Aila
Today we danced. While we waited for the oncologists and anesthesiologists and nurses to sort out some behind-the-scenes drama regarding who was first in line for their spinal tap, we danced. Cha-cha cha-cha-cha. I held her hands and we both together jumped high in the air and laughed, stopping only briefly to quickly sign a surgical consent form. Spinal taps have become so routine in Aila's little life that she dances in the pre-op room, and I barely look at the surgical consent since I know every step and risk like the back of my hand.
This past Tuesday, Aila enjoyed her second chemo infusion since her sister was born on April 14th. When Aoife was 11 days old, she accompanied her parents and her sister to UCSF for a round of vincristine and an appointment with Dr. Steiglitz. This week, Zander really wanted to come with us. So we left Declan and Aoife with Priscilla while Brian and I took both Zander and Aila to the infusion clinic. Early in her treatment, I remember someone--a nurse maybe--saying that there would come a time where Aila would be excited about going to the clinic. At the time, I remember thinking how crazy that sounded, since Aila wept and yelled so hysterically during infusions. But indeed, Aila is now always excited for upcoming "port doctor" appointments. It's a treat, after all, to spend the day with Mom and Dad, with nurses and doctors and child life specialists and prize boxes all for her. We rarely bring Zander with us, since for us the experience is quite taxing and bleak with only Aila in tow let alone Zander, and we have very little attention to spare. However, when Aila returns to the house after a day of chemo, Zander often has a huge emotional meltdown. We get it, we really do. It's been all about Aila, all the time. And now, with a new baby in the house...well, he's at least third in line where getting attention is concerned.
Sweet Aoife Lily Cosgrove joined her family on April 14th, 2017 at 9:47am. At 7lbs, 4.5oz, she was bigger than Zander and Declan (both weighed in at 7lbs, 3oz) but smaller than Aila (at 8lbs, 1oz).
When we started this odyssey way back when, we were told--and understood--that there would be some very hard days, some very hard times. Of course, the beginning was excruciating. As a parent, wrapping your head around the idea that your kid has a life-threatening illness that no one really understands is probably as hard as it gets. But in hindsight, that part seems tolerable, even preferable. We were in shock, so adrenaline was carrying us through each day. The world around us understood that regular life was on hold, second or third in line to everything to do with cancer, Aila, and surviving. Well wishes were arriving from near and far on a daily basis, and it was easier to tolerate accepting help in part because people in every direction seemed to be insisting on delivering it. I could write these blog posts and, without realizing it, easily sound hopeful, spirited, positive, even a bit romantic, with my imploring and goading of Aila to "fight." I laugh a little bit at that mother now.
After Declan was born, but before Aila had gotten sick, Brian and I felt in our souls that one more child was in the stars. I was breastfeeding Declan right up until the night I took Aila to the ER, when we were transferred all over the hospital before finding our permanent month-long spot in the Bass Center for Childhood Cancer at Stanford. On one floor, I had asked whether anyone had a pump, as my breasts were throbbing. But in my heart of hearts, I knew that this was the end of creating milk for Declan, since immediately Aila needed all of me and all of her father. Another child was the farthest things from our minds.