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Gold is the New Orange

23 February 2017 by Stephanie Verk

I have never been to jail, or in trouble with the law for that matter, but as we prepare for 6 months in Toronto I think this is what it would feel like. I have a sentence date, we will be allowed visitors at set times, the doctor is the Warden making sure we follow the “rules”. We will have our room (cell) and our jail food (cafeteria) and I am sure we will get a little exercise in the yard (rehabilitation). For the last 2 weeks I have joked with my friends about my “last supper” and going to jail trying to make candid of the situation. I have tried to fill in as much quality time with friends and family and my boys as possible, to the point that it has been a whirl wind of a really unnatural lifestyle. Trying to cram as many positive and fun memories as possible in a short amount of time.
Over the weekend we went to a fondue dinner party with close friends; I took Declan to FunHaven and rode every amusement and played every game; Monday we packed up the car and drove an hour and half to Parc Omega with the boys.  I went out with a girlfriend and had a pedicure, lunch dates with friends. Went to Chapters looking for books to help explain to Declan to be Brave and its ok to be Sad while Mommy is away. I died my hair, shaved my legs, bought new pyjamas. And all these things I thought would make this feeling of being sentenced easier to handle but it has not. And I am realizing that the inevitable to still going to happen. It does not matter what I do to prepare, I will never be prepared.
They say the mind is a powerful tool and I really am in a battlefield with my mind. I am trying to control the uncontrollable. It is like tying to lasso a tornado, it will never hold. Childhood Cancer is a life sentence, even when we get “free” we will still have the memories of everything we have seen and felt.  No one goes to jail and ever comes out the same, some for the better and some for the worst.  I need to put on my jail face and get that strength back, not show fear. Fear smells cancer and thrives, like a flame with air. Given the chance it only grows stronger until it burns down whole forests. So I will face this next challenge and not show fear. I look back on everything we have gone through already and know we will do this too. We will do our time in hopes of someday being set free and instead of looking at this as a jail sentence try to look at it as our next adventure in this voyage. We will travel the seas of uncertainty and rise above the water. We will take in all we can and make it the best we can.
 

Doing the Best in a Bad Situation

17 February 2017 by Stephanie Verk

Everyday I wake up and have a choice to make; I can get in my car and leave, I can hide under the covers with tears in my eyes, I can take my frustrations and sorrows out on those around me,  or I can choose to face the situation and do the best I can! At times I look at my situation and it feels like I have no decision, no control, no choice, but if I think hard about it, I do. There really is, always a choice. I did not choose for Aiden to get Cancer, I did not choose for him to loose his mobility and speech but I did choose for him to have the surgery, and I choose to take him to rehabilitation in another country, and I choose to fight for the best possible care.  I make these decisions the best that I can with the information I have. I think about the end result, what if I do nothing? if I did not do the surgery, if I did not go to Boston for rehabilitation and radiation where would we be then?  I have no crystal ball  but I know in the end I did the best I could, no mattter how hard it is.  No matter who we are or what situations we are in, choices in our lives define us and map a road to our future.
As a teen I made a million bad choices, but I always tried to be a good person. I remember living in Ottawa in my early 20s, seeing a homeless man begging for money. It was winter and after the bar, I was going to the Elgin Street Dinner and got asked for spare change. I told the man I had none but would have breakfast with him. I remember sitting in the Elgin Street Dinner with this stranger and him telling me his life story. This pouring out from him of how his wife and child lived out west and how he was an alcoholic and lost it all. I listened and ate with him and tried to offer the best advice I could at 20 something. At the end of our meal the man thanked me profusly and we went our ways. I still think of this experience often and I like to think I made a difference in this mans life. For him to know someone cared and had not given up on him. Maybe he would not give up on himself.  He had a choice, he could drink or he could try again. I like to think he tried again.
I have always picked up hitchhikers and sometimes driving out of my way and with windows down because of the stench. I tell myself that if this was truly my way to go then a least it would be doing a good deed. All these choices and more, they have brought me to where I am now.  I love the town where I live, I love where I work, I love my three boys, I love the close friends I surround myself with. And although I am truly in a Bad Situation I have the Choice to do the Best I can.
Somewhere along the line I have chosen to be the strongest I can be. I have chosen to share as much of my story as I can in hopes that I can help even one person know they are not alone. I have tried to reach out to other families I have met, I have tried to connect, I have tried to educate myself, I have tried to stay true to who I am. As I get ready for this next stage, I am faced with the impossible choice. To be separated from my two younger boys for a long and unforseeable time but get Aiden the best possible rehabilitation and treatment, or I can stay in this comfort of being at home, see Declan off to kindergarten and be there for more of Lynkons firsts but I will know I would be settling for mediocre rehabilitation and a questionable treatment plan. To choose to sacrifice time with my two healthy children to take care of the one in more immediately need. In hopes that we have it all in the end. In hopes that this will just be a period of time and all worth it in the end. In hopes that my younger two will understand someday why and know it was not for lack of love and not their faults. But I have no crystal ball so I make the best desisions with the information I have. I pack our bags for Toronto and try to make the best of a bad situation. 

