve never shopped for a leg before! Maybe I will tell that story another time, but at least he has his leg now!

We are now back into the part where he gets every three month scans, as those of us in the cancer community call “scanxiety”. It’s usually about a week for us with all of them and follow ups. He just got all his scans the beginning of January 2020 and he was mostly clear. He still has lung nodules, again, very small, they just have to keep an eye on them.

He is currently taking Stivarga, a chemotherapy pill. He hasn’t lost his hair with this one, which is nice, as his beautiful head of hair has just grown back! The chemotherapy pill does still have side affects that aren’t enjoyable and they had to find the right dosage for him, but again, still way better than being in the hospital and the infusions! Hopefully the Stivarga will kill any remaining cancer cells in his body so nothing will start growing in there.

And here we are now, already February 2020. He is a sophomore in high school and working hard. Going to physical therapy and monthly oncology check ups and three month scans. Through this last year and more, I’ve learned that there will be no going back to “normal”. There might be a new normal, but there’s no “yay, we are back to normal and lets get on with life before cancer showed up”. Cancer destroys families, mental health, friendships, bodies, and minds. There is still grief to deal with, and a future to look at, although with trepidation.

There are days when I feel like I can’t do this any more. Not one more minute. But as Kimmy Schmidt says:

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You can do anything for ten seconds! And then do it again.

And we did. Sometimes ten seconds at a time, sometimes an hour at a time, sometimes even a day at a time. But it’s all slow, and painful, and heartbreaking. I frequently wonder how long this dark cloud will follow us, and maybe it will until the end, and maybe we just need to accept this is our life now. It is what it is. And here we are, still alive. Maybe not at our best or what we think should be our best, but alive. Ten seconds at a time.