Today my incredible little girl rang the end of treatment bell at our local hospital after receiving her final infusion of chemotherapy. She has endured 18 months of being poked, prodded and injected with toxic drugs, yet not once has she complained.*
*That’s a lie, she complains about the nil by mouth procedure every time she has a scan because, and I quote:
“it’s too long to go without food and when I wake up I’m starving my head off”
Unfortunately due to the nature of Eleanor’s condition this won’t be the last time she rings this bell and we are facing the prospect of more chemotherapy. If we are REALLY lucky she might avoid chemotherapy and the next treatment will be radiotherapy – or hopefully proton beam radiation therapy – when she is around 8 years old.
We’ve reached a point that feels like an end and we’re cheering because we’ve finished this leg of the journey. Everyone is pleased and we’re pleased, it’s a huge accomplishment because I cried for months and could never imagine being here feeling remotely OK with the hand we’ve been dealt, yet here we are.