So Where Do We Stand Now?

13 February 2017 by Stephanie Verk

When we first received Aiden’s diagnosis of Medulloblastoma in September we sent a referral to become a patient of Dr. Bouffet at Sick Kids Hospital in Toronto. We had been told by a couple people and researched for ourself that he was one of the top in the world for Children’s Brain Tumours. Now, 6 Months later, we sit in a tiny blue exam room at Sick Kids Hospital waiting for him to arrive.  A 30 something ethnic women enters the room, she introduces herself as a resident and asks for our story, “From the very beginning?” I say. “Yes, the beginning” she replies.
It had been a long time since I have had to start from the beginning, but like a poem memorized by heart I recite the first symptoms, the timelines, the surgeries, the treatments, the medications, the side effects. She does a neurological exam on Aiden, one I had seen many times before. This one was surprising and encouraging. He stood up from his wheelchair on his own, grabbed her hand, and walked a couple feet to the other side of the room. Then with a little help hopped onto the exam table. She had him squeeze both her hands and with smiles and laughs he used all his might! “Very Good!” she said with truth in her voice. She asked Aiden to push out his legs against her hands, which he did quite excitedly.  “Wow, much better then I had thought!”  If you have ever seen Aiden, his go to position in his wheelchair is a pretzel position, knees up in a tight little ball. He really does look pretty weak and sickly at times so when he actually goes to move he surprises people. After a brief conversation the resident excuse herself and says Dr. Bouffet will be in shortly.
“Dr. Bouffet is coming! Dr. Bouffet is coming!” Clapping his hands, Josh exclaims in an impression of a teenager waiting for an autograph from their favourite celebrity. I immediately crack up. It was a pretty good impression and had a bit of truth to how we were feeling on the inside. Such a mix of emotions we had been feeling. I felt like our future was in this doctors hands, he was to be our saviour, he was going to come in with a plan and a confidence and tell us Aiden was going to be ok. That everything would go back to normal after this treatment and that the outcomes had high success rates! No pressure to the doctor or anything.
As wait, Aiden touches his fingers to his thumb to form a cup and puts to his mouth. This is the sign Aiden has started doing to tell us he needs a drink. He has started doing this most recently so I can only assume the Chemotherapy drug, Etoposide, is causing his throat to either hurt or become very dry. We stupidly look around the room, we have nothing with us. There is a sink in the room but Aiden is not “cleared” for thin liquids. I try to wet a brown paper towel thinking he could at least wet his mouth, but as he tries my “hack” his face instantly changes to YUCK! He is not happy and does the sign for drink again. Neither Josh nor I want to leave the room to go to the cafeteria incase the doctor comes in. We explain this to Aiden but I don’t think he really cares about this part. We explain that he needs to have something thick so we can not just give him water and we will get him a smoothie downstairs as soon as we are done. At this point Aiden is starting to get quite upset, we all are in different ways. It is painful to see a tap of water right there and unable to give our child a sip. We have no idea how uncomfortable he is feeling, what his pain feels like, what his thirst feels like. I last another minute and finally break down maybe we can give him a tiny sip of the water. I find a unused (obviously) urinal collection cup and pour a tiny bit of water from the tap. Josh is not looking impressed. I have Aiden sit up straight, chin down and pray this will be ok and tie him over until we leave. One sip and he instantly starts to cough (which I am told is a good thing as it is the bodies defence to bring the fluid back up from going down the wrong pipe). It was a bad idea but it did seem to tie him over. (I will be doing a Eating and G-Tube post in the future because that is a battle story of its own)
At this point my anxieties are ringing high, it feels like we have waited forever but only 15-20 minutes in reality. Finally, the door opens and a tall, thin man with a light tan enters. He is more gray-haired then expected but not a white grey, a grey grey. He is followed by the resident we had met earlier and another resident who is blond and dressed in a waitress looking outfit of white blouse and black pants. We do the introductions and all shake hands politely.  Dr. Bouffet  speaks with a very thick French accent, so strong it takes me a bit to register what he is saying. He talks to Aiden, asking how he is, if he likes movies. He includes him in our conversation which was scary and very nice at the same time. At this point we have only told Aiden what is happening, when it is happening. We really do not know how much Aiden knows about this trip to Toronto, just that we are going to talk to a really good doctor. Dr. Bouffet explains that it has been hard getting all the results from Boston and that is usually is. He explains there are usually challenges when children go for Proton Radiation because it is not a standard protocol in Canada. He also tells us that in recent studies it has been found that the success rates of the proton therapy versus the photon, used in Canada, are relatively the same but that if he had a proton machine here he would use it.  (For us, it was more the residual effects that are less harmful as well as the Rehabilitation centre that were a determining factor of going to Boston in the first place.) He also informs us that it makes it more difficult because when he has sent a child to the USA for Proton Therapy it is a cancer where the only treatment is Radiation; in Aiden’s case, and with Medulloblastoma, the standard protocol calls for radiation AND chemotherapy.  All that being said there a few options they are looking at right now. At this point I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes, a combination of being sleep deprived and overwhelmed.  The first resident looks for a Kleenex box sensing I was going to crack soon. I think it is part of their training, to know the appropriate times to offer Kleenex. I thought we would come to Toronto and they would say “Ok this is what we are going to do!” but this was not the case.
Dr. Bouffet explains that for the 4 month protocol that we had planned on, the stem cells are to be collected prior to radiation and especially before starting the Chemotherapy that Aiden is on. Anger and confusion bubble inside. I felt lied to. I say that we were told that this did not matter, that this was one of our questions at the start and time and again told it would not make a difference.  “Many children on this floor go for stem cell collection after they had started Chemo” I can hear replay in my head clear as if it were just spoken. I am now being told that the chemo he is on does not have a low enough dip to have a high enough rise to collect enough stem cells and that after radiation most kids can only produce enough stem cells for 2 cycles. WHAT THE FUCK! “So where does this leave us now?” I say in tears, thinking all hope is gone. “There are two option we are considering” Dr. Bouffet replies. “First, we need to find where Aiden’s tumour is so we can do more testing on it.” Dr. Bouffet explains that the “St.Jude Protocol” (the 4 month intense) is becoming outdated and it has not shown a higher success rate the other protocols but is more damaging on the body. He offers 2 approaches a 6 month plan or a 1 year option but informs us that the 1 year is actually more damaging to children bodies and he has seen it last up to 16 months. I am informed that within Medulloblastoma, Aiden has subtype 4 but within that subtype there are 4 additional subtypes. If he can find the additional subtype that will better inform his decision on which course to take. One subtype can show a 95% success rate where another a 20% for this information is crucial.  “How can you do all the testing by the time he finishes this cycle?” I ask. Once again feeling the crush of time on my shoulders. He assures me it will be ok, tight but ok. The other information he is looking for is blood results from when Aiden received the radiation in Boston. The radiation burns was what started this tumble down the rabbit hole in the first place. Dr Bouffet explains that if aides “Counts” were normal during treatment he may just have had skin sensitivity, BUT if his blood counts dropped as well as the burns that would tell him something else. At this point details of the rest of the conversation get blurry. Aiden is once again excessively signing for a drink and I am completely overwhelmed. The room seems smaller, there are too many variables and what if’s of possible situations. I am usually the strong one, when we talk with the doctors, I hold myself together and present my thoughts clearly, this is not the case. I think I even ask again about the timeframe we have and what we are to do next. At this point Josh takes the lead and says at home we have some results from Boston we can send him and we can work on getting the rest of his medical records. There is some kind of plan in place as we get ready to end this meeting. Dr. Bouffet asks Aiden if he has seen Jurassic Park, with a huge smile Aiden nods there is some light conversation about movies and we all have smiles on our faces as the mood lightens in the room. We shake hands once again and go to the nurses station for the contact to send records to.
Onto the elevator and down to the cafeteria to FINALY get Aiden a drink. Thank god there is a smoothie bar and we order an extra thick Mango Smoothie for our very patient 7 year old boy. I look around the large cafeteria, with glass elevators in the centre of the building. I look at the diversity we do not see in our home town. I try to imagine our next leg in this voyage, I lived in Toronto when I was 18 but that seems like a lifetime ago. I try to think of how to explain to Declan we are leaving again. Can he come with us, but what about Lynkon? I wish we had gone straight to Toronto after Boston, I feel this would have been so much easier. It has been so nice being at home. We are all together, we have a routine, it is comfortable. I don’t know if I can do this again. All these thoughts and more rushing to my head as I watch Aiden happily drink his extra thick Mango Smoothie.
 

Another Room

10 February 2017 by Stephanie Verk

Another waiting room, another city. More families waiting anxiously for results, procedures, tests and treatments. The brightly painted walls and colourful checkered floors, children’s artworks and games and clowns; an attempt to mask the hospital stench. Pulling smiles as painful as pulling teeth. So many similarities in all hospitals so far. Parents on phones, kids on tablets; lost in a virtual world, escaping reality. Aiden glued to a Monster game, with exotic islands, creatures and quest that offer rewards, offering attainable goals and escape. Yes please.
I sit here, in such a familiar yet unknown place. I have no clue as to what to expect, what outcome, what path we will head on, what options there are. Sitting in limbo, unable to plan or prepare or settle. I feel hopeful and scared, excited and nervous.  Every other emotion I can not even name. Through it all trying to navigate through fog, to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing. To make the best desisions. There is no crystal ball and I do not think there are second chances. So we do the best we can with the information that we have, like all parents just wanting the best, better then for ourselves…..
​[wpvideo XW731QEQ]​

Video: First Dose, First Video Post

31 January 2017 by Stephanie Verk

Way to tired to type update or anything deep just going through the emotions. Arrived at CHEO 8am and Aiden is fast asleep after long day; it is now 7:30 pm and he getting his first dose of Chemotherapy. No turning back now…
​[wpvideo NjPBSywl]​

January: No Pictures Just Words

27 January 2017 by Stephanie Verk

So my last posts have been great, they have made me feel great. Focusing on the good has lifted my spirits and starting to write and be creative again has been a good therapy. But everyday my anxiety grows, so much that I am unable to sleep, the knot in my stomach pulling tighter and tighter. Some of you may know our plans for stem cell transplant at Sick Kids, some of you probably think we are there right now because that has been the plan this whole time. What many of do not know is that we are still waiting.
We were to go down to Sick Kids on Sunday, January 22nd to have Aiden’s Stem Cells harvested. We had a teleconference with Sick Kids January 10th and they went over the whole procedure.  They would put a line into his groin on the Monday and the following day he would be hooked up to a dialysis type machine and lay still while they ran his blood through it for a couple hours and collected the stem cells. The goal is to get 5 bags. If they can not get enough the first day they would do again the following and so on. We would start Chemo Feb 4th and go through 4 cycles (4 months). They told us  what drugs would be administered, all the side effects. They prepared us for the best and the worst.  They told us 95% of children handle the stem cell transplant and 3-5% do not. We needed to prepare ourselves.
I wish I could say this next part was un-true and I feel like it is because I can not believe there is more… Because of the severity of the radiation burns, MGH suggested we have genetic testing done on our return to Canada. There was a possibility that Aiden had a genetic disorder that caused the sensitivity and could also change the course of Chemo to be administered. So back at CHEO on December 21st Aiden’s blood was drawn, we  were asked a million questions about our family history, we signed the paperwork. I even signed Aiden up for a study that could help kids in the future as they ran tests on HIS tumour. I was told there was a potential of 5 things it could be (or nothing). I said I did not want to know until they knew if it was something.
So, during our teleconference they asked if we could come down a week earlier to harvest the stem cells. I asked if they had the genetic testing back as I was told this could change the Chemo administered. They seemed confused. “Ok yes we will need to look into that, stand by.” So waiting, bags packed, waiting. Friday rolled around and I received one call saying the tests were inconclusive, they were sent out again, we would not be going down the 16th. (I also received a call from the genetic team saying everything looked good but thats a whole rant I don’t need to get into right now). Ok, back to original plan to go for Harvest 22-24th. Bags still packed, waiting. We met with Dr J, our oncologist, on Friday the 20th. There was a possibility that Aiden had something called Falconi but the test results were still inconclusive. If he did have this then a new plan would need to be developed. Quite honest a lot of the conversation I did not understand, I still do not. I did not ask questions, I did not want to know, I did not want to hear what this could mean. The other night was the first night I googled Fanconi, I regretted it instantly:

Fanconi anaemia (FA) is a rare genetic disease. Among those affected the majority develop cancer, most often acute myelogenous leukemia, and 90% develop bone marrow failure (the inability to produce blood cells) by age 40. FA occurs in about 1 per 130,000 births

So, we did not go for Stem Cell Harvest on the 22nd. I really do not know what the plan is now. We were suppose to start Chemo Feb 4th and all I can think is that I don’t want the Cancer to grow back. We waited extra days for Boston and the Cancer grew, whether is was the extra days or not I know I will always concider it, god forbid.

Email From Today:
From: Stephanie
To: Caseworker
“Sorry I am sick to my stomach can you just clarify did the genetic test come back and he does have falconi?”
Reply from Caseworker:
“Hi Stephanie,
That is still the debate. His genetic markers don’t show typical fanconi, but he does have other similar markers which is what they are trying to differentiate and determine how to best treat knowing these are markers. This is why so many teams are involved to make the best decision. Emails are flying.”

I hope writing this, and setting this information free relieves some of the anxiety I have been feeling. Every night for the past month I have had a date in my head, I have tried to mentally prepare for the next 4 months. Every night I have gone to bed at 8pm with Declan wrapped tight in my arms thinking of the months to come. The was no arguments for him to sleep in his own bed. He is so happy snuggled in my arms, reading extra stories, unaware that I will be leaving again.  We have not told our kids anything about the next step. Aiden knows we need to go to Toronto for tests to see if bad guy is gone and that is it. I have sat here for a month watching Lynkon, not a baby anymore but so full of character. I think about the toddler he will be when I get back from the 4 months. I ache already as he reaches for others, not me, what will 4 month do. I think about all we have lost already. I have tried to barter with God that if I need to give up somethings to have all 3 of my boys in the end then it is worth it, to give it to me instead. I have wondered if that is the lesson I am suppose to learn, that you can not have it all.  But now this is thrown at us and I am clueless, and helpless and in disbelief.
If this was a movie I would not watch it because it would be to awful. Aiden, a 7 year old boy running around months before, surgery, losses all abilities but he fights EVERYDAY. Posteria Fossa affects less then 20%  of children who have gone through same surgery and most recover on average in a month. He is put on Zyprexa, an anti psychotic medication, and Ridlin and other medications to ease him through this but we lose even more of him. I see the look in his eyes as he watches his brother jump from couch to couch with such freedom. I see the frustration as he tries to do something, such as swallowing, that use to be so easy.  Appointment after appointment. Bandages ripped from his skin weekly only to be replaced. All the pain he has had to endure. Flying to another country for a better treatment. 4 teeth extracted, gull bladder removed, kidney stones, hooked up to a feeding pump 18 hours a day, a cord dangling from his stomach. Waking up vomiting 5 weeks after radiation has stopped. I see his face as he looks at the school when we pick up his brother. I know he thinks about the friends he no longer see’s and what he is missing. Everyday he works so hard to get it all back. But now, the potential for a rare disease that affect only 1 in 130,000! They say God only gives you as much as you can handle and until writing this, right now, I have thought about myself but this is not me! This is a 7 year old who is actually going through this, having this done to him! How can this be! God, Zeus, whoever, if you are on vacation and Hades is up there running shit please come back, PLEASE…..

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